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-
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.
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