An episode of Seinfeld is airing in which George mistakenly assumes the identity of the leader of a Neo-Nazi organization.
It reminds of my own inadvertant encounter with some fringe folk.
I had made a pilgrimage to meet up with a couple friends and catch a U2 show. The three of us had spent three weeks traveling through the UK in a rented Daewoo, but we hadn’t all been together since that trip several years earlier.
As we hadn’t been together, the occasion required a toast and we had essentially rendered ourselves incapacitated by the time the band took the stage.
(we had arrived just moments earlier having drank all the way through the opening act with some Irish kids at a nearby bar)
As the show ended, I hastily exited Atlanta’s Georgia Dome for a cigarette. By the time my friends made their way outside, I was being chatted up by some young ’90s-styled bohemian chicks.
(I think I just heard Paloma’s eyes roll)
My compatriots ushered me off with them as my potential hackey sack harem vanished like a mirage. The next morning as we struggled through hangovers, the three of us examined the artifacts from the event – some literature with cringe-inducing poems and a CD of music.
It was hysterical stuff.
(I try to be open-minded, but if you dub something Creavolution…I’m struggling to take you seriously)
As for the CD…it was so dreadful we didn’t mind laughing, loudly, incessantly through pounding hangovers as the Zendiks raged against the machine in the most obvious of fashion.
(I do hope that during the next move I stumble across it somewhere…I fear, though, that it is lost)
Ten years on and I’m still not sure if I should consider the experience with amusement or concern.
Sure I had long hair.
Sure I was no fan of The Man.
Sure I dressed a bit like Jeff Lebowski.
Sure I found hippie chicks to be fetching.
But I was just a drunken slacker that wanted a smoke.
Thanks for the consideration, Zendiks. Here are four songs by the band The Cult…
The Cult – She Sells Sanctuary
My buddy Streuss turned me onto The Cult not long after Love finally reached US shores. I thought that the name was pretty dumb and uninspiring, but I was hooked upon hearing Love.
The sleek, supersonic She Sells Sanctuary was perhaps the high point of Love, a near perfect fusion of Billy Duffy’s pyrotechnic guitar work and lead singer Ian Astbury’s otherworldly howl.
The Cult – Fire Woman
from Sonic Temple
I thought the Rick Rubin-produced Electric – the follow-up to Love – was an unredeemable disaster aside from the wonderful Love Removal Machine.
(I seem to be in a minority on this one)
I was in school in southeast Asia when Sonic Temple followed Electric in 1989 and I was surprised to read that the album had made the Top Ten back in the States.
I finally snagged a bootleg cassette of the album at a street market in Bangkok and was duly back on board with The Cult. The band had regained the slinky swagger of Love and the breakneck boogie Fire Woman almost became a Top 40 hit in the US.
The Cult – American Horse
from Sonic Temple
Of course, The Cult were well known for their psychedelic trappings and – despite hailing from the UK – a lyrical fascination with the American west and Native American culture. And lead singer Ian Astbury was oft compared to Jim Morrison.
The sturm und drang of American Horse rumbles on for five minutes or so, flattening everything in its path like The Lizard King fronting Led Zeppelin. I’ve always thought the song was an underrated gem in their catalog.
The Cult – Star
from The Cult
After Sonic Temple, The Cult lost me again with the unmemorable Ceremony. There was also plenty of tension and instability within the ranks. In 1994, the band released a self-titled album that incorporated elements from the burgeoning electronic music scene.
(it made me think of hearing U2’s Achtung, Baby for the first time)
I thought it was their most interesting stuff since Sonic Temple and I really dug the pulsating Star. I think that Paloma and I had tickets to see them on the ensuing tour but the band broke up before reaching our date.