The Underground Velvet

 

Lately I've been obsessed with bands that are obsessed with The Velvet Underground. I can't account for this. Somewhere in these humble electronic pages I've written about listening to music that seems out of place with the environment and how I enjoy that feeling. These are probably self-indulgent feelings and I accept that. But it's true; I love driving through the dumpy little town where I live, passing the one and only sad sack bar in town, the Sport Shop, listening to the Crystal Stilts. Or skiing all alone, listening to my headphones, stirring a (rare) moose out of the creek bottoms.

I admit it makes me feel cool. I feel cool knowing that I might be the only person in this dinky town of 600-ish that has heard of a band called The Velvet Underground. Cool like The Velvet Underground cool. Cool like I've been up for six days drinking champagne and snorting cocaine with models. Cool like I've just spent the night with ten whores in a penthouse overlooking Bangkok. Cool like I live in Paris and wear a silk scarf while eating bone marrow for breakfast. Cool like this short film.

In fact, I'm not all that cool. I live in Carey, Idaho surrounded by mud and Mormons. Instead of all night beanbag love-ins I chase moose out of willow thickets and sing praises to the rocks and sky above endless rolls of snow. Andy Warhol never had it so good.

The Limiñanas: (I've Got) Trouble in Mind
Crystal Stilts: Through the Floor
Spiritualized: Hey Jane