I like music. I have a band. I’m gonna tell you all about it.
What I look for in rock: guitars, melody, guitars, energy, guitars, and guitars.
Pujol, “United States of Being”
I’m going to die at any moment. I ain’t got time to mess around.
That’s what it feels like to be 41. And it’s why music is such a part of my life again. Looking over the years, and sampling many different ideas, I find myself coming back to what has brought me the most joy in life. That’s what getting a prescription to statins will do to you. I’m buying Doctor Who actions figures too, if you were wondering.
And why wait to review this new Pujol album? True, I’ve only listened to it once. On the bus. On the way in to work. Stogy critics would deny themselves the pleasure of writing about a piece of music until they’ve had ample chance to soak in all nuance, and ponder greatly as to it’s place and meaning in the Universe. And then pat themselves on the back. Maybe smoke a pipe. Screw that. This pushes the Pavlovian happy rock button at the base of my neo-cortex. I’m gonna talk about it.
It’s interesting how the right amount of guitar, rock and pop instantly grabs me. A golden ratio, if you will. The United States of Being has songs that don’t screw around. Upbeat, direct and to the point, melody, clever turns of phrase, and a touch of psychedelia.
I know jack and shit about this band. I bought this solely because I heard a track on WFMU. And I’m okay with that. It’s the Innerweb 2.0, right?
Postscript, two weeks later: E and a G too, E and a G, Y.
Post-postscript, a few minutes later: Fine, okay, I did some research. Pujol refers to Daniel Pujol. He’s hedging his musical bets by pursuing a graduate degree in Global Affairs. Smart man.