Oh, how bad are the flowers of opium? Not as bad as this band from Los Angles, I dare say. Bad of course, in a good way in meaning towards this band. I love how the young use bad as a compliment. I love how the young can display the middle finger to each other and adore it with love as the old look on astonished with disgust and confusion. That to me is at the heart of rock and roll. It in a way separates it from the blues a little. Hip Hop flourishes to a degree with that same middle finger to the old who are hardened by the ritual daily habits of respectability and responsibility. It’s not that these virtues are bad, but too much of any virtue seems a bad thing. Too much virtue can turn a beautifully exciting painted canvas of living into a boring stretched out tater sack. Sin a little to give virtue meaning. Never grow so old that a soaped mouth is never near. Live a little.
“Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heartache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. there is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there.”
― Henry Miller
On occasion, I run into artists that take me to places of almost pure feeling. It can be feelings of joy, peace or of guilt and angst. This band takes me from joyful peace to angst and back to joy in nanoseconds. Don’t let me forget to make note of the beautiful harmonies….Heavenly, blissful harmonies.
Been listening to this band for a little over a month. Genius at work here on what lies under the tip of the iceberg of my consciousness. There’s a great number of spirits at play, dancing from other realms with ours where Car Seat Headrest echoes.
These are beautiful artists creating good medicine for the souls that share these times.
“For myself, I cannot live without my art. But I have never placed it above everything. If, on the other hand, I need it, it is because it cannot be separated from my fellow men, and it allows me to live, such as I am, on one level with them. It is a means of stirring the greatest number of people by offering them a privileged picture of common joys and sufferings. It obliges the artist not to keep himself apart; it subjects him to the most humble and the most universal truth. And often he who has chosen the fate of the artist because he felt himself to be different soon realizes that he can maintain neither his art nor his difference unless he admits that he is like the others. The artist forges himself to the others, midway between the beauty he cannot do without and the community he cannot tear himself away from. That is why true artists scorn nothing: they are obliged to understand rather than to judge. And if they have to take sides in this world, they can perhaps side only with that society in which, according to Nietzsche’s great words, not the judge but the creator will rule, whether he be a worker or an intellectual.”- Camus