June 20, 2012
Yesterday:
Wrote about the Zimmermans getting busted for perjury and how the aid of white supremacy can feel like personal investment or interest.
While attempting to review it, I discovered that Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie becomes a 1000x better album if you simply remove the 7 worst songs. I call the remaining album Supposed Perfect Infatuation Junkie, because it is a fucking scream.
I wrote 2000+ words yesterday on, essentially, not having writers block anymore. Then I posted it somewhat late at night, because of course I did.
Then I tried to record this semi-funny bit I wrote out about Adam Carolla being a terrible comic, but I couldn’t get it exactly right so I scrapped it. The main point was that he telegraphs his jokes and all his punchlines are just him yelling something.
Ooo, which songs do you take out?
I remember the first time I listened to that album. It’s kind of hilarious. Two of my close friends at school were huge fans of Jagged little pill. I quite liked it but they regarded my views on it with disdain because I preferred All I really want and Mary Jane and had therefore missed the point (the point being pain and anger and shouting). I guess we were all about fifteen or sixteen when Supposed former infatuation junkie came out. It came out on a school day — a Friday, I think — and after school the three of us went to the nearest record shop and each bought a copy. I wasn’t sure I really wanted it but I didn’t want to be The One Who Doesn’t Appreciate Alanis again. The cashier was understandably amused at this little procession of teenage posh boys in school uniform queueing up to buy angsty Canadian girlmusic. I was the last in the queue. ’Going for the hat-trick?’ said the cashier.
We went back to the house of the one of us who had been the first to discover Alanis, and we sat there and listened silently and reverently to the whole CD. I found it confusing and rather unpleasant. When it finished nobody said anything. I certainly wasn’t going to be the first one to speak. Eventually one of the others said, ‘What the hell was that?’ and we all agreed, each of us relieved not to be the only one who hadn’t liked it. I was still cautious and reserved. They denounced the album as if it were a personal betrayal.
When we next saw each other at school the others were a bit sheepish. We’d each listened to the album again a few times over the weekend, now released from the pressure of needing it to be the greatest thing ever and of needing to have the right opinion about it. We’d each realized that actually it had some pretty good stuff on it, it’s just that it was too long and weirdly sequenced and wasn’t trying to be a collection of pop songs.
I haven’t seen those friends for many many years. I realized in our last year of school that they enjoyed being bitter and angry and what they wanted in a friend was someone to endorse and reinforce their bitterness and anger, someone to talk to about how everyone else was stupid and pointless and worthy of contempt. They didn’t mean it a lot of the time, but they enjoyed performing it. I was still fond of them: they were my friends. But I didn’t want to be part of that dynamic, and I knew that as long as I declined to join them in despising other people, I would always suspect that they secretly despised me too. I liked them much better when they were apart from each other, but even then it felt like they would rather be spending time with someone who was angry.
So when we left school I didn’t keep in touch. I’ve grown to appreciate Alanis’ angry, wounded songs more than I used to. In fact some of my favourites on Supposed former infatuation junkie are the more vitriolic ones. But I like So Pure too, and I still like Mary Jane on Pill, and I still have a voice in my head telling me that this means I’m doing it wrong.
(Source: deadlyvibes, via garlandgrey-deactivated20120712)
