The other night, sensing my mounting desperation, and unable to tolerate my horrendous moodiness (on account of an imminent deadline) – which included having to listen to me opine, “I’m only going to hear Spoon because there the only band that gets me,” over and over again (to which I believe his response was, ‘F*ck spoon!’), Tubbs (my intrepid better half) took control of the listening situation. So, while I sat in my favorite red chair, proofreading my script, he played music and we discussed…
Gil Scott- Heron
Me: Who is this fantastic, angry black man of rock?
Tubbs: Gil Scott-Heron.
Me: (realizing) He’s been around for ages! I think my mother listened to him when she was in her Buffy Sainte-Marie ‘Angry Native American’ phase. That was around the same as her Melanie phase. I think she sang about cows or something. And then, she got into Janice Ian, and you just wanted to slit your wrists any time music was on.
Tubbs: He’s good.
Me: Kind of reminds me of the guy who sings about how they displaced all those people to build Dodger Stadium in Cesar Chavez Ravine.
Me: I don’t know, an angry Chicano guy of rock. I like all the textures. It’s deep. I think I like political rock.
Tubbs: Are you still talking?
Me: Heron also played at the No-Nukes concerts, that my sister Stacie went to – on a week night I might add – back when she was deep in her Jackson Browne obsession phase, which of course she masked by saying she was a no-nukes protestor, which was a total crock. But the No Nukes concert spawned the rock star philanthropy movement, so it was sort of a seminal moment, which opened the flood gates. After that it was Amnesty International, We Are The World, Sting was hanging out with that guy with the giant plate in his lip, and Bob Geldoff became a Knight… but it all began with No-Nukes.
Tubbs: We’ll put him on the list.
Dillinger Escape Plan
Me: This makes my heart pound.
Tubbs: You’re not giving it a chance.
Me: That’s because I’m about to have an anxiety attack. Continue reading