WORD!!!
If this asshat thinks women should notify the police when they have miscarried, maybe we should have men alert the authorities within 24 hours of masturbating!
Just lost a cool follower that I liked. I hate it when that happens.
On the plus side, I’m gaining a lot of other followers. Idk why, but hello to you all!
this….over and over again…“Untitled” by Interpol // Turn On the Bright Lights (2002)
Ten years ago this week (8.20.02), Matador Records released Interpol’s brilliant and haunting debut album, “Turn On the Bright Lights”. It happened to come out right around the time that I started my love affair with New York, trekking their on weekends for shows and to visit friends, before finally moving there a little over a year later. At the time, it sounded like an absolute breath of fresh air - darker and more enigmatic than the Saddle Creek sounds that were then taking the indie world by storm, and more focused and intimate than the recent rush of New York bands that were getting all the press. Hearing the opening, shimmering guitar lines, of “Untitled” while putting my foot on NYC pavement felt instantly like home, and hearing the songs later while driving cross country, the music had a way of making you feel like you were hearing the score to the coolest possible version of your life. That was it, the album had an untouchable air of “cool”, but more than that, it felt like something that you could live in - for me, then the world was scary and new. I was living on my own, travelling the country, searching for a place to call my own for a while, and meanwhile the country was on edge following 9/11 and things didn’t seem as hopeful as they once had. “Turn on the Bright Lights” was an album of the moment, brimming with dark energy and moody atmospherics, but at the same time, it was a welcoming and inviting album that was filled with incredible hooks and a rhythm section that was unbeatable. The album contains some of the finest music of this century and will stand as one of my favorites until my brain powers down and I cease to exist. Ten years out, it still sounds fresh and exciting and despite the memories that I have of it from that place and time, here years later and many places since removed, it still feels as good now as it did then, no matter what pavement is beneath my feet.
This has been a random and barely coherent moment.
