Thursday, June 10, 2004

Oh, I'm just not in the mood for a No Wave Friday. Let's start a revolution, join a youth club, burn down society and replace it with a new one based on love and books and passion and movies and soul! Just don't pay quite so much attention to our lyrics, if that's ok. Thank you. You're a dear. May I present Comet Gain!

Probably a band everyone should have as a part of their life. Rent that copy of Ciao! Manhattan? Like hell! Own it or nothing. Say no to strangers signing shrinkwrapped CDs at the Virgin Mega! I want the Comet Gain to play at my local club every weekend, every day, while I gobble deep-fried Mars bars and drink the local brew that'll never be English ('cause we're not in England) and talk about the things that matter with the girl who matters.

[We only get to see them at the Knitting Factory a few years back, when they swing by with Girlfrendo (who have a cold) and Sportique.]

Nonetheless, the show sears itself into my brain like the stripes on David's sweater and the gleam in his eyes and the light that reflects off of his nearly-tuned guitar, soaring back over the heads of the faithful as if it might escape onto Leonard Street, turn left, and forge a new beginning on the shores of the Hudson, far from home.

If they set a single toe back on our shores, I'll be camping out on the ticket line with nothing but a book on French cinema and a transistor radio, listening to crackly Northern soul classics beamed from a rickety pirate station somewhere in the unknown.

So let's Say Yes! for These Are The Dreams Of The Working Girls and they may very well be ours too. Grab my hand as we walk those final Steps To The Sea. Join me while we eulogize Pier Angeli and reveal those liars -- the ones who draw lines between twee and soul and twee and country and, um, twee and authenticity -- as the frauds we always knew they were. Join me on the Shining Path (Peru? Gesundheit!) and kick away those pills and taboos that drag us down (the booze must have gone to my head). God knows why, but Comet Gain believe in you and they believe in me.

And if someone wants to tear away the curtain, question our motives, and snarl that the production on all of the other albums could stand to be nudge better... "To hell with them!" we'll shout. You lose your whole band and make an album as feisty as Realistes and we'll have something to talk about.

To be continued...some glorious day.

[Notes: all today's tracks from Sneaky, which is the place to start. Photos here. Pitchfork is, sadly, right on the money with this, except for any references to Sonic Youth, which are bizarre.]

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