I Want the One I Can't Have

“What’s your deal bro?!”

“What do you mean, ‘what’s my deal?’?”

Michael exhaled and let his arms flap to his sides before pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Joe, we’ve been friends since we were little kids and you’ve barely dated at all! What’s that about?”

“Um…I don’t know Mike,” Joe followed suit with the long exhale.  He had often dreaded this question.  He had barely dated.  He did not date anyone at all until he had gone off to college, and even then, it was not until his second year.  Joe knew that this was unusual.  His awareness of his friends’ and acquaintances’ dating experiences all through high school was pretty limited, though what he knew unsettled him.  At one point, he had developed a crush on Samantha from his algebra class, but all he heard about her is that she had a wild side.  He didn’t know what to believe, but if any of it were true, but he did know that she spent a lot of time with tough guys like Tommy, who had a full goatee and a neck tattoo by the seventh grade.  It intimidated the fuck out of him.  Joe was not wild.  He was scared.

“Remember back during the summer before Junior High and we used to talk about all of the girls that we were into?” Michael’s arms raised like a stretching bird about to take flight – a bottle in each hand of vodka and rum.  “It seems like you had quite a list!  What happened?”

“I don’t know.  It just never happened for me,” Joe stuttered and dropped his head.  Blood rushed to his face and he silently asked himself the same question: ‘what happened?!”

“I mean, Joni always says that you’re kind of the shit!” Michael shouted.  Joe thought about how Michael always seems to shout.  Joe supposed that it’s not shouting, if he always talks like this and he did.   Most of Joe’s closest friends were loud.

“Joni has never told me this…” Joe mumbled and stopped and opened the front door of the Victorian home with a creaky closed in porch where Michael and Joni were renting.  Michael’s longtime girlfriend was also Joe’s friend, but she had never told him this bit of info.  Would it have made any difference?  Joe decided it may have only added to the pressure he always put on himself.  No one was more aware of his aloneness and that it was pretty weird. 

Joe held the door open for Michael who set the bottles of booze down just inside the door onto the floor next to a ten gallon rubber garbage can along with a few other bottles.  Joe handed Mike his door keys and flopped down onto the low couch that oddly faced toward the front door. 

“You gotta be confident around the ladies!  Just be yourself!”  Michael shouted, or said as he moved into the kitchen behind the couch. 

“I am ‘me.’  Always.  It’s frightening how ‘myself’ I always am.  I am confident with how ‘me’ I am, because it’s reliable.  I know that I am always ‘me,’” Joe blurted these words with a profound emphasis as if they had already been loaded.  “I’ve always admired how you can blend in with all kinds of different personalities in different situations Mike.  I’m not good at that, and I think I’m incapable of adapting.  I do not want to adapt.  I’ve only had serious feelings for three girls in my life: two of them didn’t want to have anything to do with me and the third didn’t know I existed.  “It seems clear to me that what I am is not something women want.”

“Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah.  You sound like that whiny dude that your dad listened to all the time after your mom left.”  Michael was still in the kitchen.  “I want the one I can’t have / and it’s driving me mad,” a horrific caterwaul floated out to the front room from Michael’s mouth.

 

Joe’s attention was quickly diverted to a jiggle at the front door. 

Joni threw open the front door carrying two grocery bags “Of course you’re here!  Don’t get up.”  Joe had no intention of getting up from the couch.  He wasn’t sure he would be able to without rolling onto the floor first.  “You know the party isn’t for a couple of hours?” Joni projected with no expectation of any kind of response as she clomped her way into the kitchen.

Joe could hear Michael and Joni talking, but he could not hear what they were saying.  He closed his eyes and felt a chill fizzle along his forearms.

 

++++++++++++

 

Joe had drifted off to sleep and had only awoken because of a knock on the door.  It startled him.  It had grown dark outside.  The front room was also dark aside from a few candles.  He could make out the faint scent of sandalwood.  He rolled onto the hardwood floor and pushed himself up from all fours.  His face felt smashed in like he was wearing a tight helmet.  His senses were dulled.  He hated falling asleep during the day.  It always felt catastrophic to him.  He wasn’t fully aware of where he was or what was happening.  He opened the door and there were three people – two guys and a girl – whom he did not recognize.  “Come on in,” he guided as he turned his head and looked longingly at the couch.

The girl smiled at him and introduced herself: “Hi, my name is Sarah, and this is my boyfriend Josh, and this is Josh’s friend Jacob.”  To Joe, Josh and Jacob were identical.  They both had messy hair that he assumed took both of them hours to coif.  They were both wearing vintage drab green military style jackets, black jeans and Docs.  Sarah had a dark brown bob hairstyle that seemed to be balancing a little crooked on her head, and she was wearing a tight fitting pink sweater underneath a black windbreaker.  Sarah smiled and looked at Joe expectantly.

“Um, my name is Joe, nice to meet you,” Joe muttered and then curled into the kitchen from the front room hoping that either Michael or Joni would be there to take charge.

