It’s no secret that the impenetrable presence of Sonic Youth’s music among American Culture leaves a seemingly-endless tossed scattering of traces. Their midway-career allegiance to Geffen records carved out a space for the following acts: Nirvana, Phantom Blue, Weezer, Hole, Lisa Loeb & Nine Stories, Beck, Manowar, Whiskeytown, Blink 182, and Papa Roach — all bands that signed with Geffen after Sonic Youth did in 1989.
It is no secret that Sonic Youth continue to walk through my heart, leaving the door open, as always, again and again and again.
The first time I heard Sonic Youth, I was in 6th grade. I put the cassette tape into its respective player, and the song, “J.C.” came immediately on: hauntedness of psyche / psychic hauntings and dream-re-hauntings / hauntedness of soul / abundance of heart in quatrain-buildings-up of sound / stimuli-other-indulgence / pieces of invisibility / ultra-apprehension of texture as it replaces compulsory structures / long exhibition of the hands and their bodies / strings / fret-boards / sticks banged or catapulted / skin pulled taut over its skeleton / dance of the pre-ruining of all foundations.
It always begins with the Dirty album: Track 13, at forty-eight-minutes, zero-point-six seconds: “J.C.” denounces the wasteland machinery of industry, leaving behind in the very mimicry of construction and decompression a Kim-Gordon-spit-out of rowdy New York City game; and the vapid scene of meaninglessness is returned to us an a equally anti-originary state or habit of being. Hyper-abundant over-extended excess / of liminal energy no one knows how to call by name. High holy recitation of secular poetic lines / sultry litany of declamation / utter deliverance of absolute and dissolute utterances / impassion trading seats on the bus with passion, whose arms are filled with flowers that won’t stop blooming, blooming, blooming, amid flies that die still stuck to the glass of hot innercity windows ~ !