Angels in America Uptown Funk

[Ormolycka; 2019]

Rating: 4/5

Styles: new weird alternative, grunge, wet-blanket glam
Others: Chicklette, Farewell My Concubine, Garbage covering NIИ after a long night of having a long night

Angels in America’s redux of Uptown Funk — previously taped together on reel in a fragile, limited run early-version cassette — reminds me of what I was missing when the age 12 was happening to my male-identified body. That absolute, overarching angst that seemed too deep to itch. Picking up cigarettes postal workers flick out their cars. Baggy jeans and chains, globs at the top, “CONGEALER,” and cigarette lighters left on the metal bridge crossing a creed within the woods behind your house. Playing KoЯn too loud when your parents aren’t home, garage sales all around your place on a weekend. Melodies of aggression.

Trading stolen cassettes (from stores and DJs) under a pool table in the skate rink. Approaching reality like it’s another lonely summer anthem; walking home whistling “TOIKEY SPUNK” for hours, on repeat. Gazing at the last visible point of the road until it enlarges. Being unable to gauge emotion because of adolescence. Flannel shirt unbuttoned explaining a process that’s irreversible in graffiti behind the elementary school: “OUTLAWS OF THE MARSH.” Spray paint found by metal bridge in the woods, next to a fire pit. Hidden literature in the sewer, deep down the tunnel. MTV hosting the forgotten black-light cabana party under the bridge by two trashcan fires, soaring camera work, “MY LACUNA” sweating out from speakers. Kurt Vonnegut yelling about the pretension of semicolon misuse:

Memento only sadder:
• Without all the tattoos; considering choker tattoo
• You never seen’t this version before
• Cannibal vegan, so human-taste tofu
• Wears a choker all the time now
• Hoping to be someone someday, never amounting to even yourself
• Possession of self altruistically shopping in a grocery store for clothes
• You choose to forget this one
• My girlfriend moved to Egypt and emailed about pooping, which I read before going to the 8th grade dance, and now I’m with my males friends flamboyant on the dance floor, singing “My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Dion
• “KEEP THE ASPIDISTRA FLYING”

Jerking off into your neighbor-mama’s furs. Not sure how I awoke from this nap. I was previously inept. It wasn’t until later when I knew my parents were avoiding poisoning me with garbage foods. “S-BOY” continued as my name throughout middle school. Soy was the way my muscles formed, and beans were my #1 source of protein. The sound that speakers make upon raw feedback aux-cord insertion is my first sexual experience. Been too hard to think about the facts of it all anymore. This isn’t where I wanted to end up. “COOL NUDE LUKE” is the visage I’m now known by, by everyone. Please keep that between us.

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