Michael was slicing up various citruses (citrisi?) to dump into the Jungle Juice barrel out by the front door.  Joe could hear Joni’s voice out in the front room.  He took in a deep breath and slowly released it, as he situated himself next to Michael at the kitchen sink.  He began putting the already cut citruses into a bowl that was already in place next to the sliced fruits. 

Michael leaned over and in his quietest voice asked “So what do you think?”

“About what?”

“Sarah,” he said with disgust on his face and a flick of his hands to splash some juice into Joe’s face.

“She’s very pretty.  What does it matter?  She has a boyfriend.” 

“So what?  Look at that guy.  He’s like a little boy and you’re the man.”  Michael smacked his lips and directed the rest of the cut pieces into the bowl with his knife, wiped his hands with a towel and tossed it over his shoulder.  He grabbed the bowl and wandered off with it into the front room. 

Joe followed and in an effort to explain himself kept talking to the back of Michael’s head, “I’ve got nothing better to bring to the table than those guys, or anyone for that matter!  I’m like the list of horrible side effects from one of those pharmaceutical ads,” he continued “except I don’t come with any positive effect that the medication might have to offer.”

Michael smacked his lips in disgust and shook his head side to side.

 

There were more people out in the front room by that time and Joni was handing out cups full of the red booze concoction shouting “You know its quality when it comes from the trash!”  Michael upturned the bowl of fruit into the jungle juice and set it down on the floor next to the gray rubber trash can.  A song from the early 00s was playing quietly.  Joe recognized it, but he didn’t know the artist.  The only music he remembers from then were his father’s 80s and 90s punk rock and indie 45s.  He used to look at them obsessively while listening them.  The often photocopied paper sleeves and rough recordings transported him to another world.  The music felt dangerous and far more informed than he ever felt.  Most of those 7” singles were stuffed with small bits of paper with organizational information, informative news stories, interesting poetry, and handwritten personal notes from the bands directed to his father.  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and then absentmindedly returned it without looking at it.  He already wanted to leave.

Michael handed Joe a full cup and waved over Sarah to give her one, then shouted out a cheers as he held his cup aloft.  Nearly everyone is the room shouted “cheers” in response and drank in unison.

“Joseph, this is Sarah.  Sarah works with Joni downtown when she’s not too busy taking every college course PSU offers,” Michael smiled and awkwardly winked.  His constant winking was disconcerting at best, which only encouraged him to wink more often.

“Hi Joe.  Is Joe okay?” Sarah looking directly at Joe smiled and asked, “You said your name was Joe earlier, right?”

Joe could feel blood rush to his face.  He looked into her eyes and immediately averted them.  She was too much stimuli for him.  “Yes.  Yes, everyone calls me Joe.”  Joe’s voice was quiet and soft and he could feel himself leaning his head toward Sarah.  Her eyebrows were set at dramatic angles and black and they framed her stunning brown eyes, which had a friendliness that resonated with him in a way he did not understand. 

“Not Joey though.  He hates that,” Michael interjected as he turned and walked away. 

“Uh, I don’t really mind,” Joe smiled and tried to regain eye contact with Sarah.  He noticed that he had clasped his hands together with fingers intertwined.  He had become a cartoon.  He had always suspected that he was a cartoon, but the most uninteresting and least entertaining ever.

Joe felt a calm rise up through his body, and despite the loud chatter of people talking over the music, his voice became soft, “How long have you known Joni?” he leaned in and asked Sarah.  Her eyes captivated him.  Sarah held eye contact like no one he had ever encountered.  She smiled and he couldn’t help, but try to smile too.  She was contagious.  He was fully aware that his smiles look more like a pained grimace like he’s trying to keep in a fart. 

“We’ve been working together for a few months down at the coffee shop.”  She leaned in so her face was near his.  “Joni says that you’re a writer!”

“No, not really,” Joe stammered, “but I do enjoy writing, but it’s all terrible”

“I’d love to read some.  Do you have a website?”

“No.”  Joe blurted out.  “Nice answer,” he thought to himself, “What the fuck was that?” he asked himself as she backed away.

“I should probably go find Josh,” she said turning away.

Joe watched her move across the room.  He was trying to read her mind as she navigated her way through the small groups of people clustered in the room.  He sensed that she had an interesting running inner dialogue that he wanted to know.  She exuded a confident intelligence that was making his stomach toss and turn with excitement.  He didn’t know what was happening to him.  Everything about her was amazing!  He had never felt so drawn to anyone like this before and had never felt such a peace overcome him.  His prior attractions have always shot through him like electricity giving him a nervous and generally disastrous energy.  He kept her in his sights and followed her over toward her and Josh and Jacob.

He stopped about five feet short and watched. 

“You should’ve seen Josh shouting at the city council as the gestapo dragged him out of the room,” Jacob yelled to Sarah.

