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.”

 

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?

 

Only When I Sleep

 

These Sleeping Hands

Only When I Sleep

(self-released)

London band These Sleeping Hands released their debut album Only When I Sleep a month a ago and it quickly became a favorite, but it was a surprise.  I first heard their song “Starfall” via streaming radio station DKFM (DJ Amber Crain specifically) and I really liked it.  To me, in that blind moment, it had a classic dream pop sound.  I liked it enough to briefly peruse each song on the album via their Bandcamp page.  It all sounded good, so I purchased the download.  However, once I actually took the time to give the album a close listen, it didn’t sound much like the early impression I had.  

“Starfall” is a bright, shiny, catchy pop tune, but not in the way I first believed.  It’s also heavy and dense.  The bass guitar rumbles and a thick fuzz moves the song from verse to chorus with intensity and purpose.  The vocals are buried in this mix and become more of an atmospheric and melodic element, yet it’s done in a way that feels exactly right.  I’m not sure what I first heard before in those early introductions.  Instead of the sweet candy tunes of say early Lush that I imagined, These Sleeping Hands have a lot more in common with Slow Crush without the heavy metal-isms.  I would be happy with either direction.  It’s a mystery at how much I mischaracterized them, but it goes to show how easy how easy it is to misjudge a band or artist by rushing through and not really listening. 

“Puddles” is far from a pop tune with its dark crawling sound that hints at Slowdive with its broken air compressor sound and comforting warmth.  It kind of reminds me of the peace within noise from Sonic Youth’s “Providence.”  There are three instrumental tracks here too.  The opening “Longing & Aching” is simply a wash of sound that intensifies for its minute of duration.  However, “Can’t Stop Now Kid” and “Blissful” are huge triumphs and highlights.  The best rock instrumentals have heavy doses of dramatics and dynamics to insure that we don’t miss the vocals and these two both bring those in spades.  “Can’t Stop Now Kid” highlights some amazing heavily reverbed almost bluesy e-bowed guitar passes on top of restless rises and falls of the unrelenting rhythm section, while “Blissful” comes in with an epic darkness and builds momentum as its trudging roar slowly increases in volume and density.  Both of these songs provide wonderful visuals for the mind to get lost in.

The LP’s heart lies from “Ruby Had a Mirror” (track three) to “Beyond” (track six).  “Ruby Had a Mirror” has a melancholic unchanging kind of vibe with unusual feedback howls painting an abstract journey through the song.  Then “Starfall” comes in with its soaring majesty, followed by the stellar “Can’t Stop Now Kid,” which reminds me of one of my all-time favorite rock instrumentals “Awesome Sky” by postpunk band Moving Targets, and then lastly, is “Beyond,” which might be the most shoegazey with its Labradford like haze of drone, the burbling bassline, and beautiful vocals giving the song its melodic direction.  Every song is great here.  I love the twin songs “Nighthawks” and  “Broken Hearts Club” that bookend what would be side two providing a unity to the proceedings.

Although I appreciate the brevity of these songs, many of them beg for more space.  Grander finishes.  To me, “Beyond” could go on forever, and there are other moments that feel like they end a bit abruptly.  This is a minor issue though.  When I said before that this album was not like what I imagined, it was a pleasant surprise.  I think that it has a stronger impact than what my initial impression was.  This is definitely worth one’s time and hopefully a band to follow in the future! 

(https://thesesleepinghands.bandcamp.com/album/only-when-i-sleep)

These Things Happen

 

It was another cold, misty summer day in the coastal town of Lincoln City, Oregon.  I had recently turned twenty and I was feeling lost.  I was back in my small home town after dropping out of college.  My life was a mess.  I was trying to recover from a poorly done and ill-conceived double nephrectomy during the spring and my mom was struggling through kidney dialysis three days a week at clinic about an hour away and her condition was worsening.  I was working, but only minimal daytime hours.

