1- Drink teeth loosening amount of tea.
2- Spill tea leaves onto Ouija board.
3- Read a Spin magazine from twenty years ago.
Schwing.
So, dear reader, I have compiled a list of the visions that passed before my eyes like the minute long recap at the beginning of The Real World.
They love each other.
Madchester
This has already begun. If you didn't know Madchester music was spawned in Manchester in the late 80's- early 90's. Here are a couple examples. A good one, and a bad one.
Good
Happy Mondays- Loose Fit
Bad
Jesus Jones- Right Here, Right Now
Rave Music
Rave had many different sounds, but to me these songs pretty much cover ravey hard dance. Plus, brainmeltingly intense videos.
The Prodigy- One Love
Orbital- Chime
House Music
Granted, house never went anywhere; it has always been popular somewhere. I see it creeping back into the mainstream, crusty baselines and 808 snares and all.
MC Luscious- Boom, I Got Your Boyfriend
Heavy D and the Boyz- Now That We Found Love
Also, the recording of albums and EPs will be distributed more via cassette tape which have been regaining popularity steadily over the last couple years. Hip individuals will leave their mp3 players at home and listen to walkmans, causing Energizer and Maxell stocks to rise to heights not seen since the iVibe Rabbit craze of 2k4. Perhaps enamored couples will make real mixtapes for each other, realizing that dragging stolen copies of Morrissey songs onto a playlist and clicking burn is, in reality, amazingly vapid. Will we once again wallow in the beautiful hissing silence that lives in the odd empty minute at the end of the B side?
1 comments:
I've never made a mixtape, but I have made a mix CD. I have never left any sort of silence. That's wasteful. That empty void at the end of a mix is the perfect place to recite my experimental poem, tentatively titled "My Penis."
The great thing about My Penis is that it's very flexible. It can be as long as you'd like it, since the poem is me repeatedly whispering the words "my penis" at semi-audible levels until Roxio says that I'm out of room.
But it's not about my penis. Oh no. The poem is a commentary on the alienation that we all suffer in our modern world, a spiraling kaleidoscopic vision of the listener's own emotional headspace, all bound together by a web of communal experience in the cultural wasteland of the 21st century.
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