When I got home, in the middle of June, I decided to listen to one band for the rest of summer. (This plan lasted for a week.) I chose King Crimson because I wanted to listen to a band with full-bleed musicality, a band that played itself to the extension of what could be done. I wanted to listen to music where everybody involved was filling it to the brim. Every band probably thinks they do just that, within their idea of the possible. Maybe I just wanted to hear something from my teenage years, something that I’ve gone in and out of listening to, that might lead to my reclaiming an idea from an earlier time that I could levy against a more recently valued idea. “Whatever I think” was an area I needed to dismantle and reject. So King Crimson embodied what every day could feel like, the surface towards which I pose the question: “Do I like this? How would I even know if I liked a thing? What part of my feelings are worth paying attention to?”
A Summer of Listening, Part 3
A Summer of Listening, Part 3
A Summer of Listening, Part 3
When I got home, in the middle of June, I decided to listen to one band for the rest of summer. (This plan lasted for a week.) I chose King Crimson because I wanted to listen to a band with full-bleed musicality, a band that played itself to the extension of what could be done. I wanted to listen to music where everybody involved was filling it to the brim. Every band probably thinks they do just that, within their idea of the possible. Maybe I just wanted to hear something from my teenage years, something that I’ve gone in and out of listening to, that might lead to my reclaiming an idea from an earlier time that I could levy against a more recently valued idea. “Whatever I think” was an area I needed to dismantle and reject. So King Crimson embodied what every day could feel like, the surface towards which I pose the question: “Do I like this? How would I even know if I liked a thing? What part of my feelings are worth paying attention to?”