My housemate hates Barenaked Ladies. Hates is the correct term. His feelings are so extreme that when the VW commercial that uses “One Week” comes on, he shouts at the TV screen. I happen to like a good amount of their music, even if it is overplayed.
One of my friends commented that “One Week” reminded her of me.
I was talking to my crazy friend again this morning. (She’s been in crisis, but is doing a good job of hiding it.) I was talking about my rediscovery of Radiohead over the past month or so, and how the disk I’ve been listening to was released in 1995* when she suddenly said, in her typically no-nonsense fashion, “You really like music, don’t you?”
I was floored, so much so that it took me a moment to respond. “Yeah, I really do, and for a long time I forgot that. It’s kind of like I just shut that part of myself off.”
“I think it helps that I’ve a few friends who are really into music, too. They’ve made it seem ok to like what I like.”
“Like the teacher you know?”
I laughed, “Yeah, a lot like him.”
No regrets, really, but I could have turned into a complete audiophile had I let myself. Couple my malaise of the past several years with my housemate’s rabid dislike of some of the artists I think are “simply brilliant” (the effect of this phrase is lost if you don’t use a mock Manchester accent), and the result was a largely silent household.
A confession to make – it was only during the past year that I actually got myself together enough to pick up my Bjork cds, and the Vespertine show at the Wang was the first time I saw her perform live. This should be shocking enough to those of you who know how much I adore her music that it should convey some understanding of how pervasive the silence was.
*A fair number of the disks I’ve picked up lately had 1995 release dates. For some reason, the musical aesthetic of the time is deeply appealing to me right now.