“It was awesome!  They had to shut down the meeting because we fucked their shit up!” Josh confirmed.

Sarah shook her head back and forth and crossed her arms.  “Weren’t they supposed to vote on appropriations for low income housing today?” she asked as she took in a short breath and held it.

“Yah dude, but we fucking made sure those bastards know that they need to shut down the ICE shit!  Quick look up and see if my mugshot is online yet so I can post it on IG,” Josh commanded to Jacob.

“Isn’t that up to the Feds?” Sarah followed up, “Is that something the council can do?”  Sarah didn’t wait for an answer as she turned away from the conversation and turned to grab her jacket by the door.

“Are you leaving?” Joe asked her with a crack in his voice.  He felt a sudden desperate surge push up into his chest.

“Yeah, I’m not feeling so great, sorry.”  She looked down as she cinched her jacket around her waist. 

“You don’t need to apologize,” he trailed off, “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.  Can I see you to your car or walk you home?” he blurted with renewed vigor and a minor sense of panic.  He wanted to know everything about her at that moment and knew it wasn’t going to happen.

“Aw, thanks Joe, I’ll be fine, Josh and I live in that shitty building just across the street.”  Sarah zipped up her coat and looked over to Josh as he and Jacob slapped hands in celebration as they told someone about their disruption tale.  “It was very nice to meet you, Joe, I hope to see you soon.”

 

+++++++++++++

 

“Hey man,” Joe croaked into his phone.  It was Michael.  He’s always been a caller.  Joe is a texter.

“Joni says that Sarah really likes you!  I was feeling a vibe between you two the other night,” Michael stated as if this were a question.  Joe felt a rush of energy bolt through his arms.

“She liked me?  We barely spoke,” he stuttered in response.

“Hell yeah!  We gotta set you two up.  Bro, I’ve never seen you like that before!” Michael’s voice causing Joe to pull the phone away from his ear. 

“What about her boyfrie-‘

“Fuck that idiot!” Michael emphasized.  “Your dad would’ve rolled over in his grave seeing Sarah with those two wanna be punks,” Michael added knowing full well Joe’s dad was still alive.  “Shall I have Joni give her your number?”

Joe’s mind began to race.  He didn’t know what any of this meant.  Did Sarah like him like him, or was she going to be his friend, while staying with Josh?  He felt his phone buzzing in his hand and saw an incoming call with a familiar prefix.  “I gotta take this call, hold on.”  He pressed the green button.  “Hello?”

“Hi Joe?”

“Yes.”

“This is Doctor Rosen.  I’m not sure if you’ve seen the abdominal MRI results in your MyChart yet, but I wanted to get in touch with you as soon as possible.”

Joe was picturing Dr. Rosen, who had been his urologist since he had been a little kid.  His calm voice and shocking white hair.  “What’s going on?”

“Well, I have bad news.  Those lesions we’ve been monitoring in your kidneys need to be addressed.  It looks like we will likely have to remove both of kidneys before the tumors can metastasize.”

Joe sat on the arm of his loveseat and took in a deep breath.  “Um, okay?”  He did not know what to say or ask.

Dr. Rosen continued, “Can you come in tomorrow afternoon.  We will go over your scans and come up with a game plan.  This will involve dialysis, so we will get you set up with a nephrologist and a vascular surgeon for a fistula.” 

“A what?” Joe mumbled, barely able to move his lips.

“How about my office at 2 PM tomorrow?” 

Joe let out the air he had taken in and agreed to the appointment.  He began smashing his face with his left palm, and switched the call back to Michael.  “Hey.”

“What was that all about?   Are you down?  Maybe she’ll give you a call and you can go out?” Michael urged.

“I – I don’t think that’s a good idea.  I gotta go, sorry.”

 

Bringin' on the Heartache

 

There’s a scene near the end of Wes Anderson’s 2001 movie The Royal Tenenbaums where Ben Stiller’s character, Chas Tenenbaum, emotionally breaks and says “I’ve had a rough year, dad.”  It’s almost too much for me to watch, and one of several moments during this quirky movie that never fail to get me emotional.  It has always resonated with me in a way that I haven’t fully understood.

 

This past summer, I had two medical procedures to insert five stents in around my heart to clear some blockages.  After awaking in the post op recovery room after the first procedure, my senses were flooded with a surprisingly loud presence of the Def Leppard song “Bringin’ on the Heartbreak.”  In that moment, I could not remember the band, so like the nerd I am, I began calling out to the entire Recovery unit - anyone.  I’m certain everyone there was born long after the song’s release, so they weren’t privy to its ubiquitous radio presence during the early 80s. They may not have been old enough to be privy to the idea of radio ubiquity.  My guess is that they were playing some kind of streaming service’s “Heart” playlist algorithm – you know, for fun.

