yes exactly. cassadega just drags at times. the songs are often empty. it has it’s moments — i absolutely love “classic cars” and “when the brakeman turns my way”. but so many of them are devoid of any remotely decipherable meaning. and yeah blah blah “all this automatic writing i’ve tried to understand, psychedelic angel keeps tugging on my hand”; perhaps demanding meaning from a song is something square and antique, but when someone adopts a post-modern stance simply because they’ve lost a fire they once had to create something that really meant something to everyone, and something different to everyone…that’s just weak.
i remember caring about conor like he was a brother. i would listen to his records and always feel like he was half a step ahead of my own experience, figuring things out and asking questions that i was almost at, and generally helping me along, with a level of maturity slightly above my own, but always relatably close. i would look at him in 2003, so ripped to pieces by human stupidity, so angry and distraught and i used to worry that my older brother was going to go insane or overdose or kill himself, that he was so concerned about everything that he would collapse; he would be a martyr for the sins of my generation, because he couldn’t help but take everything so seriously. and i loved him for that, because he alone seemed to have the courage and the insight and poet’s perspective to really diagnose the problems that go on around us. and he never let himself off the hook either; he never preached.
and maybe he found peace with himself and the world and i’m happy for him. but his music means very little to me, except for the occasional, minor pleasures of a line like “never trust a heart so bent it can’t break”. now i just feel like i’m sitting through the late 60′s-early 70′s, waiting for “blood on the tracks”.
and the killers version? there’s nothing there. it’s karaoke. the music has nothing that hooks at all.
yes exactly. cassadega just drags at times. the songs are often empty. it has it’s moments — i absolutely love “classic cars” and “when the brakeman turns my way”. but so many of them are devoid of any remotely decipherable meaning. and yeah blah blah “all this automatic writing i’ve tried to understand, psychedelic angel keeps tugging on my hand”; perhaps demanding meaning from a song is something square and antique, but when someone adopts a post-modern stance simply because they’ve lost a fire they once had to create something that really meant something to everyone, and something different to everyone…that’s just weak.
i remember caring about conor like he was a brother. i would listen to his records and always feel like he was half a step ahead of my own experience, figuring things out and asking questions that i was almost at, and generally helping me along, with a level of maturity slightly above my own, but always relatably close. i would look at him in 2003, so ripped to pieces by human stupidity, so angry and distraught and i used to worry that my older brother was going to go insane or overdose or kill himself, that he was so concerned about everything that he would collapse; he would be a martyr for the sins of my generation, because he couldn’t help but take everything so seriously. and i loved him for that, because he alone seemed to have the courage and the insight and poet’s perspective to really diagnose the problems that go on around us. and he never let himself off the hook either; he never preached.
and maybe he found peace with himself and the world and i’m happy for him. but his music means very little to me, except for the occasional, minor pleasures of a line like “never trust a heart so bent it can’t break”. now i just feel like i’m sitting through the late 60′s-early 70′s, waiting for “blood on the tracks”.
and the killers version? there’s nothing there. it’s karaoke. the music has nothing that hooks at all.