My own weirdness is a huge factor in why I find this cassette so endearing. The earnest strangeness of it makes me want to dance. Which I shouldn’t do, as it looks like someone tazing a corpse. It’s the simple synth lines and drum-machine loops that cause it; they squirm up inside you, pop open a folding chair and crack a weird, domestic beer right next to your ear. There is a confidence and genuineness to it all, an acceptance and knowledge of it’s own eccentricities. When talking about recurring nightmares there is a warmth pervading the music, as if someone was saying “even in my somewhat off-putting awkwardness, I’m comfortable. This is where I am and that’s okay. Better than okay even, it’s damn good.” The peculiarity is never forced of affected. There is no creeping sensation that the people behind the lyrics, which bounce between mundane and uncomfortable with admirable ease, are doing it just to get a reaction. It’s not weird out of desire, it’s just how it is. Which is wonderful and beautiful, and that’s why I want to dance to it, although it’s embarrassing. Though it shouldn’t be. That’s the lesson here…I think.
More about: Al Marantz