As I stirred back to consciousness from the procedure, my squirming brought a nurse over to tell me not to move my legs, because of the incision in my right inner thigh.  She tied some bedding around my leg as a reminder to keep them still.  She moved to the left bedside and introduced herself as Nicole.  I asked her again, if she knew who did the song that was playing, just as Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again” came on.  There goes my “Heart” songs theory.    I guess someone in the room was feeling their 80s hair rock.  Like a drifter they were born to wear cologne.  I chuckled and Nicole asked me what was so funny.  I thought to myself, that it would be fitting that the final flashes of my life would be the music that I couldn’t stop mocking as a teenager.  I twitched my leg and Nicole asked me to relax.  Then she put my left hand into a tight clasp between both her hands.  I could barely make out her smiling eyes floating above a surgical mask. At that point, I knew I was okay and drifted back to sleep.

During my life, I have tried to not be noticed.  I think I’m pretty good at it (see Nowhere Man).  I rarely offer up participation in groups, but if I do, I often try to be first in order to lessen the pressure and be the first to be forgotten.  I try to be as small as I can be despite my size, and I always try to leave space between me and the general public.  I try to blend in as much as possible.  I used to wear concert tees all the time, which would occasionally elicit notice out in public, so I stopped that.  It's not difficult to be forgettable.  I’ve always been generic, because I am.  History and the size of the population tells me so.  There are billions of souls with hopes, ideas, fears, problems, tastes, skills, etc. – all more profound than what I can muster.  It’s an overwhelming realization.  Who am I to believe that anything about me is worthy of notice? 

I get that I have posted these occasional poor health missives for potential public consumption over several years, which is antithetical to my stated efforts to not call attention to myself.  I do not do it for notice, or for sympathy.  I do it to sort out my own feelings.  I write these things to settle my thoughts.  The act of writing helps to calm my anxieties.  Plus, I feel safe in my little anonymous corner of the internet and the mostly abandoned realm of blogs.  If there is a public side, I’d hope to maybe spark conversation about health experiences and health care and just life in general. 

 

Because of the stents being placed near my heart, I was prescribed 36 sessions of Cardiac Rehab, which is comprised of two hour long sessions a week at a gym within a hospital that is supervised by several on staff exercise physiologists.  They keep an eye on us via heart monitors, routine blood pressure checks, and observation.  I love it.  It makes me feel like I’m taking an active role in improving my health and life, which, like the writing helps give me purpose.  I enjoy casually learning about my fellow patients and learning about their health experiences and how they wound up at Cardiac Rehab, and I enjoy the check-ins by the staff who are all very kind and motivating. 

Recently, I was scheduled for an Endoscopic Ultrasound to get a closer look via biopsy at some “concerning” cyst growth in my pancreas.  The procedure is pretty simple, and I’ve been through it before (see Here’s Where theStory Ends).  I know that VHL cysts in the pancreas are benign, but I’m okay with them looking closer to be safe.  A few days before the procedure, while at Cardiac Rehab, Hannah, the best of the exercise physiologists approached me while I was flailing around on a recumbent bike.  She was there to ask me about my daily exercise routine, to take my BP, and to answer any questions I might have.  I reported to her that I was about to go in for this minor procedure, because I had previously been informed that I should alert the staff of any new medical news.  Hannah asked me how I was doing, and how I felt about it.  I think I grumbled something about “futility” and “being tired,” and Hannah retorted with encouraging specific evidence about my progress since beginning the classes, and dammit, I broke!  An instant flood of emotions rushed up into my nose.  It was as if she pushed a button that unlocked a lot of unresolved pain.  Sure, we both knew that this procedure was not serious, but for me, it felt like a breaking point after a lifetime of struggle.  Is this what it means when people say they “feel seen?”  Was this me allowing myself to be “seen,” or was I simply caught in a flash of light before scurrying into the shadows like a cockroach?  

Ever since that moment, I’ve been a ball of conflicting emotions with bouts of excited optimism mixed with total unflinching despair.  The optimism?  Maybe I’m beginning to realize that being seen is not so bad.  That it’s okay to accept help, and to trust, and to admit that I’ve had a rough stretch..  The despair?  I wonder if I’ve waited too long to learn this lesson.  My efforts to be alone have been pretty damn successful, so now I feel like I’m left with no shoulder to lean into and say “I’ve had a rough year.”

Willow

 

the blue herons

“Willow”

(Shelflife)

Andy Jossi is a master at creating musical drama.  His long slow-building dreamy epics from his work with the churchhill garden put him at the forefront of “shoegaze,” and more recently, his instrumentation for the blue herons with more concise pop structures we find him still creating intense swells of sound.  His guitars jangle and chime in a similar timeless fashion as 80s Church (“Almost with You”), but no one has done the explosive swells of noise in the way that he does - at least not since the massive spectacular crescendos that Kitchens of Distinction used to employ. 

