I’m a reader of nonfiction. For some reason I have terrible trouble engaging in fiction. I’ll read two pages of a fiction book and then promptly turn it into this: (ha)
This is similar to my love for documentary film these days.
I’m not sure why I enjoy learning more about reality than fantasy. It could be the reason why I’m in a perpetual state of panic all of the time. I remember distinctly curling up into a ball on the corner of the couch after watching the documentary “Wal-Mart: The High Cost of Low Price” and crying for the future of the planet (this is actually true). If I read more fiction, I would maybe be a less anxious person. I’d believe in kid magicians and benevolent vampires instead of serial killers and tyrannical dictators.
When I read nonfiction, I do sometimes like reading light subject matters as well. Recently I finished Warren Zevon’s biography written by his ex-wife, Crystal, called, “I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead: The Dirty Life and Times of Warren Zevon“. (more…)
Yesterday, I asked my father, a pianist and music lover, if he was familiar with Warren Zevon’s music. Considering that Zevon was a classically-trained musician, popular in a pivotal decade of music for my father and featured piano in many of his songs, I figured he was a fan.
“Sure, I used to listen to him back in the day. Has he come out with anything new lately?”
“Dad, he’s been dead for eight years.”
“Oh, wow. Really? I guess I haven’t listened to him since “Werewolves of London”.”
After my Dad said that, I figured he never actually listened to Warren Zevon at all. “Werewolves of London” is not a song you bring up if you’re a fan.
At one point that was the only song of Warren Zevon’s that I knew as well and I kind of hated it. It was on every Halloween compilation my mother owned and it would get played over and over during the holiday. After each howl, I swore off Zevon more and more.
I spoke of Zevon a bit on my recent CultureMap post about being indie-ignorant (more…)
Indie-ignorant and proud: What it looks like to love the musical eras of yesteryear
01.06.12 | 04:00 pm
I have no idea what new music is out there right now. I have the freakin’ pen-name “Hipstercrite,” and I have no idea what people my age are listening to.
I am no hipster, I’m an old lady.
Cherishing my Time-Life 1950’s compilations on tape is what I do best. Loving Meatloaf is what I do even better. I still long for the days when I would wistfully stare at a poster of a shirtless Elton John (don’t ask). I’d probably stare at a poster of a shirtless Meatloaf and enjoy that too. I still have my Stevie Nicks costumes.
I even called Callin’ Oates; when my boyfriend got sick of hearing Daryl Hall crooning from my speaker phone, I was reduced to getting my fix of H2O in the car.
It’s Free Week in Austin, and you know what I’m doing right now instead of catching awesome local acts? Writing this post about how I’m indie ignorant.
I’d love to be in the know (more…)