In my ongoing attempts to decide what is a bigger waste in the time then writing about music (perhaps BLOGGING ABOUT MUSIC), I came to the great Dylan a question, how long can you search for what isn't lost?
That is the secret of rock nyc and everybody else, it is sifting through information in order to discover what is self-evident, what isn't lost.
Words are an end in themselves and writers are more about writing then they are about, say, music. So they search out a plan in words the old tik tok.
The problem is music doesn't lend itself to writing. It is a search for what is in front of you and which has no need for a middle man, which leaves the rock critic, leaves me saying "I'll keep it with mine". If Tyler, the Creator has written a great album, does my reflecting on it reflect on me? What is my condition on it?
There isn't one, but I claim his greatness (or terribleness) as a part of who I am: I keep it with mine as if by pointing it out, I have a piece of it. It is vampiric and it is also yucky.
And it is impure.
By writing about music I change my perception of what I am listening to. I lie.
I search for what isn't lost and that is a moral quagmire I will return to at some time.