State of the Nation

I was struck as the start of 2011 began with its usual flurry of brow-beating and pseudo-reflection by the reaction to our President presenting his State of the Nation speech. In contrast to the seeming reaction to Barack Obama's similar address (although, admittedly, I am not privy to personal reactions in the States- to which there was seeming consternation as to how the year's problems would be addressed), here the announcement of the speech was greeted with an unusual eagerness. Politics, although deeply ground into our psyche as a nation, is a sphere largely ignored by the middle-class for the reason of their being profoundly in the minority, and beaten into resignation that there is little use in speaking in face of the inevitability that the overwhelming masses will determine the course of any vote. I can hear the politicians and political students leaping to their feet in protest at such a negative opinion, but a cynic I remain. But I digress, as together with the announcement of the President's Speech, came invitations as students flocked together to eagerly press their faces to a TV. With alcohol in hand. The rules were numerous, but simple, with the sole aim, as is the wont of all university students, to drink oneself into a stupor. For example, each time Mr. Zuma "ummed or ahhed", one had to drink, each time he pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, one had to drink, and pauses were timed to determine drinking time. I forget the bulk of the rules, but I can confirm that there were a considerable number to ensure that there was much drinking to be done.

I would not presume to try and create a drinking game from some premise contained here (although, suggestions are welcome), but I was attracted by the delivery of some sort of a similar address in my capacity as President of Nobody's Business But My Own. Illusions of grandeur I will admit to, but nonetheless, I have to concede to being profoundly disappointed by the slew of albums that have greeted the start of 2011. This was to the extent that I found myself glorying in classic releases rather, being profoundly moved by the brilliance of the Allman Brothers Live at Fillmore East, and the guitar hystrionics of an early Buddy Guy. Bright Eyes' The People's Key struck me as unfocused as Conor Oberst struggled to move away from his country rocker facade towards a more proggy, rock influenced performer. An intermittent album, in all the senses this can be thought of. Girls' Broken Dreams EP was a brief flame, as this band does promise much, although EP's are difficult to gauge and their sound is one that can bleed into itself after a while; the Decemberists' The King Is Dead also displayed a band trying a new style which sort of works without being something to rave about, and the comment that it is a little too polished is apt; and there were a slew of Slumberland C86 revival style bands, and garage rock that have possibly overworn their welcome and failed to greatly inspire. The Drive-By Truckers' The Go-Go Boots sees the band resorting to country and funk, with varying results, and Iron & Wine returned with Kiss Each Other Clean which I am sad to report was always going to be marked as the album after The Shepherd's Dog. And the 90's revivalist bands seem to be strong this year, with Yuck and Mr. Dream, never mind the curious mix of Built to Spill and Northwest indie which is marked on Hello Echo's Hello.

But top of the pile, sadly, must be Radiohead's King of Limbs, which the more I try to listen to, instils me with profound disappointment. It is only my opinion, as others certainly purportedly hear something which I do not, and this is to my detriment perhaps. However, I cannot shake the fact that the album does not inspire me, which is sad as I feel like a shark that must continue to roam to keep alive.

There has been a brief revival however, with the excellent release by J. Mascis in Several Shades of Why which sees the 90's maestro pairing down his acoustic guitar to meet his croaking voice. And notable mention must go to the Dum Dum Girls' He Gets Me High EP, and Bonnie Prince Billy & the Cairo Gangs' Island Brothers despite these both being EP releases that promise a taste but are unable to sate. And I was mightily impressed with the cohesion of vision on Kurt Vile's Smoke Ring For My Halo, the buzzing exuberance of Cloud Nothings' self-titled release, and Surf City's Kudos. 

I have omitted a number of releases, there is considerably more that has passed across my earphones, but sadly I cannot really say that I have found my figurehead release for 2011 thus far. Impatience on my part, possibly, but for any person who listens to a lot of music, there are always going to be those albums to which one cannot listen to enough. It might not be popular, or even cool, but for whatever reason an album evokes some emotion. Within my fugue, however, I am prone to fussing, and so the thought struck me as to whether or not I actually know what I want to hear. After little soul searching, I came to the conclusion that I rarely know what I want, but in some comfort to myself, I am not sure that anyone does. It is too often that we make decisions that are often not good for us (therein usually lies the perverse attraction on some level), or in fact waver over decisions that need to be made immediately. I suppose for many of us, we become unaccustomed to having to make serious decisions, as they don't usually arise all that often. When they do, they come replete with almost crippling doubt and fear as we hesitate over trying to ensure that we get it right. I suppose my point is that we got older, and just didn't realise it.

In some (and many) senses, I have often clung to a pessimistic and cynical opinion of human life, and our abilities to socially interact with one another. But in possibly a first for this writer, I don't actually intend to draw any conclusions from this, after having made a serious life decision in recent weeks, I am weary of musing over possible avenues and future predictions. Nostradamus plucking the future from the stars, and insight that can be drawn from the rippling of a stone dropped in water - melodramatic accounts of introspection and the associated stress that inevitably follows. I shall firmly maintain that there is little I do know, and what I think I know, I am still not completely sure about. A shark indeed, but I do not mean to depict myself as some rootless wanderer. I am anything but, as I know all too well, nor am I some negative, bitter person, chewing on my pencil in some sort of a conscious limbo- or at least this conception is one I don't reserve for myself. Defiance is something I am usually fairly good at, so I'll stick with it, even if one comes slightly more reserved and careful about advancing an opinion. As ASylum indicated, people who loudly present with MUSIC! BOOKS! ART! DRAMA! can almost seem shallow in their opinionated fumes that are too exuberant to be taking seriously. I don't mock the passion, but merely reflect the slightly more pensive tolerance that becomes a marker of a number of years following a particular scene. But similarly, those that flit with apparent ease between their views and cultural opinions are hard to pin down, and easily dismissed as hipster fascionistas following the crowd. In fact, one could say that they actually display only a true interest for something other than the pursuit they are hip on. My point is possibly then best rephrased in the form of the question, how often do we truly know what we want?

I am still waiting for the musical riches of 2011 to reveal themselves. Possibly I should adapt the homage to Yuri Gargarin which requires astronauts to pee on the rear wheel of the shuttle that is to deliver them to the launch pad. A vehicle in the parking lot of my office may have to suffice however, as I consider that my desires are lesser, but my superstitious tribute towards my musical fortunes could possibly do me some good. It may do my employment prospects some harm but then I would insist that one can never truly tell about these things.