I was lost.  Numb.  Listless.  Directionless.  So, what did I do?  I finished work and drove south to the lone record store in town.  Driftwood Mac.  Mike had been running the store for several years by that point, but I don’t think anyone knew how it survived.  I’m glad he persevered as long as he did.  It was a home of sorts.  Music and the records and CDs that contained that music were my comfort.  I loved the artwork, the smell, the feel, the sounds, and the information.  Mike was busy painting the walls of the shop.  He did this often, as well as rearranging the display racks.  The shop was rarely in the same position as the previous visit.  It never took long, before the old unchanging inventory would reveal itself.  Mike had a vast collection of 60s psychedelic band H.P. Lovecraft, as well as a strangely prolific stock of 80s American punk label SST’s discography, as well as imports from the arty UK label 4AD Records.  That’s what was so strange about his inventory is that it catered to a very small niche of music fans.  One might think that he would’ve stocked the current top 40 style artists and would’ve plastered his walls and displays with ephemera dedicated to the hit makers.  However he managed to survive, he did, and I am thankful. 

 

On that particular day, he slipped a CD into my hand, as I perused his strong supply of Dinosaur Jr. colored vinyl.  The CD was a record label compilation.  It had a very simple design.  White with an aqua flavored green font and picture.  It was named Glass Arcade and the record label was Sarah Records.  He had done this to me before.  He had given me a Flying Nun Records compilation named In Love with These Times that blew my mind!  Even at that point, a couple of years later, I was still learning new to me artists by referencing that CD.  I don’t remember if I purchased this recommendation, or if he gave it to me.  He simply told me that I would like it.  By the time I returned to my childhood room, the mist had become so thick and heavy outside that everything was soaked and it was difficult to see.  I put this unassuming CD into my player and shuffled stuff around my room, opened the window blinds and the window allowing the cool damp air into my bedroom.  The dimming light of the evening was shrouded by heavy clouds, yet a crack of sunlight emitted a haunting golden glow from the west horizon.   I laid back onto my bed and let the sound of The Field Mice’s “Holland Street” envelop me.

 

Glass Arcade included no dates, only a couple of murky green photographs, and the band names of song titles for the sixteen songs.  I did not know of any of these artists, or songs, but damn the first few songs not only felt like they fit perfectly together, but also fit the gloomy weather.  This was my definition of rainy day music.  This music was reflective, thoughtful, and quietly inventive.  I absolutely loved it!  

What was this?  This music was a timeless collection of songs from an alternate universe, where introspection is valued and introverts are the most important target audience.  I listened intently as every song played, and then began the disc again and then again.  I immediately began planning mixtapes to make that included a lot of these songs paired with similar things I had discovered in the few years leading up to this moment.  Some of those early Creation Records bands, some of the 4AD artists like the Cocteau Twins, and my favorite songs by The Go-Betweens.  I felt inspired by this mysterious music.

 

It would be a couple years before I learned that the occasional Sarah Records release that I would purchase were actually new and that this music was currently being made.  I hadn’t been sure if these were artifacts from another period of time.  I felt like I had been pretty knowledgeable about music, yet this entire Sarah thing had alluded me.

I’m currently reading These Things Happen: The Sarah Records Story by author Jane Duffus (https://www.janeduffus.com/sarah-records).  I’ve had the book for about a year and a half, but am just now getting to it, and I am reading its finely detailed account of the label and the co-conspirators involved incredibly slowly.  It’s a well written book and completely thorough, immersive and enjoyable (for Sarah Records fans especially).  I am savoring it.  Not only am I a huge fan of the label and most of the artists who recorded for them, but I am a huge fan of the inspiration that this fandom provided me. 

