You've Come A Long Way, Baby
She's the cutest little thing-- pure good- vibe granola- chik kinda cute. We
all love her, she loves us, smiles, laughs and packs it up for us without
hesitation. Our little hippie angel. I don't want to change her, really, but I
sense a desire to broaden musical horizons tinging her radiance. We start to
talk about trance, and when I pontificate at length about my introduction to
tek-no, I can feel her open mind burning with curiosity. I profess that I shall
do my utmost to introduce her to the wild and wolly world of electronic music.
Her smile has misgivings, but her eagerness shines through.
Fast- forward to a few days later. We're in the doper's den hittin' the three-
foot tobacco- master in preparation to see a late screening of "The Wizard Of Oz."
I'm mentally still preparing the mix tape list for her. We're all talking
about the bleak childhood terror of the first time we saw the Wicked Witch
die. It's time then, and we head for my buddy's car. He's got a penis- envy car
with a helluva sound system. I bring Fatboy Slim for the trip to the theatre.
I'm hearing it now, not just as a tekno- lover but thru the virgin ears of a
girl that has ingested more Grateful Dead and Phish than any one human should
have to bear. What a strange thing Fatboy Slim must sound like to her; the
repetition of phrases like "fuckin' in heaven" and "the funk soul brother/
check it out now." Is she prepared to eschew traditional narrative structure and
seek the trancelike state more like looking at an eye candy poster than listening
to a poem?
Curious. To my ears, Norman has managed to assemble a truly sublime piece
of music, only to be used when willing to let it move in and take over your
head. Though his flagrant self- promotion in the first few tracks turned me
off initially, I find myself hearing beat progressions that seem new every
time, emerging from the maddening repetition like a welcome dream. She sat
in the back seat, silently for a while, and asked "Um, what are we listening
to?" I told her, and she responded: "Hmm..." I heard the climaxes building,
the tempo changing, the sheer simple stupidity delighting some secret place
in my drug- addled hypothalmus. I guess people are going to be calling this
"big beat" 'cause Norman virtually started that short- term market push. But
goddamn-- this shit feels much more like trance than his previous album, Better
Living Trough Chemistry. Less real, but more entrancing. It gives itself
over to pure rhythm, and it works pretty damn well. Oh look, we're here.
I look through the back window, and she looks confused. I know that Fatboy
Slim is the wrong place to start this babe of the garden, but it's a sight,
ain't it? Her eyes are glassy-- I love that in a woman. She's disturbed,
doesn't see the light, and wants Jerry. I understand. I let her go to him,
and make a mental note to be gentle on the mix. She's too far gone not to
save. I just hope I can help her.
-James P. Wisdom
"Right Here, Right Now"
[MPEG Low Quality]
[MPEG High Quality]
[Real Audio Stream]