I have a theory, concocted with my dear
friend Nik, that how we are as a teenager is how we are. We might (might!) get better at moderating the outer
excesses; we don’t feel things less floridly.
Hence this summer. The summer where I may
as well have been that creature above again, watching Why Don’t You? and shoplifting, for all the work I’ve
done. (I’ve actually spent quality time with boyfriend, friends, cats, The Age Of Innocence, Dragons' Den, Demi Lovato’s ‘Cool For The Summer’, prosecco, Sunn O))), London parks, and the urge to give
up veganism). For me, there’s something about August that says laze and laze
some more; I remember one year I desperately tried to get into the Ryder Cup
rather than do anything productive.
Part of the reason for the [post-rock] lull
was a natural rhythm change. As I mentioned before, I’ve consciously tackled
this book differently to Seasons They
Change; I’m trying not to interview people haphazardly, but instead figure
out patterns, see how people knew one another, work out the different factors
and dynamics in and between individual groups and ‘scenes’. In July I felt the
bulk of my British interviews of the late 80s and early 90s were in the bag –
although transcribing them is a different matter entirely – and I’d done a shitload of
research on the influences that fed into [post-rock], as my blog posts up to
this point testify. I’d also made some strong decisions as to the shape of my
book: moving away from a strictly linear approach into something organised more thematically.
Didn’t I deserve a break of a few weeks? Wouldn’t it improve the book if I did so?
As Nicki Minaj says, playtime is over, motherfuckers! I’m listening to Goodbye Enemy
Airship The Landlord Is Dead and getting my head back in the game. North
American [post-rock]: I’m coming for you.
