This Band is My Band, This Band is Your Band
This past long weekend I went to Nanaimo to visit a friend. There isn’t much to do on the ferry but enjoy the ocean and evergreen cays or read. And since I’m an illiterate philistine I spent most of the ride looking at pretty girls. When doing so, I noticed something interesting – on the way there, one girl was reading The Watchmen. On the ferry back to Vancouver, one was reading V For Vendetta. Now, perhaps the recent expensive, glossy movies had a lot to do with these girls’ choices, but still, attractive people (besides me) getting into Alan Moore seems like progress, but I’m not exactly sure if it’s progress that I’m excited about.
Were living in a time where the San Diego Comic Con is now a recognized junket locale to promote summer blockbusters, The White Stripes are on the covers of magazines, The Weakerthans are on the soundtrack to Wedding Crashers and I had to pay 50 bucks to see Feist in concert. A lot of things I like have become popular – or more than that – a phenomenon.
I do pride myself on being ahead of the curve, but that doesn’t really gain you anything other than the prosaic bragging right: “Well, I liked that before it was cool.” That and 2 bucks will get you a hand job from your mom in a Denny’s parking lot. And, often, I feel that I lose a lot more.
Being shortsighted, moody and funny looking – I place an inordinate amount of emphasis and worth upon the movies, books and music I like. I prefer these things to most people I know and, as with most Indians, this relationship comes with a certain level of possessive protectionism.
These things belong to me, and although it’s great to see ‘your’ band/artist/alchemist make it, it also feels like you lose them. They don’t speak just to you anymore. Over Dramatic? Fuck you – I’m just talking here.
The flipside of this coin is stalking, I suppose. Where your feelings of understanding or camaraderie with the artist wade into the personal. I like to think any biographical details I collect of those I admire are amassed for conversational purposes and deducing the causes of artistic identity more than elements to use in a future shrine or skin carving. Still, though, why do I feel like I need to ready myself with the company of strangers, albeit glamorous, recognizable and talented ones?
Are they placeholder relationships? A girl I went on one horrible date with did at least have one decent thing to say: celebrity gossip is so successful because high school is, actually, the highest echelon of human societal interactions that has evolved. Therefore these stars(lets) take the role of people to talk shit about regardless of where your post-grade 12-graduation life takes you. If this is the case, then the intensity and broken logic of dating someone in high school must still apply- hence my brethren’s rabid fandom.
These ARE our relationships. Or should at least count as crushes. I don’t love movies, I’m in love with them. Who knows how this schism occurs, but Martin Scorsese’s been married five times, and by all accounts, he’s quite the gentleman. So what’s up? Forgive the psychoanalysis, but it would seem like any woman to be involved with the guy would have to understand she would always be relegated to the role of mistress. He’s been married to the movies for decades.
Now, of course, I can’t prove this theory true of anyone but myself. Even then, I come to the roadblock of me still preferring the downy softness of a girl to any movie…but still.
To your typical, Star Wars in-joke weirdo in glasses and All-Stars there’s a lot to be said about all the nonjudgmental movies and books and bands who don’t exist unless you watch/read/listen to them. That can give you a lot and never ask anything in return. Basis of a healthy relationship? Maybe not, but the basis of many, I’m sure.
Were living in a time where the San Diego Comic Con is now a recognized junket locale to promote summer blockbusters, The White Stripes are on the covers of magazines, The Weakerthans are on the soundtrack to Wedding Crashers and I had to pay 50 bucks to see Feist in concert. A lot of things I like have become popular – or more than that – a phenomenon.
I do pride myself on being ahead of the curve, but that doesn’t really gain you anything other than the prosaic bragging right: “Well, I liked that before it was cool.” That and 2 bucks will get you a hand job from your mom in a Denny’s parking lot. And, often, I feel that I lose a lot more.
Being shortsighted, moody and funny looking – I place an inordinate amount of emphasis and worth upon the movies, books and music I like. I prefer these things to most people I know and, as with most Indians, this relationship comes with a certain level of possessive protectionism.
These things belong to me, and although it’s great to see ‘your’ band/artist/alchemist make it, it also feels like you lose them. They don’t speak just to you anymore. Over Dramatic? Fuck you – I’m just talking here.
The flipside of this coin is stalking, I suppose. Where your feelings of understanding or camaraderie with the artist wade into the personal. I like to think any biographical details I collect of those I admire are amassed for conversational purposes and deducing the causes of artistic identity more than elements to use in a future shrine or skin carving. Still, though, why do I feel like I need to ready myself with the company of strangers, albeit glamorous, recognizable and talented ones?
Are they placeholder relationships? A girl I went on one horrible date with did at least have one decent thing to say: celebrity gossip is so successful because high school is, actually, the highest echelon of human societal interactions that has evolved. Therefore these stars(lets) take the role of people to talk shit about regardless of where your post-grade 12-graduation life takes you. If this is the case, then the intensity and broken logic of dating someone in high school must still apply- hence my brethren’s rabid fandom.
These ARE our relationships. Or should at least count as crushes. I don’t love movies, I’m in love with them. Who knows how this schism occurs, but Martin Scorsese’s been married five times, and by all accounts, he’s quite the gentleman. So what’s up? Forgive the psychoanalysis, but it would seem like any woman to be involved with the guy would have to understand she would always be relegated to the role of mistress. He’s been married to the movies for decades.
Now, of course, I can’t prove this theory true of anyone but myself. Even then, I come to the roadblock of me still preferring the downy softness of a girl to any movie…but still.
To your typical, Star Wars in-joke weirdo in glasses and All-Stars there’s a lot to be said about all the nonjudgmental movies and books and bands who don’t exist unless you watch/read/listen to them. That can give you a lot and never ask anything in return. Basis of a healthy relationship? Maybe not, but the basis of many, I’m sure.
posted by Jag at 4:09 PM
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