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Try to enjoy the Mockingjay: Part 2ness of this review anyway.
A neat magic trick that kind editors will immediately kibosh is when a writer can’t find anything interesting to write about a thing, they write around a thing.
The tone of my reviews when I was 23 was, “Music makes it worth being alive, and being alive is intrinsically great because it allows one to experience something as transcendent as music.” Even at the time I thought: this is getting a little played out. I have woken up on over one thousand mornings since I was not 23 any more.
Now I am not preoccupied by the impossible greatness of what I like.
I am preoccupied by wondering: do I like the same things now as much as I did then?
Stewart’s near-monotone posterific chants are the calm eye of this storm, and I guess that’s the whole point.I couldn’t believe how hard I had squandered every opportunity given to me, from the cosmic accident of my birth through to a free ticket to what I still believe is The Greatest Music Festival Still Alive, with ingratitude.Future Islands came off more canned than the Village People did playing the same stage.Is music really less interesting because Dick Diver aren’t a fixture of it any more?Is a 23 year old having as generation-defining a moment right now as I did between (Yes, to RVG.)I’m pretty sure I wasn’t 23 when Dick Diver played at Meredith, but I definitely felt, if not explicitly thought, “This band playing at this music festival is a) the best thing to ever happen, b) as metrically important as whatever the Real Music Press was paying attention to, and therefore actually more important, and c) the reason being alive is intrinsically good.” I had the same feeling during Chic.