With “Wllow,” the blue herons’ latest single, we find Jossi appropriately settling into a more wistful almost melancholy sound.  Gretchen DeVault’s pleasant voice floats in atop the chiming guitars and mid-range bass with words that describe a lovely dream world of connecting with another.  That charge of new romance where that high is all that matters and the rest of the world drifts away.  It’s a place that we all wish for yet seems impossible to maintain.  Perhaps that’s why the escapist lyrics (“Nobody can find us here/ We’re beyond the outer limits / Lost in vivid dreaming / And we’re gone”) feel melancholic to me.  As if there’s a longing sadness – a yearning for these feelings while trying to navigate an especially difficult time.

Whatever the case, when DeVault sings the chorus (“When you’re touching my hand / I lose all sense of space/  I’m in another world / Lost without a trace) I’m pretty sure that she is one of the best at phrasing any set of words into a compelling vocal melody.  I was a fan of both of these artist’s work before they began working together, but I never could have imagined that this work could be this consistently excellent!  This song puts me into another world where all good things exist, and to be honest, I want to be there right now in the most intense way.  The lyrics themselves may be the best descriptive of how this song can make you feel while listening (“I float outside of time / I’m in another world”).

The anticipation of the upcoming April 3^rd release of their new album Demon Slayer is immense.  Please consider pre-ordering the album as soon as possible.  It’s going to be worth it.  This kind of artistry and quality is rare.

(https://theblueherons1.bandcamp.com/album/demon-slayer)

the blue herons "willow"

Desde Cuándo Todo

LISASINSON

Desde Cuándo Todo

(Elefant)

 

Every so often an album comes along that infuses me with a new charge of energy.  I’ll never forget the thrill I felt the first time I heard The Primitives “Crash” while in High School.  It’s been a love affair with indie pop ever since!  That vivacious burst of fresh air made me feel inspired and alive and a major reason I became a music junkie.  I’ve written before about how Swedish indie-pop band Popsicle turned my attitude from lethargic and hopeless to excited and optimistic with their stellar debut album Lacquer (see write up here).  In 2005, I recall being struck like lightning by Maxïmo Park and their frenetic jolt of an album A Certain Trigger.  Then there was that Halloween when I saw The Pipettes doo wop their way a Capella style at an in-store performance at the record store Music Millennium, which led me to buy their CD on the spot and follow them to Wonder Ballroom for their concert later that evening in 2007.  That CD did not leave my car player for months, and only left when thieves busted my car window and stole my stereo with the CD inside.  By the way Gwenno, my marriage proposal still stands.  Man, did that whoosh of music carry me on a tidal wave of good vibes!  Don’t get me wrong, every time I hear a new song that appeals to me I get a shot of adrenalin and probably all kinds of narcotic endorphins.  I guess that’s why, despite having more great music I love than I can ever re-listen to again, I still hungrily search out new music, or new to me music. 

 

Even though, I do not speak Spanish, I have found myself in love with many musical acts from Spain in recent years.  In 2016, Linda Guilala released a massive twenty song opus named Psiconáutica, which definitely set my imagination ablaze!  This was delivered via the long-time and most excellent Spanish indie label Elefant Records, whom I first learned about via Camera Obscura.  Elefant Records has introduced me to numerous pop bands since the turn of the century and is unsurprisingly now the home of the afore-mentioned Primitives.  Most recently, Elefant has introduced me to this spitfire of a foursome from Valencia: LISASINSON.

This is LISASINSON’s third album since 2020, so I am late to the game and have some catching up to do.  I was first introduced to them via their defiant sounding 2023 single “Chuchillos,” which is absolutely a stunner.  I’m not sure how I let their second LP get by me at that point.  Though that single led me to tracking down the string of incredible digital singles over the past year or so leading up to this new album: Desde Cuándo Todo.  I’ll be honest, despite growing up with German electronic music pioneers Kraftwerk as part of my young childhood soundtrack, vocals in a different language have often been a barrier for me.  However, with LISASINSON, I am finding that not knowing the language has freed me up to really let go and enjoy the music and not get so hung up on the words and their meaning.  Or, likely more accurately, I’m talking out of my ass, and their music is simply so infectious that I cannot resist it.

The album opens with the mid-tempo builder “Salgo A La Calle,” which bounces along a buoyant clean bass-line and explodes with color and intensity as the chorus hits.  Their indie pop or “punky pop” thrives in that 2-3 minute sweet spot and each song leaves me wanting to hear more. Their use of noisy guitar fuzz combined with bright simple keyboards as emphasis remind me of recent music from Australia’s rocket rules (their new collection Dearden’s Number is also highly recommended for a great musical start to 2026!), or Maxïmo Park when keyboardist Lukas Wooller was a big part of their sound, and of course there’s a massive influence of Spanish pioneers Linda Guilala (check out their 2014 song “Verano” for a head-spinning shot to the system). 

“Quiero Que Perdamos La Cabeza (Otra Vez)” comes on like a festive gang busking out the chorus at an open market, which becomes a through line for the entire two-plus minutes as it builds into a stomping banger that makes me feel like jumping around.  The exciting dance remix (also included here) is a nice bonus, as it smartly emphasizes the song’s frenetic and fun feel.

