echo chambre

Kiss Me Deadly makes me miss Life Without Buildings or, more to the point, The Sugarcubes, or perhaps morer to the point, The Slits. (Like Prosaics is, simply, a reminder that I should revisit Josef K.) Which is to say I kinda like Kiss Me Deadly’s asthmatic strains, at least until that one guy starts wailing on track four, but the effect is a reverse gravitational pull towards something else I used to like better. A bookmark, an echo, a placeholder. But then, someone is probably saying the same thing about me somewhere, like “Julianne Shepherd makes me wanna go home and listen to Stacey Q.” Well fuck you, I consider that a compliment.
Which reminds me: read the new issue of Alternative Press, where they jukebox jury all the Gang of Four wannabes with the actual Gang of Four. My favorite answer: “This doesn’t sound like us! It sounds like Pere Ubu!”