It is the Janus hour; it looks back at the day done, and forward to the day anew. It is an end and a beginning. It is zero, the start and finish. Midnight.
I remembered an olden tale, in which we were instructed that the "beasties" come out after midnight. Well, beastie is rather arcane, isn't it? Or maybe Scottish... Yeah. Could definitely be Scottish. Anyway...
So, I thought about it. Not real hard, but for a bit of a while. It occurred to me that if the beasts (it's just easier than beastie) come out after midnight, and midnight is zero hour, then the beasts never really leave us. Right? Tell me I'm wrong.
In that olden tale, the determining factor may have been more about daylight and darkness. But then why "after midnight"? Why not "the beasties only come out after dark"?
While we're around topic, another thing about midnight. Clocks that chime the hour. The only time a clock should chime twelve is at noon. It announces the beginning of the twelfth hour of the AM. But it isn't. It's the beginning of the PM. So, shouldn't the clock strike one time at that hour? And just remain mute at midnight? Because midnight is the zero hour. I still contend that no one knows what the time really is.
So basically, Midnight and other beasts just means this: this is zero hour and all the beast(ie)s that float around it. We start at zero and spin the dial. Clockwise, counter-clockwise... doesn't matter. It's just where we are.
I know this still doesn't actually define what Midnight and other beasts is. It just tells you what the name means. Or at least it's origins. That's the closest you'll come. Some say "you know, it would be nice if you just produced one cohesive statement, something that pins down the site's whole ethos". Or words to the effect. That would be a... manifesto? Oooh... bad connotation, that. Best to stay away from them.
Alright then. Enough of that. Were you around in 1992? Did you know that was the year that cool died? Yeah, it happened. In case you missed it, from The Death of Cool, 1992, Kitchens of Distinction...
It is Sunday morning. Well, it is here. It's whatever time it is where you are, and we hope that your day/night is going well. Seems like a good time to dive into the vault...
Today we travel back to 1987. Not literally, of course, but... if only we could. I have invoked Thomas Wolfe's title because it dovetails nicely with the message Verlaine is sending with the song A Town Called Walker. It's the same message, just with a different flavor.
Some in our audience may be familiar with Tom Verlaine and his work. I suspect that many of you may not be. 1987 was a year that saw a veritable plethora of film and music releases. Not all of it was good, in fact much of it was dreadful, but at least there were a lot of choices available. Among these was Verlaine's Flashlight LP, a release that was sadly lost within that great volume of material. Released a decade after Verlaine's debut with the band Television (1977's Marquee Moon), Flashlight garnered little commercial success or critical acclaim. Others are free to argue the contrary, but it is often true that popularity and critical approval have no bearing at all on artistic merit.
As the front man for Television, Verlaine solidly established his bona fides within the burgeoning music scene of late '70s New York. There was a legacy forged there by The Velvet Underground, and later Lou Reed as a solo artist. The family of artists to carry that tradition forward, were among others, Talking Heads, Patti Smith, Blondie and Television. They were considered the darlings of CBGB, the club that was the hub for the punk scene of the time.
Television distinguished themselves in this environment with their punk inspired energy, while demonstrating an artistry atypical of the genre. Lyrically they were literate and prosaic. They were a unique sort of art-punk; not the quirky, rhythm driven variety as Talking Heads, but something all it's own. Both of these qualities were driven by Tom Verlaine. With their 1977 debut, the band received much critical acclaim and the admiration of their peers. They followed with a disappointing sophomore release in 1978, then proceeded to disband. Verlaine's solo career that followed was sporadic; thus, he never became a household name. He nevertheless continued to hold a widely respected status from fellow guitarists.
I once owned a copy of the album, on a cassette tape I picked up out of a bargain bin, only about a year after it's release. At the time I recognized the name, and almost wondered aloud, "what has Mr. Verlaine been doing since Marquee Moon?" At that moment in time, I had to honestly say that I had no idea. So, for the paltry sum of $3.99 or thereabouts, I decided there was no harm in checking it out. I ended up doing, as I've often done, playing it to death for a while. Then losing it into a pile of forgotten media. And dust.
There were three or four songs from Flashlight that I had particularly liked, A Town Called Walker being the foremost of those. I would recommend that you find the album, by whatever medium, and give it a listen. Other tracks to recommend are Annie's Telling Me and the almost bluesy, At 4:00 AM. The album bears Verlaine's distinct vocal and guitar signature in every note. If you are someone who appreciated Marquee Moon, I could not imagine not liking this album. If it is new to you, let us know what you think.
When I learned of Tom's passing a few years ago, I went back and revisited Flashlight for the first time in a number of years. As it had years ago, this particular song, A Town Called Walker, stood out from the others. Well, the long-term consequence of this is that the song now shows up in playlist rotation. You know, the friendly algorithm at work. And listening to it with greater attention, for reasons I do not understand, I gained what is perhaps a deeper understanding of the story related in the song.
The song opens:
Janey's going back to Walker, says folks There are happy bees. I said you remember Walker You lookin for some misery? It's not their Tricks that I mind... it's just the way they say "we" all the time. That town's not a number, it's simply gone numb. They'll finish you off there before you've begun.
I don't know who Janey is. Maybe a sister, maybe an ex. Maybe an old classmate. She says that she is going back to Walker and paints a happy face on it. "Folks there are happy bees". The party that replies has a familiarity with the place. "...you remember Walker. You lookin' for some misery?" It's like he is saying, "Happy bees!? Are we talking about the same place?"
