bolus

So I saw two movies this week, MARGOT AT THE WEDDING and JUNO, that featured wayward guys in their mid-30's trapped in their past with dreams of making it big who were Dinosaur jr. fans. (In the former, "The Wagon" is playing at Jack Black's residence; in the latter, GREEN MIND is displayed prominently in Jason Bateman's study/music room.) I'll try to remain vague about both, but people who are wanting to see either (or both) might wish to skip the next paragraph til after they have done so. (Personally, I recommend JUNO despite an overly arch beginning to the film and painful "cute" music that makes Beat Happening sound like Yes; I can't recommend MARGOT AT THE WEDDING, however.)

Neither of these movies are sympathetic to their men-children (although, to be fair, the notion of sympathy is largely vacant from MARGOT AT THE WEDDING), and to some extent I resemble both, although the characters are at extreme poles from each other; Jack Black sits around doodling on guitar, writing lengthy letters to the editor, and mooching off his fiance, while Jason Bateman sits in his study writing music for commercials and dreading the prison that his marriage has become. But they both still wear flannel and t-shirts, they both live for the past, they both flirted with fame in a sort of eighteenth-tier way (Jack Black played guitar on a Ric Ocasek record, Jason Bateman's band opened for The Melvins in 1993 in Chicago). Both of them are the closest thing to a surrogate me in the film, and both wind up not coming off very well.

There is this question of how we live, and as I return to Portland, which is what I generally refer to as home in America when people overseas ask where I'm from, even though I've lived a shorter time here than I lived in Houston or Michigan and have no family here, it is on my mind. It is on my mind when I talk to a friend about how he has stopped buying new music and lives off his existing record collection, as he has much more than he has absorbed. (My collection is roughly ten times the size of his, and I have no doubt such an investment in my own collection would produce many unexpected and deep rewards.) It is on my mind when I talk to another friend who has invested years of his life playing in a band, setting up a basement studio, recording a CD, releasing that CD, and watching that CD disappear into the ether upon its release. Another set of friends, including two former bandmates, are playing the first show with their new band in another month, a band that I think has been practicing for two years and whose repertoire includes two songs from my old band, one of which I wrote lyrics for, "Grey Primer". I think they're probably the best lyrics I ever wrote, which may not be saying much quality-wise, but I've written a good twenty-five songs worth of lyrics. I was going to type them but I just realized I can't remember the last verse.

I saw Damien Jurado play tonight. I met him nine years ago when I first moved to Portland; I had showed up early for a show at a local club, not one that he was playing at, and was reading Kerouac's ON THE ROAD. As I waited for Corrina Repp to play, we talked about Kerouac for a bit. He alluded to his life as a musician, but didn't mention his record on Sub Pop. He was just basically a nice guy. In the intervening five years, I never re-introduced myself when I realized who "Damien" actually was, musically speaking, and quietly watched him grow musically over the course of a dozen or so shows, often to small audiences. Over the course of several albums, his music has become darker and more austere, more distilled, more accomplished; but my fondest memories are of his early work, and while I was impressed by his set tonight largely focused on his new material, it was only on the final song, "Letters and Drawings" (from REHEARSALS FOR DEPARTURE), that I had that warm glow of satisfaction that I crave from live music experiences. I fear this makes me shallow and unsupportive. I do, however, look forward to getting his new album, particularly as his current band is very strong.

(Incidentally, I almost saw Corrina Repp, now of Portland's Tu Fawning, play on Thursday night, but I showed up too late. I regret this somewhat, but I was having a pleasant time elsewhere that I don't regret.)

I have seen people I went to college with who are married and/or have babies and/or own houses and/or are established in apartments of their own that reflect their personality and/or are reaching ten years in their career - who are, in a word, settled. And while I didn't bring any flannel with me, I still feel the identity with the character who's on the outside of this situation, and the distance that I have kept from this sort of life. I have yet to figure out quite what to do about it, but I would like to find a fate dissimilar to those I've seen cinematically expressed this week.

If this all seems like it is undigested, that is because it is. But I remain hopeful digestion will happen in due course.