There are so many songs that are also fueled by pure adrenaline like the buzzing “Quiero Que Perdamos La Cabeza (Otra Vez)” and the truly punk drive of “Decidí Desaparecer,’ and the Heavenly-esque “No Quiero Envejecer,” and I cannot forget the power chord driven closer (before two remix tracks) “Si Todo Se Tuerce.”

 

However, I’m finding a huge draw to the more spacious and serious sounding bursts like the determined sounding “Desde Cuándo” and the brilliant “Si Me Pierdo,” whose contrasting verse and chorus brings back that good ole ‘LOUD/quiet/LOUD’ dynamic of early 90s indie-rock.  My favorite song here though is the dramatic “Me Acostumbré” and its powerful idling engine bass-line that climbs to a cymbal crashing chorus.  Much like the opening track “Salgo A La Calle,” this song builds with intensity and when that second vocal comes in late, shouting along with the original chorus vocal, it feels like a desperate heartbreaker.  Wow, what a song! And what an album!

 

Whatever the remainder of 2026 holds, I will always remember LISASINSON and how they helped pull me from an extended period of doldrums on the music front.  For that I am thankful.  If I’m not feeling a lot from music, then I’m not right.  Period.  Now, pardon me, while I go and listen to their earlier albums.  Meanwhile, I hope you are inspired to give their music a chance!

 

(https://lisasinson.bandcamp.com/album/desde-cu-ndo-todo)

 

LISASINSON  “Me Acostumbré”

 

Lullaby

My friend Jeff and I used to escape the campus of Pacific University in Forest Grove, Oregon by walking to the bus stop for Tri-Met line 57.  It was the final stop about 25 miles west of Portland.  We’d grab as much change as we could and try to get to Portland to visit cool record stores and such, despite the hour and a half trip each way.  If we had less time, or patience, we’d ride the 16 or so miles into Beaverton and go to Tower Records.  We needed to feel civilization.  Being on a small college campus in an isolated town that didn’t want to have anything to do with the college students back in 1989/90 was a little claustrophobic.  There was little to do, so we invented our own fun, and minor escapes.  During our treks to the bus stop near the mini mart and the Vac & Sew storefront, we generally sang exaggerated versions of songs that would pop into our heads. 

 

One of those songs was The Cure’s “Lullaby.”  It was never a huge favorite of mine from their catalogue, but our overly breathy version was, well, it was a thing.  The combination of the exaggerated gasping whispers and the attempts to stifle our laughter while performing this song for our own entertainment would lead to near hyperventilation.  If it wasn’t “Lullaby,” it might’ve been “Fire in Cairo,” or “Party of the First Part,” or “Debaser,” or “Cuts You Up,” for which I was convinced I had perfected the Peter Murphy croon, but I’m sure in reality I sounded more like a dying harbor seal barking out my misery.  Then there was the Jesus and Mary Chain’s “Sidewalking,” which included our repeating howls of “chilled to the bone” and an impossible contorted stroll that can only be described as a silly walk – Monty Python-style.  I would say, “You had to be there,” but it still likely would not have made any sense.  None of it ever made sense, but I will never forget those mini adventures and the laughs.

I woke up from a short fit of sleep recently having dreamt of spider webs.  They were everywhere.  Thick and sticky.  In my eyes and mouth.  Surrounding me enough to make me believe that a giant spider or a gang of ambitious regular sized spiders were hunting me.  I could feel the webs in my mouth and sticking to every part of my body as I tried to force my way through them.  There were layers and layers.

 

Legend has it that one of Robert Smith’s uncles would tell him nightmarish bed time stories about a spiderman that would eat sleeping children.  Was the “Spiderman” from “Lullaby” coming for me after all these years for making fun of the song? 

“On candy stripe legs the spiderman comes

Softly through the shadow of the evening sun

Stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead

Looking for the victim shivering in bed

Searching out fear in the gathering gloom and

Suddenly a movement in the corner of the room

And there is nothing I can do

When I realize with fright

That the spiderman is having me for dinner tonight”

I look back at those days with bewilderment.  I was fairly healthy and one of my biggest fears at that time was sleeping through my 8:30 am classes at college.  Sure, life wasn’t always fun and games, but a lot of my needs were met, I had new friends, my small insular world was expanding, and there wasn’t a lot of outside pressure.

Generally, I’m not one to read a lot into dreams.  If I’m dreaming about looking for a bathroom then, yes, I likely need to pee in real life and should wake up.  In this case though, the imagery is not lost on me.  I’m pretty sure that those webs represent my own inhibitions and shields that I’ve continued to build and maintain throughout my life. 