It was that punk rock thing.  The Do It Yourself thing that was cool.  Not the DIY corporate sloganeering that defined home makeover design media in the early 00s, but the make the shit you like – anyone can do it idea that Punk rock first brought about.  Don’t like what you hear on the radio, then make your own music.  The music of Sarah and the way the label tried to go about things by being fair to their artists and fans by trying to avoid the sexist greed and depravity of the rock-n-roll institution was not just noteworthy, but admirable.  Sarah, along with many small indie labels such as K, Slumberland, Pop Narcotic, SpinArt, Teen-Beat, Simple Machines, and Independent Project Records, helped me feel a part of a community.  I’ve never been a scenester.  I have always been reluctant to fall in with a particular insular music scene.  Yet with artists, labels, and mail order distributers all over the western world introducing me to terrific music, it felt like my world was expanding and that somehow I was part of it.  No, I wasn’t making music, but I was helping spread the word and supporting those who did.  It was rewarding and exciting!  I was corresponding with people all across the globe on a very personal level, instead of just memorizing their names from record sleeves as I listened to their music.  Nearly every day I was receiving 7” singles, demo tapes, letters, or postcards in the mail.  This was what inspired me to start writing and to (mistakenly) believe that my voice was valid.  Even though my world was growing through this indie music stuff, it also felt smaller.  Suddenly, I fely=t important.  Everything was not so daunting.  It helped me realize that there are lost souls everywhere and we can bond over our shared sensibilities.  It wasn’t long after Mike introduced me to the Glass Arcade compilation that the idea of This Wreckage was born.   Who would’ve thought I’d be still trying to make it interesting 34 years later?  

Whatever the case, reading about how immersive the Sarah devotees were back when the label was active (1987-1995), reminded me to go back and listen to my introduction and how it made me feel then.  It still inspires me as much as the music gives me those rainy day vibes.  Yes, there’s a lot of nostalgia there, as I miss the idealism and the innocence of my own youth.  It makes me wonder if it’s not just me losing that fire with age, or if we as a whole have.  I’m savoring the book because I do want those feelings back and listening to these old songs helps. 

 

Stab!

 

Stab!

(VÅRØ/Kanine)

Sweden’s Agent blå blend a unique brand of post-punk.  Their sound reminds me of those early 80s pioneering post-punk artists in spirit, yet with their own take.  It’s a difficult sound to pin down, but I sure love trying as I’ve been playing their third LP, Stab!, a ton since its release back in April – nearly five full years after their second full length back in 2019.  Emelie Alatalo’s versatile and mysterious vocals are once again rich and endlessly intriguing – landing somewhere between Isabel Monteiro (Drugstore) and the legendary Siouxsie Sioux and I have been trying to come up with a way to describe this album in order to find a way to express my enthusiasm and do it any kind of justice. 

 

From the brief opening self-titled instrumental that merges into the beautifully meandering “Ebb and Flow,” one thing is clear the band has been honing their craft.  The rhythm section has retained their special connection by coming up with tension building push and pull arrangements that definitely ebb and flow, but now there’s a lot of stellar piano melodies guiding these songs in a similar way as the early Tears for Fears albums. 

 

Normally I am allergic to using very specific genre categorizations of bands, because of artists like this.  They are conjuring up something that feels different to me.  Unique.  “The Fascination of Self-Sabotage” lifts off with soaring guitars like an early 80s UK post-punk band, while “Mind Mapping” gives off a Goth vibe with its vague lyrics alluding to some kind of separation and its resulting consequences.  Whatever the case, it’s my favorite on an album that continues to impress and grow on me.

 

 So much to love here.  The propulsive drive and whirlee keyboard sound of “Discount” acts as a straight-forward tune with a very ghostly atmosphere, while “Whatever You Want” might be their poppiest song to date as it tries to work out intimate communication details over a buoyant beat.

 

As I imagined, I’m failing to do a workable job at conveying the power of this album.  It is all too brief, it’s well crafted, and dare I say underrated?  These are the kind of songs that have always fed my soul.  The kind of songs that guide one through rainy days that exacerbate troubling times, yet offer understanding.  The words are supportive and the music comforting by way of that understanding.  Instead of continuing to ramble on aimlessly, I will be direct.  I highly recommend Stab! Allow it a chance to work its magic.

 

(https://agentblasweden.bandcamp.com/album/stab)

Agent bla "Discount"