The used-record store in my college town knew to keep an eye out for one particular album for me. We all knew it was unlikely that this self-released record of lesbian folk-punk and sound collage would make its way from Texas to central Illinois, but if it did, theyd set it aside for me.
I spent two months in the United Kingdom inundated with sound. This wasnt sound as pure physical experiencethe immersive noise of modernity or the multi-media buzz of the contemporary mediasphererather, this was sound defined and delimited as a knowable entity, an object of study, even a work of art.
Im drinking Tecate in a room on the 11th floor of the Ace Hotel. Its early April, and Im here to interview the band Deerhunter. There are about a dozen of us writers here, along with two publicists and a few othersfriends of the band, I guess.
Ive been running around like a maniac and am closer to a nervous breakdown than ever before, while debating which gig to concentrate on.
A Ramones shirt. A CBGB sticker. New York City is haunted by its past, inundated with evidence of things that were once very real but now exist only in the spirit of fleeting youth bands and D.I.Y. venues.