I’ve always been slow to trust and very wary of trying new things, especially if there’s potential danger.  And by danger, I mean everything from falling from a tree fort, or flying off jumps on my first dirt bike, to opening myself up for emotional damage from failed relationships.  For the most part, I’ve kept to myself, which has always felt safer and frankly, comfortable.  It can get lonely sometimes, but I’m not so bad at keeping myself company most of the time.  As a kid, I never fully embraced being away from home.  Never felt comfortable sleeping over anywhere.  I preferred spending time with friends and then going home.  I’m still that way.

After years of medical issues that have caused a lot of damage, I am feeling like I’ve isolated myself into a deep, dark hole full of those sticky webs that will not allow me to escape.  It’s frustrating, because I’ve been this way for so long, that I am not sure how to remedy this self-entrapment.  The older and unhealthier I get, the more I realize that I cannot do this alone anymore.  I need help, but I don’t know specifically what help I need or how to ask.  I feel like I’ve alienated a lot of friends who have offered help, by declining, but I do not know how to relinquish control of every aspect of my being, or what to ask for, and I don’t know how accept the idea that I’m anything but a nuisance or burden, if I reach out for help.  Pride is a bitch.

 

Self-hatred would likely have happened anyway, but it took a dark turn after having a few serious abdominal surgeries before I turned 20.  I do not feel proud of my scars like well-adjusted people do for having toughed things out.  I feel mutilated like some sort of Frankenstein’s Monster.  Back then though, I suppose I had enough belief that eventually I’d pull myself free of my self-imposed shackles and not be ashamed of my physical being.  It has never happened.  Shame and embarrassment has only expanded with age and numerous hardcore medications.  Steroids, chemo drugs, immune suppressants, and numerous cholesterol and blood pressure medications have helped me morph into some kind of pale doughy crippled Sasquatch.  I feel humiliated.  Ashamed.  I could go on and on.

 

Shit.  This got dark real quick. 

What I’m trying to say is that I think this dream led me to some self-reflection and a full honest realization of how I’ve sabotaged myself over the years as part of my unfortunate lifelong unhealthy journey.  Emotionally, I do not know how to handle it anymore.  My poor social skills have caught up with me leading to isolation and difficulty navigating some of the few friendships I have remaining.  I spend so much time with medical professionals that they have essentially become my social circle, which is incredibly unhealthy.  When I move on from a physical therapist or a specialist having completed some kind of arbitrarily sanctioned insurance coverage.  I get incredibly sad, because these people are no longer part of my life.  

As I mentioned above, I seem to reject offers of help.  I do not know what to ask for, and by the time I do have a specific need, I struggle to send out a request, nor do I want to give up control and my privacy.  The nature of my health issues stems from a genetic disorder that never seems to end, as long as I keep surviving.  So, the same things that were making my life hell in 1991, are still affecting me – only it’s expanded and become more all-encompassing.  I feel embarrassed and reluctant to keep complaining to those I love about the same old shit.  Nothing has changed.  The disorder is unrelenting.  I often get “what now?” reactions when I attempt to communicate my problems to others.  How do I make it clear that I live with this stuff every day and have most of my life?  It doesn’t go away.  It is a part of who I am. 

What’s funny is that intellectually I recognize that I self-shame myself into oblivion.  I am proud of my survival on a certain level.  Not a level that’s high enough for me to prevent me from feeling like a waste and a failure.  I can recognize this kind of defeatist attitude in others when they manifest it and I can come up with compelling arguments as to why they shouldn’t punish themselves that way.  Apparently, these arguments do not apply to me.  Is it possible to turn things around?  Is it possible to undo a lifetime of mental sabotage?  Is it possible to fend off the spiderman?  Do I want to fend off the spiderman, or do I want to give up?

 

Piqued

 

Jeffrey Runnings

Piqued

(Independent Project)

Apologies in advance for this self-indulgent opening.  My introduction to Jeffrey Runnings’ music happened late in 1990 via his incredible US postpunk band For Against.  Runnings was their vocalist and bassist and their only consistent member from 1984-2009.  I had heard of For Against, but had not heard them.  I remember reading a brief write up about a 10” EP release that was hyper limited.  Everything about it intrigued me, but I kind of assumed I would never run across it due to its limited nature.  Lucky that we had Ooze Records – a small record shop just off Burnside in SW Portland.  It was an amazing store that looked like it had been a former one chair barber shop.  At that time they seemed to carry everything that I could ever be interested in.  They had that For Against In the Marshes 10” EP.  It stood out.  The cover had a green image looking up through trees.  It had a similar quiet beauty that I loved about New Order’s album art – a band I purchased originally unheard and based on record sleeve design alone, before discovering their prior incarnation as Joy Division and their even better cover designs.   In other words, the packaging evoked the same kind of artistic spirit as UK record labels such as 4AD and Factory, both of whom I essentially worshipped.  This was different though.  I was in love with the otherworldly aesthetic that these labels put into their designs, and this was on an LA based label: Independent Project Records.  That otherworldly aspect was not just the beautiful design and packaging.  The six songs on the EP were incredibly special.  Upon first listen, I felt completely transported.  There were postpunk songs like “Amnesia” and “Amen Yves” that captured both a pop sensibility and a certain dark and mysterious intensity kind of like Movement era New Order.  However, it was the more experimental mostly instrumental tracks that struck me the most.  “Tibet” and “The Purgatory Salesman” had an atmosphere that melted into my psyche and transported me to the nether regions of my imagination.  It reminded me of 4AD’s Dif Juz, but better and more impactful.  I played this combination of songs over and over again!

