Ordinary Person

My Wi-Fi is terrible, and that

sucks because I’m in the mood

to listen to Dakota by Stereophonics.

My taste in music has devolved from

progressive metal by the likes of

Circus Maximus to the angry

plucking of the double bass by

Mingus to the feet-tapping, raise-a-

toast-and-live-your-best-life-like-

Hugh-Hefner cooler stuff like

the Dave Brubeck Quartet (e.g.

Perdido) to dad rock to mom pop.

I first stumbled upon Stereophonics

when I watched the movie Crash

years ago, which made me emotional

and urged me to journey at night on

lonely streets illuminated by

the dim glow of street lamps and

the muted light from apartment complexes.

Spoiler alert! The movie ends with

two cars colliding, and racial tensions

increasing, which is a constant

theme running throughout the dark, post 9/11

conflict ridden, hyperlink atmospheric

piece, plumbing the depths of identity,

culture and diaspora. But this isn’t a

movie review, it’s a damn poem,

and Maybe Tomorrow (the song at

the end of Crash) brought me to

Indian Summer, and all these songs

augment a sense of detachment

from pressure and cares, especially

at night. It’s relief though, and not

a nightmarish disassociation.

I doubt their music will do that to

you; you might find it kitschy and

derivative, just like this ode to nothingness

that strangely reeks of mawkish

sentimentality, a faux-existential

tribute that doesn’t mean

anything, but runs on a melancholy 

operating system, an OS Weepy

that’s bug-ridden and bound to crash.