Moving in archetypes with The Cars' "Good Times Roll"
The rock ‘n’ roll sound of finding a needle in a haystack and consequently a celebration with vinnus von immediate riff loopers. One in a trillion caught with a hook. Many radio-straight illusions and thought angles to avoid in there and just let go of like old shoes. Simple times to move on no boredom shoot-the-shit valium pleasure box and rolling ‘em impermanence on the scene, goat huffer. Disappear and reappear in the light is the answer to the authenticity hoax question, fool with the sound. Mood of rebirth and back to the command-a-party ironic street hustler military-leg-movement doesn’t matter if you are late it’s all good, life’s the same.
The less is more purity archetype is used against the fight machines cruel and profane sickery “Why Are We Not Perfect?” We no longer live in simpler times (Help Me Rhonda) that was the old shoe, we now have increased error and truth and the false and fake and the room of lies snake charmer but for thunder and lightning. Return to the void for the truth like Mies van der Rohe, you up-in-the-air ascetic. We must fail like liquid lights and rebuild and rebel ten-cent-havoc like CBGBs in the 70s in order that we grow as an individual and start with the self that actually doesn’t even exist… Dissolve boundaries and lines repetitive. Keep the good stuff and throw the rest in a non-complicated way to leisure truck-stop logistics ‘n’ stuff while we proceed to the next higher level like a square root move. Buncha bullshit post-Zen everything is wrong. There are about ten run-on calculations in your lifetime on earth. Following your shadow is number three and the most memorable (beat girl wild for kicks and scars and ripped fishnets). Number six is originality and your uniqueness may destroy you heads up glazed-eye pokerface, maybe some thumbs. Number eleven doesn’t exist but only on my amp with outer-spacey new-wavy layers.
Angular melodies and minimalism are everything keep the music nearby and the ambience will create and destroy like malt liquor Mondays drinking pot. Coupla riffs there, coupla bams here, you’re shaking medicinal vomit, engaging vocals and maybe some urban vs. rural robots wreckin’ imagery throwing itself upon our imagination - a world forced to question itself… Is god dead?
Movin’ heavy thoughts just in the mind perception of a thing counts, not the thing.
Movin’ heavy thoughts silent like a tomb she’ll chew you up like Mary Magdalene.