 | Dec 01 2009 |  [Rating26460893] | |||
For the past three months I’ve been recovering from something of a not fantastic acid trip. I don’t wanna use the words ‘bad trip’ directly because it wasn’t all that. Not knowing the potency of the drug – I’d been used to three hits being a ‘good strong’ trip but nothing that was too overwhelming – I took three hits. Pretty soon after (forty minutes) a camera flash manifested itself as a dozen flashes circling my peripherals and creating some very pretty colors. And soon after that (another five maybe) I went to use the bathroom and noticed my sense of smell was totally fucked in that I felt it was too strong and when I pissed I wasn’t sure how my body was functioning and the walls started to contort in wave-like patterns and there were even more colors. And soon after that I wasn’t able to see anything, just hoards of geometric shapes (in this case predominantly interlocking squares in a diagonal pattern) with dizzying colors. And pretty soon I couldn’t open or close my eyes without being overtaken by these patterns and a general sense of being completely overwhelmed and dozens of other feelings which I can’t really convey, although they were in the same neighborhood as fear, disorientation, disbelief, but not as sinister as any of those. My last true cognizant thoughts were 1) I had just eaten way too much fucking acid and should not be in a crowded place like this concert hall 2) I can literally hear every fucking sound clearly and please make it stop and 3) I no longer have any idea what reality is. The last one is not a fabricated faux-LSD thought that people tend to say to prove they’ve taken the drug (I’m being cynical here). That was truly a terrifying moment – for the first time in my life, I had no recollection of what constituted reality or what that even meant. My mind was the perfect shitstorm. Language and the outside world were rendered useless to me, and all I had were terrible thoughts about just who I was, and what can only be described as a proper ego death with the inability to recognize anything of importance in the world, especially me. There were a lot of other similar thought patterns but they’re unimportant for the purposes of this review. And this event left me with some form of mental scarring for the month afterwards, which shaped my thought process into what became the past three months of completely deconstructing myself and trying to find worth in what I do or become a better person and come to grips with all my fallacies and stop hiding who I really am and just fucking give in. Now I can’t say that any of this was particularly bad as I had a lot of unresolved personal issues that this drug did a fine job of declouding and allowing giving me an idea of what to make right, and to hopefully reach from reconciliation with who I am and make decisions about that. It was the first few years of high school all over again and absolutely crushed all confidence I had in myself. But again none of this is bad and it’s better to have an understanding of myself and the world around me rather than go through life wearing that fucking veil. And this leads me to Richard D. James Album. I’ve really liked this thing not just because of its exemplary electronic mastery but because of its chaos, its inability to understand, the fluttering emotions, the inhuman capabilities and how it can escape the flesh to become something that’s not human emotion or anything at all, just whirring sounds and metallic grooves with competing hopeful/ominous feeling while probably possessing neither of those. It is my escape from myself, a different world where my importance doesn’t matter and I can just let it fill up this hollow feeling inside of me, replacing grey matter with machinery and fake smiles with synth lines and insecurity with 10,000 BPM. The greatest album of all time depending on how disassociated I am. | |||||
This review by an anonymous rateyourmusic.com user who goes by Cancelled captures the zeitgeist by being the sullen introspect even Michael Cera would feel grim around. Cancelled is a recent high school graduate and his reviews reflect a youth in turmoil, a thinking being who dabbles in love and adapts oddly to the creations around him. He is often intimidated but is always genuine in his perception. Readers get the sense that Cancelled is in pursuit of puppy love, raw love and finds a convoluted catharsis in the music he vociferously injects.
Although our personal taste in music does not match up other than the odd Brian Eno, Joy Division/New Order (which all those who feel alienated relate to, mainly in isolation) I find his personality endearing and not surprisingly, his personal narrative style to be effective. For, in my humble opinion, objectivity is a lost cause and Cancelled never considers it in a word he writes. Like Chuck Klosterman has displayed in innumerable writings this decade, an autobiographical take on the music world is the style most relatable to readers/listeners/consumers like myself. Cancelled is the weary winsome innocent consumer, he’s more a modern Holden Caulfield than a Chuck Klosterman.
In his Aphex Twin review he recalls the perils of being at a concert while on LSD acid trip to describe his affinity towards the album. As inhuman as his experience on such an overwhelming drug could be, he finds Aphex Twin’s Richard D. James Album to be as floundering and parallels the psychotropic wave he so viciously encountered and justifies his bold claim that this electronic frenzy is his all-time favorite.
Well done, my young son.
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