The NME search was a clever, saucy upstart of an attempt to be, uh, nasty.
However, the Lord and Julian Cope himself know how we need, need, need the
NME to embrace the unifying hands of our children across this big blue
marble and NIRVANA's tarty musical career. So please bless us again - we'll
forever feed off of your high-calorie boggy turbinates.
In an attempt to satisfy the second part of my quest, I went to the Rough
Trade shop and of course, found no Raincoats record in the bin. I then asked
the woman behind the counter about it and she said "well, it happens that
I'm neighbors with Anna (member of the Raincoats) and she works at an
antique shop just a few miles from here." So she drew me a map and I started
on my way to Anna's.
Sometime later, I arrived at this elfin shop filled with something else I've
compulsively searched for over the past few years - really old fucked up
marionette-like wood carved dolls (quite a few hundred years old). Lots of
them... I've fantasized about finding a ship filled with so many. They
wouldn't accept my credit card but the dolls were way too expensive anyway.
Anna was there, however, so I politely introduced myself with a fever- red
face and explained the reason for my intrusion. I can remember her boss
almost setting me on fire with his glares. She said "well, I may have a few
lying around so, if I find one, I'll send it to you (very polite, very
English)." I left feeling like a dork, like I had violated her space, like
she probably thought my band was tacky.
A few weeks later I received a vinyl copy of that wonderfully classic
scripture with a personalized dust sleeve covered with xeroxed lyrics,
pictures, and all the member's signatures. There was also a touching letter
from Anna. It made me happier than playing in front of thousands of people
each night, rock-god idolization from fans, music industry plankton kissing
my ass, and the million dollars I made last year. It was one of the few
really important things that I've been blessed with since becoming an
untouchable boy genius.
It was as rewarding as touring with Shonen Knife and watching people
practically cry with joy at their honesty. It made people happy and it made
me happy knowing that I had helped bring them to the U.K.
It was as rewarding as the last Vaselines show in Edinburgh. They reformed
just to play with us in their home town, probably having no idea how
exciting and flattering it was for us (and how nervous we were to meet
them).
It was as rewarding as being asked to support Sonic Youth on two tours,
totally being taken under their wing and being showed what dignity really
means.
It was as rewarding as the drawings Daniel Johnson sent me, or the Stinky
Puffs single from Jad Fair's son, or playing on the same bill as Greg Sage
in L.A., or being asked to help produce the next Melvins record, or being on
the Wipers' compilation, or Thor from T.K. giving me a signed first edition
of Naked Lunch, or making a friend like Stephen Pavlovic - our Australian
tour promoter who sent me a Mazzy Star LP on vinyl, or playing "The Money
Will Roll Right In" with Mudhoney, or having the power to insist on bringing
Bjorn Again to the Reading Festival, or being able to afford to bring my
friend Ian along on tour just to have a good time, or paying Calamity Jane
five-thousand dollars to be heckled by twenty thousand macho boys in
Argentina, or asking my friends Fits of Depression to play with us at the
Seattle Coliseum, or playing with Poison Idea at a No On Nine benefit in
Portland organized by Gus Van Zandt, or being a part of one of L7's pro-
choice benefits in L.A., or kissing Chris and Dave on Saturday Night Live
just to spite homophobes, or meeting Iggy Pop, or playing with The Breeders,
Urge Overkill, the T.V. Personalities, The Jesus Lizard, Hole, Dinosaur Jr.,
etc.
While all these things are very special, none were half as rewarding as
having a baby with a person who is the supreme example of dignity, ethics
and honesty. My wife challenges injustice and the reason her character has
been so severely attacked is because she chooses not to function the way the
white corporate man insists. His rules for women involve her being
submissive, quiet, and non-challenging. When she doesn't follow his rules,
the threatened man (who, incidentally, owns an army of devoted traitor
women) gets scared.
A big "fuck you" to those of you who have the audacity to claim that I'm
so
naive and stupid that I would allow myself to be taken advantage of and
manipulated.
I don't feel the least bit guilty for commercially exploiting a completely
exhausted Rock youth Culture because, at this point in rock history, Punk
Rock (while still sacred to some) is, to me, dead and gone. We just wanted
to pay tribute to something that helped us to feel as though we had crawled
out of the dung heap of conformity. To pay tribute like an Elvis or Jimi
Hendrix impersonator in the tradition of a bar band. I'll be the first to
admit that we're the 90's version of Cheap Trick or the Knack but the last
to admit that it hasn't been rewarding.
At this point I have a request for our fans. If any of you in any way hate
homosexuals, people of different color, or woman, please do this one favor
for us - leave us the fuck alone! Don't come to our shows and don't buy our
records.
Last year, a girl was raped by two wastes of sperm and eggs while they sang
the lyrics to our song "Polly". I have a hard time carrying on knowing
there
are plankton like that in our audience. Sorry to be so anally P.C. but
that's the way I feel.
love,
Kurdt (the blond one)