Now, if this was purely a case of friendly advice, the person might have said something like, "Gee, Janey. Are you sure going back to Walker is a good idea? Let's talk about it." Instead, this person cites a memory of misery. Maybe it's the kind of friendly advice that is more urgent. You know. More like, "What the fuck is wrong with you!"
"You can't go home again", as an idea, is thoroughly explored in Thomas Wolfe's work. It's a gentle admonition. It's a piece of advice offered to someone who maybe doesn't want to hear it but needs to. It's a polite way of telling someone that they are looking for something that just isn't there. From the book: "Make your mistakes, take your chances, look silly, but keep on going. Don't freeze up." We know what happens to George Webber at Libya Hill. Are Janey's circumstances with the town of Walker really so different? Her friend seems to think so.
People such as I, who grew up in a rural setting, may be asked where we are from. Typically, the response given will be to reference the nearest town, even if one did not actually live in the town. In these cases that town is usually a small town. A place, I suspect, that is rather like Walker. In the song, Janey's friend offers his short and somewhat biting critique of the town. It makes me want to say that I am from Walker, and in a sense, I suppose I am.
Small towns have their charm, but with that they also have their baggage. "It's not their tricks that I mind...it's just the way they say "we" all the time". The scolds. You know the type. "Well, here in Walker WE don't approve of that sort of thing!", or "WE won't put up with that!" There are the Karens who all seem to think that they are empowered to speak on behalf of everyone: WE. Sometimes it's just some grump. Sometimes it's the nosey bitch with a liberal arts degree from fifty years ago who still thinks she knows everything.
Folks there in Walker they've got their fun. They'll count you out there before you've begun. Expecting exciting and new lights to be shining On anyone who can find someone else there to blame, Folks there in Walker are falling in love with their Shame.
Walker is the kind of place where accomplishment is resented rather than rewarded. It's the kind of place pervaded by a "drink culture". Nobody there cares about your honor student, but did you hear? Lonnie just got his first DUI! These are people wallowing in so much shame that they can not help but project this onto others. Folks there in Walker are falling in love with their shame.
If home is a time and place captured in warm, fuzzy memories, then no. You can't go home again. That part of "home" no longer exists and can only be recreated in your own mind. There are, however, those parts of home that still exist. Especially if you are from Walker. They are there to remind you why you left in the first place.
It's 2025!? WTF man... when did that happen? Oh!... right, I remember now. Welcome to Midnight and other beasts. First time? It's not too late. You can still turn back. I didn't and... well, you know.
Alright then. You were warned. Anything that happens after this is on YOU. Today we're going to do something different. New year, new shit. Right? We're going to explore some music, albeit through a series of Screwtube videos, but with a theme. As the title implies we're going to visit our Anglospheric cousins down under. Aussie or Kiwi. Sorry, you all sound the same to us.
Without further ado, we'll begin with yer average Sheila next door...
Well, despite her notable respiratory challenges this lady is clear voiced and pretty handy with a guitar. A pretty fair backing band too, I'd say. These videos are sourced from Courtney's own page and you will find links therein for her site. If you're already a fan that's great! If you like what you heard here I'd encourage you to explore more of her music.
In today's fractured musical landscape Courtney is not a household name, but certainly not unknown. I'll hope that somewhere in this audience there is a newbie who will say, "Yeah, I like that." In terms of the rock or alternative genre she is a relatively contemporary artist. Now we're going to dig a little further back in the vault...
No! Not AC/DC. Not even INXS... no alphabet soup for you! While AC/DC was still riding high on Back in Black and INXS burst upon the stage in those early MTV years...
Kiwis
The Luddite Memorial analogue gang
Lo-fidelity guerrillas to their enemies
Their societal apex the seventies
Escaped to the ends of the earth
Where anything could happen
but we're assured that
Nothing's going to happen
Hand me down sofas
we sat on the floor
A young lad could afford a flat
and a Saturday case of ale
then play Sundays by rubbish heaps
and watch time go by
Both from 1981 folks. You probably didn't hear it here in the states. The Clean is on Flying Nun records (see link with the vid). Tall Dwarfs are also on Flying Nun, although one will not find this video on the label. This is an early self produced project from Mr.'s Knox and Bathgate and a very clever little bit it is. They are the Schroedinger's book ends of the New Zealand alternative scene. Anything can happen, but nothing's gonna. I can live with that. In fact... we'll all just have to, won't we?
Back in the waning years of the twentieth century the band Semisonic had a hit with their song Closing Time. The song was a wistful yet gentle treatment of those awkward hours of the single life. Tall Dwarfs brushed against this hour in Nothing's going to happen with their phrase, "heading in the general direction of anywhere but home". I'm here to tell you that Semisonic was wasting their time. Chris Knox told this tale fifteen years before in a poignant little ode, All of my hollowness to you
So sentimental. You really have to admire the honest man. Even when he's somewhat manic.
Maybe you heard an old favorite. Or maybe it's new to you. This is a bit experimental and perhaps better presented in some other fashion. We may explore some more themes in future. Provided that we do not hear from anyone something like, "Dude! That was complete rubbish! My eyes and ears are both bleeding now!", then I'd say we probably will. Even then we might still.
Thanks for visiting. We'll be back with some other... stuff... sometime. Off to do a bit of Avant Gardening of my own.
