Jamie Stewart’s music is very difficult to absorb. The beating heart of Xiu Xiu, his music is a depressing explosion of teen angst and horrific life circumstances with little regard to pop music structure. In fact Xiu Xiu can be said to be one huge hissy fit against pop music.
Up along the rocks
It’s good. It’s not so hard.
I bite my tongue.
Who cares? This chance to drop off.
“Apistat Commander” starts out with a quiet pulsing beat topped with a forlorn melody whispered ever so quietly by Stewart. After the first verse and chorus, a burst of popping percussion pierces the serenity hinting at the chaos that is to come. Even though the chaos of the chorus is expected, what happens is completely out of left field.
Instead of a tirade that destroys the world, what we get is a Spector-esque wall of sound with Stewart wailing ever so melodically. Instead of a jarring experience it’s the epitome of catharsis rarely accomplished in music.
All that you left, you left for someone.
All of this life that’s wilted on.
Oh this relief it’s the hardest thing.
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.
This song was perfect when it came out in February 2003. We were already in Afghanistan and were getting ready to invade Iraq. The world was a very polarizing place to be in.
Just days before the album was released, millions of people around the U.S. and the world rallied to protest the inevitable war and the level of deceit that polluted the world. I attended the protest in Hollywood marching down Hollywood Blvd. before snaking to the corner of Sunset Blvd. and Vine St. for a rally featuring Gore Vidal, Susan Sarandon and other celebrities.
I hadn’t eaten the whole day and during the rally looked to walk back to my car. As I was walking out there was a splinter protest group filled with wannabe anarchists who started clashing with the police. The police were starting to arrest people, and I just made a bee-line the other way. No way I was going to be arrested on an empty stomach.
As I was walking away, I heard a policeman scream, “Hey you! In the red Che shirt! Get back here!”
Fuck. But I figured if they really wanted me, they would run and grab me. They didn’t. So I went through a side street and managed to get to my car.
With all the media coverage that night, it felt a bit empowering. I was a part of something that made a statement, made an imprint in this huge world of ours. But then to hear the Bush administration dismiss it and plunge head-first into war, I realized just how impotent we really were. Politics is just a farce giving people the illusion of having power. See Plato’s Allegory of the Cave.
So Xiu Xiu’s music really touched me. It was a cathartic way to yell against this machine. It probably is just as effective as the protests, but at least it was more fun.
The only reason I really look forward to my birthday is that I get time off from work and that I usually rent an Airbnb out in the middle of the desert in the Joshua Tree vicinity with a pool, hot tub, and no one around for 5 acres. So here I am in Landers (or a bit away from it really) whose claim to fame was that it was the epicenter of a 7.3 earthquake in 1992 just hours before a separate 6.5 earthquake centered in Big Bear hit on a Sunday morning. Wild stuff.
I arrived here yesterday, and on the way had to stop to get gas. Since this stupid fucking illegal war with Iran has driven gas prices sky high again, I’ve mostly been back on public transit again because, fuck that. There I was at the Arco station jaw agape as the $30 went to $40 and on up until it landed at $72 for 13 gallons of gas. Yes, the “cheap” gas.
I’m going to be spending most of the time in or around the pool trying to finish Schattenfroh by Michael Lentz. I’m at around page 604, so I have about 400 more pages to go. I’ll be honest — I have no fucking clue what’s going on in the book. It’s a slow, slow read and demands your attention but not in a painstaking way. It’s a very enjoyable read, but I honestly don’t know how we get from one part to the next. Instead of trying to make sense of it, I’m just riding the wave, going where it’s taking me and try to make sense of it later.
I’ve started working on a couple of things with myself and hope to get better at as I begin my 48th year on this planet: I have started to journal more. It’s the most mundane scatterbrained thing. I hope it doesn’t cause someone’s head to explode when they go through my journals after I’m dead. (How cute. I think I have any importance that people will actually read what I write rather than just dispose it like they should.)
I need to curb my YouTube addiction. I don’t watch tv shows. I don’t watch sports all that much. I don’t use TikTok. I only doomscroll through Facebook at 3 am after I have woken up to take a piss. I am no longer perpetually online. But I will sit down and waste hours upon hours watching YouTube videos. I really need to get that in check.
That’s all I’ve got. Overall, I’m not happy, but I’m not completely depressed. Let’s just call it nonplussed. For someone who feels like a stranger in his own country, I guess that’s about as good as we can hope for.
Occasionally, after reading certain books, when his disgust for daily life became particularly marked, he longed for the lenitive hours immersed in a cloister…
There is just a clause in the above sentence in the first chapter for J.-K. Huysman’s The Damned (Là-Bas) that really stuck out to me: “when his disgust for daily life became particularly marked.”
I had to go back to work today after two weeks off. The first week I did a road trip that culminated in being in a cabin for two days in Choteau, Montana that had a hot tub. It was nice to sit in the hot jets while it was 18F (-8C) outside. Then I meandered my way home before just doing nothing for the second week. Just sitting with my cats, sleep, and tell myself I was going to mop my floors before doing none of that.
After these weeks of doing a whole bunch of nothing, to my horror it was time to go back to work. The dread of walking into my office which I liken to a monkey cage at the zoo, plugging in my laptop and opening Outlook. Emails filled with complaints. That was the dread that was inside of me.
So I get it when Huysman’s protagonist Durtal has a “disgust for daily life.” It’s certainly reassuring that not a lot has changed over the last 130 or so years.