Pale Green Ghosts
John Grant
It’s either doing a disservice to John Grant or to the over-slagged genre of humor known to the connoisseur as “hipster-baiting” to say this, but I think I’ll say it anyway.
I can’t help but feeling like this album is like what hipsters want you to think they’re like. I’m listening to Pale Green Ghost and I keep thinking things like…
…This is weird…I think I like it…
…How artistic!
…Ugly…and yet somehow it works.
…That’s as damn near to “original” as anyone’s going to get these days…or any days…
…This dude’s being authentic. He ain’t frontin’ anything except his own self. Well done, that man.
…He thought about this a long time…you can tell.
…I’m thinking more than I’m used to.
…Why am I feeling nostalgic for The Neverending Story?…I know what I’m doing this weekend. Artax! Such a good horse.
I feel like it’s thoughts like these that hipster really want you to be thinking. Usually, I am not thinking these sorts of things. I’m usually thinking, “the only irony here, bro, is that you think anything about you is ironic.”
John Grant’s got me thinking all of them. He’s like the soul of the hipster, which sounds like something to make you gag. So forget I said it, and remember the intention instead: John Grant is like John Grant, and there’s no other good measure for him.
Also, minor self-indulgent tickle, he came from my home state. It’s fun to nod and say, “Yes, been there — it’s just like that,” to the occasional geographical references he’s making.
Hmm. In addition, if I weren’t so intellectually interested in the science of engineering emotional experiences, I think I’d be alternately near tears and laughing my ass off at this album.
Thanks, David. Diggin’ it.
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