 

 In the Marshes was a total music game changer for me.  This release was the first entry into Independent Project’s Archive Series.  The Archive Series was to be a monthly subscription of releases collecting previously unheard recordings by IPR related artists - none of whom I was familiar with.  These records would all be immaculately packaged in limited number editions with artistic sleeves on 10” colored vinyl.  This not only enticed my ever-expanding search for great under heard music, but my collector nerd desires.  I immediately and impatiently subscribed and was assigned my own number for each release (0340).  All of the Archive Series releases that ensued over the following few years are priceless treasures both as visual art pieces, but as mind expanding music!  Those records are very personal to me, and they introduced me to artists that I still treasure to this day.  These transactions only intensified my desire and interest in music.  It was through this new connection learned about the incredible NY band Springhouse (IPR’s founder Bruce Licher designed their debut album’s cover art), which then led me to their drummer’s long time music fanzine The Big Takeover, whose bi-annual epic tomes still inform my musical journey in 2025.  When I say this was a game changer, I mean it.  That curious purchase of In the Marshes planted a seed that truly expanded my horizons for good.

Piqued is Jeffrey Runnings’ second solo effort and sadly his last.  Runnings passed away earlier this year and this album is a posthumous release and an amazing tribute to his impressive legacy.  For Against, out of Nebraska, were an oddity.  A rare UK inspired postpunk band who created dense tension filled emotive songs that masterfully encapsulated a dream pop accessibility and an experimental melancholy that rivaled anything their influences doled out.  Their eight albums were all incredible, and in my opinion, their final two (Shade Side Sunny Side 2008; Never Been 2009) proved to be among their best.  Runnings reappeared with his first solo effort in 2016 with Primitives and Smalls, an album that never worked for me.  There’s definitely promise in those songs, but the recordings felt like they needed his band to flesh them out and give them depth.  To be honest it was an unsatisfying LP coming from an artist I had admired for so long.

 

That’s part of why Piqued is such a bittersweet album.  It’s as if Runnings had found his footing again as an artist after giving up his musical ambitions and recording songs at home for himself.  The wonderful tribute essay by Camilla Aisa included in this stunning IPR letterpress package details how Runnings had been on a life long journey to find certain simple sounds that evoke the most feeling.  This is what drew me so strongly to the esoteric side of In the Marshes.  I feel a kinship with his sound goals, as a listener.  Runnings employs older recording equipment here and the result sounds completely unique in the best of ways.  This mostly instrumental collection is captivating.  The songs sound well-worn and dusty, instead of sounding crisp, clean and pristine like so many instrumental recordings, these songs sound well-worn, disheveled, and even murky at times.  It all sounds so human.  This aesthetic boosts these tracks with character, mystery, and depth.  They make me want to know more.  As I mentioned above, they capture my imagination, drawing me into their unspoken stories.

“Batman Forever” was the first song presented after Runnings’ passing, and to be honest, I was a little wary – worried that it would sound incomplete.  However, instead it is a quiet statement of love and trust as he repeats “You’re the one I want to be there.”  It’s quite touching and listening to it now is bringing a lot of heavy emotions to the surface.  The other vocal song “Heretofore” is one of his great For Against style songs that is both catchy and deeply evocative.

My favorites of the instrumentals are “Threadbare” and its dirty sounding drum machine beat underneath washes of uncomfortable sounds; and “Failed Rescue Attempt,” which has a quiet intensity that is disconcerting, yet endlessly intriguing.  I enjoy his use of piano throughout, as his mournful keystrokes provide a powerful mystique to songs like “Glorious Grey” and “Elegy.”

This is not your usual instrumental style album.  Piqued is unique.  To some it may sound rough, but to me it sounds like adventure, exotic locations, and interesting dreams.  I feel close to these songs, because they feel like they are what I would want to create, if I had even a smidgeon of talent.  Plus I feel a heavy nostalgia thinking back to that discovery of For Against nearly 35 years ago and how important that mind and life expanding charge that followed really was. 

(https://jeffreyrunnings.bandcamp.com/album/piqued)

(For Against: https://foragainst.bandcamp.com/?search_item_id%3D1719706806%26search_item_type%3Db%26search_match_part%3D%253F%26search_page_id%3D4652100611%26search_page_no%3D0%26search_rank%3D1=)

 

Jeffrey Runnings "Heretofore"