I, the profaner

 

I discovered this song earlier today, the whole album in fact, 11 episodios sinfónicos, by the late Gustavo Cerati, a famed Argentine musician, songwriter, and lead singer of rock en español legends, Soda Stereo.

Cerati died too young, just a few years ago, due to ongoing complications from a stroke. This album and concert were recorded in Buenos Aires in the early 2000s when he would seem to have been at a creative peak, at least if this song provides sufficient evidence. (However, the Great Gazoo called and he wants his coat back, Gustavo.) I once had a boyfriend from Mexico who waxed eloquent about Soda Stereo, but I never really got them or got into them, at least back then. But now, I'm sorry I didn't. Maybe hearing this record would have made me appreciate the band. Maybe this record would have prompted me to travel to Argentina much earlier in life than I did, only a mere two years ago.

But I've done so twice now, and I will do so again, espero que sí, once the COVID-19 pandemic ends. I've even toyed with the idea of working remotely from Buenos Aires, which now seems completely possible. I'm not quite convinced my employer would agree, but if this pandemic is really anticipated to last for two years, as recently predicted, then what the hell? Why not? I loathe this job, and if you've been reading so far, you know Canada and I have a marriage of convenience--or inconvenience, given its unsatisfying retail scene and its small screen view of everything. Back home, the U.S. seems crazier and deadlier than usual. So if Argentina would let me in, if I had access to good healthcare, if I had access to a strong, reliable internet connection, would it matter if I did my job from a place I would much rather be, improving my Spanish, a lifelong goal, and exploring spectacular landscapes, steak dinners, and Malbecs along the way?

De veras, after all this meshugas, it's hard to imagine going back to the office, let alone to whatever was passing for normal at the beginning of 2020. If I can work from home for six months in Toronto, I could do the same in Buenos Aires, or Salta, or Jujuy, or Mendoza, or Puerto Madryn, or Trelew, or Córdoba, or Ushuaia, or Rosario, or San Antonio de los Cobres ... well, maybe not San Antonio de los Cobres, a unique and beautiful place but one where the altitude is high, the air is thin, and the roasted llama is a little too free-flowing for a sensitive stomach like mine. (And yet I ate it, loved it, and would go back for more if given the opportunity.) 

But, otherwise, hell yeah, I could do this and still hit up the llama blue plate special in San Antonio every few months or so. So buen apetito and buen viaje, bitches! I'm outta here first chance and a ticket on Aerolíneas Argentinas I get.

I'm still driving around Montréal

Or perhaps Paris ... at least in my own mind ....

I definitely want to

I seek out and share new music from Argentina so you don't have to. "Quisiera" translates as "I would like," using the subjunctive "mood" of the verb "querer." Except for me there's no subjunctive about it--I definitely adore this song and the performance by Argentine performers Natalie Pérez and Coti. ¡Viva la Argentina!

Music Togo

I don't understand any of this, but I love it just the same.

Tickle your fancy

Are we not men? No! We are Jermaine Jackson and DEVO! performing together in a Halloween special in 1982!

Honestly, back in the day, I never understood why this song was not a number 1 in the U.S. Instead it had to "settle" for top 20 pop/top 5 R&B. Nothing to be ashamed of but a chart ranking middling enough to guarantee obscurity within just a few years.

Get this: You had a member of the Jackson mafia family, which was everywhere in the early 1980s. You had the ultra hip new wave band DEVO, which was probably at the peak of its alternative popularity. (At least if memory serves from my college days.) You had an incredibly catchy hook ("Let me tickle your fancy/let me excite your soul") and a highly danceable beat. And you had a very adorable and sexy Jermaine doing his best work, a few years before he'd crash and burn his credibility with a duet with Pia Zadora.

In essence, you had 1982 in a 3-minute pop nutshell.

Maybe it was racism--"black people don't play rock 'n' roll" and all that bullshit. Maybe it was a less popular Jackson in the spotlight (neither feast nor fowl, neither Michael nor Janet). Maybe it was a song stuck between worlds, not R&B, not rock, attempting to appeal to too many audiences through the talents of two slightly less than high profile performers. (How is this that different to "State of Shock," the Michael Jackson-Rollling Stones hit from 1984?) Maybe it was danceable but not in the right way - too alternative, not Hi NRG, disco's cheap, tacky, easy little sister. Maybe it was too perfect of a song and sounded like a lot of other stuff on the charts at the time. Which maybe it did, maybe it didn't.

Regardless, I thought this was a perfect pop gem at the time and still do nearly 40 (!!!) years later. Frankly, as old as it is, it still seems more exciting, entertaining, and authentic than every piece of pop pablum on the scene at this time.

Yeah, I'm *that* old.

Happy Monday, but no, not really

For reasons that may eventually become apparent in this public/private mental space, aka my blog, it's more than a little odd and highly ironic that I would post one of the most lush, romantic songs I've heard in the last couple of decades on today of all days. But here we are, listening to Keren Ann channel Bob Dylan in "Lay Your Head Down" from 2009 or so, one of the best damn songs I've heard in recent years, musically, lyrically, and vocally--the whole pop package.

I saw Keren Ann in an interview on France 24 last week, and this song came back to me--too late, I'm afraid, but just in time as well--along with the memory of a concert I attended at the Andy Warhol Museum with the Music Lover back in my Pittsburgh days. It was Keren Ann, her presence, her voice, and an electric guitar, and that was all that she needed to play and sing her wonderful songs, songs that make me feel warm, comforted, and loved.

This is all very ironic, of course, assuming that I know what irony is and assuming that anything is ironic anymore.