^ Sort of a strange picture, n’est-ce pas? Last week I started to write about how I fell for Pauly and Interpol, and now I’m going to finish that tale. Okay, so I was a very casual Interpol fan for roughly two years and then I moved away to college and bought Antics. Yeah, we’ve been there already…. Okay, so I was driving home from Amoeba records all the romantic little way back to Westwood (which for me, involves going down Highland, — such pretty palm trees down the middle of the road — turning right on Beverly, making a left where it merges into Santa Monica Boulevard, making a right on Wilshire right about where it hits Trader Vics and the Beverly Hilton. From there it’s a hilly little cruise down to Gayley, where I turn right and go all the way up to where I used to dwell in the ucla off-campus apartments. I’m getting all nostalgic for school, I’m sorry).
Slow Hands was playing on the radio at the time. I liked it. Not so much the chorus, but certain parts. That was what resurrected my interest in the band, and that’s what made me go buy the record. That is the best record to drive to at night, by the way — I think that’s why I went into specifics about my journey, and I think that’s what made it romantic. All I’m going to say about Antics is this: Paul Banks is sessy. Not yet in love with him, but in love with the band.
For some reason I had a free subscription to Spin Magazine. Woot! They put Interpol on the cover. If I can find a pic of it, I’ll post it. It was Pauly in a red jacket, looking strange and cute. Whatever. I didn’t care at first. I read the article. Carlos D. seemed to be the one bytches dug. I learned that Carlos D. sightings were the stuff of legend in New York City. Someone said they once saw him eating a taco by himself. Hahahahahaha. That kills me! Anyways, the moral of this story about Spin Magazine is that I had never gotten a good glimpse of Paul Banks until then. Turns out they airbrushed his moles! How damn rude is that? Stiil, I thought he had a cool face and a cool vibe. His hands were kind of neat, too. Huge! He could phuck someone up for real with those hands! By the way, all I ever hear about him is that he’s sweet, kind, and shy… but I get the feeling that he’s an evil and sessy little brat who sometimes has very nice manners. I don’t really mean that – of course he’s nice.
The crush thing started after I purchased Turn On The Bright Lights in Fall 2005. That was a rough quarter. I had four courses (I know that doesn’t sound like much, but when you’re a slow reader and mentally soft…) I was taking The Early Christians, Ancient Epic, Madness in Antiquity, and the History of Archaic Greece. That’s a lot of reading and writing, and Interpol made it bearable. Gracias, Interpol!
This post is spiraling out of control. I’m sorry about that. Sometimes the writing makes its own trajectory…. So Interpol was my band at this point! Woot! I tend to attach myself to one or two artists at a time and hold on for dear life. That year it was John Frusciante and Interpol. By this time I thought Banksy was cute. I even chanced upon one of their concerts on TV. The stage was dark and I couldn’t really see Banksy at all. What I could see was that he was slightly chubby, wearing a hat, and that he looked sort of menacing. Smoke and mirrors all over the damn place. WTF? The music was swell, though. I just kept thinking: “This band is hell of dark-sided.” Hahahaha. They aren’t.
2007: Peoples, Banksy is super sessy! It’s the voice, too. I woke up one day with the sudden realization that I was in deep trouble. Oh no! Another crush on some musician dude! I did some totally random post on this blog about how I thought Paul Banks was super duper piping hot and that I was happy that they had a new album coming out. I assumed that no one on this planet would ever have to know about my silly admiration because I thought that the only people who read my blog were the delightful and resplendent Daners and Janers. Really, I just needed to put that crush stuff out there for my own benefit. Ha! I was so wrong.
Who first commented to me? Oh, yes! Some creep who informed me in some crotchety-arsed tone that, contrary to what I’d written, “Mr. Banks is no where near British!” Whatever, Agatha Chrusty! Bytch was born in England. Wikipedia says so. Then someone wrote to tell me that, no, I was not alone, in finding Banksy all sorts of sessy. Hallelujah!
Does any of this help explain my good will toward Banksy? Did I skip anything? It’s late and I’m probably not making much sense. Arrgh! I have a feeling that when I wake up I am going to wish that I had not hit the “publish” button. Whatever – Fortune favors the brave.
* It just occurred to me that I could have spared you all this nonsense and just gave you a truncated version of why I love Banksy:
- Look at him!
- The following songs: Narc, Take You On A Cruise, Stella Was A Diver and She Was Always Down, … (this list sort of doesn’t end)!
^ Eureka!
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