THERE’S LAKES INSIDE YOUR EYES
WHERE YOU TOLD ME TO DIVE
DIDN’T YOU SAY YOU’D SEE ME THERE?
Look, it’s not that I don’t beat the drums for big bands. I wanted Gaga to get hers, gurl. Grimes music videos and LG:5 were the only pop culture I was looking for to at the dawn of 2016. But Joanne can go jack-off all alone. I don’t make faces at mainstream, but I haven’t found a single top 40 track this year that didn’t infuse me with inches of ‘i can’t even give a fuck’. It’s not the music’s fault. It’s fine. Fine. Really, fine. Fine, all right. It’s just that every single song I’ve scraped aside the sweat, tear stained pillows and sheets that I’ve been hiding under all year so I could snuggle with it (as it soothes my ears) has been from bands on the periphery. And their music isn’t fine. It packs a punch. It punches me. It puts my feet on the floor. And it let’s me pretend that I’m human. CUE DEAD HORSE BEATS.
I didn’t know how to describe that. Or why it was. Until I heard Dead Horse Beats’ Dive. Until 2:04 into the music video, when the world explodes in colour. And I knew, all I wanted was a world (my world!) painted in hyperpigmentation. A world so vivid Dali was dancing in the beats. I was trying to remember when I’d last been an addict for something other than the dark. And it was 2011, at the onset of this sadness, with Black Light Dinner Party’s Older Together. Dive‘s rhythms aren’t random, they race around all rhizomatic. They fuck around with freeform. They feel, naturally. Spontaneously burst. Trackback and restart. And that’s what I never have gotten from mainstream music this year. Top 40’s all greyscale and I want to swallow a palette of paints in through my external auditory meatus.