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Originally Posted by noisereductions
you should. Clearly I have terrible taste and I'm going to subject you guys to me talking about 150 horrible albums. Seriously. All 150 are just bad. And the worst part? There's no way that you can just ignore it when someone posts about something you don't like! You'll have no option but to sit there and read my thoughts on 150 wretched albums. Buckle up.
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HEY, COOL IT, LADY!
Alright, here's a little story that illustrates my ANTI-
groovy, maaan, whatever floats your canoe approach:
Back when I was in college, some classmates got together to come up with a few coins to buy this other cat music for his birthday. Said cat was of that strange type liked by everybody: shy, never a ding dong to anyone, smart, always up for a bit of fútbol between classes, etc. So when I found out about the birthday operation, I said of course, very cool, here's what I can contribute — so pray tell, what music are you getting for him? The answer gave me the fucking willies: I won't name the bands because I would vomit all over the keyboard, but it was unacceptable repugnant wretched ultraderivative local
SHIT. I told them, Christ on a stick, come on, why are you doing this to him?! And they said, well, THIS is what he likes! Which, unfortunately, was true.
So I thought, fuck this. I'm not giving you any fucking money. I'm gonna make him my own fucking present. And from then on, I started giving him tapes (yes, cassette tapes, that's what we had back then, you Spotifuckers) regularly, twice a week or so, of sheer awesomeness. Guy didn't know anything outside the
SHIT, so it had to be a mix between the then-recently (or recently-ish) released and the older building blocks.
Pleased To Meet Me.
Exile On Main St. Peel Slowly And See.
Car Wheels On A Gravel Road.
Daydream Nation.
Time Out Of Mind.
Marquee Moon. Elvis'
The Sun Sessions.
Being There. Otis Redding's
Live In Europe.
Zen Arcade. John Coltrane's
Impressions.
Horses.
Fear Of A Black Planet.
Music For Airports.
Dirty Mind.
Eli And The Thirteenth Confession.
Dig Me Out. And so on and so forth. My collection certainly wasn't as rich as it is today; I didn't have the lovely obscurities which also happen to be key to the cooliosity continuum, but I did what I could with what I had.
Fast-forward approximately two decades (yikes). He left the
SHIT far behind. He developed his own fine taste. Like me, he doesn't stay in touch with the mediocrity perpetuators (OK, so they meant well, but they were mooks all the same). And even though we don't see each other that often (he's got a wife and a baby and a real job now, the silly man), we have attended several concerts together and we're still very good friends, better than we were back in the goddamn day.