Some things you never forget. For me, these things include the entire ninety word title of Fiona Apple’s second album. And where I was when I first encountered the Vengaboys. It was in a fancy hotel in Helsinki, if you were curious. It was also, not coincidentally, I feel, where I first encountered a bidet (I was mystified).
Also, I need to remember that, in order to function, I have to hear “We’re Going to Ibiza” at least once in every 90 day period.
Christ. I was mistaken. There is, in fact, at least one musician that I loathe more than Rufus Wainwright and Devendra Banhart combined.
New York Times piece on the preponderance of “gay art” being made and exhibited, presently. In reference to gay publications like Butt and other “edgy,” “creative” type gay-oriented media outlets:
[...] they, like much of the gay art now being made — and so much art and music and culture of all types — seem to hybridize a generalized fetish for youth culture, for self-exposure, for the small and the intimate and apolitical. They are as solipsistic as a Rufus Wainwright lyric. They are as whimsical as one of the neo-hippie Devendra Banhart’s tunes. They have a proudly do-it-yourself aura, but what, these days, does not?
It is not of little consequence that they would describe this kind of work in terms of the very two musicians whom I most loathe. Earlier they cite Larry Clark, to whom I would likewise be more than happy to deliver a swift punch in the junk.
But I’ll cut this crop of artists a deal: I’ll reconsider my deep-seated and problematic contempt for the majority of other gay men when they have something more than vapid, escapist smut to bring to the table.
Unrelatedly, the new Björk album is really not good. I mean, there are moments, but not many. That makes me so sad.
Pretentious Words I’ve Used in Art History Papers
