Beck - Blackhole.
Okay: I’ve heard and seen a lot of fascinating, beautiful things here in the last two days, but I don’t like having nothing but reblogged content (and I haven’t had time to post or write anything original). So I’m uploading this and linking to some of what’s struck me recently.
When I was much younger, this song used to bring me into a state of ecstasy (I intend its real etymological meaning here: a trance, a state outside of one’s self). I listened to it at all sorts of pivotal moments: road trips, sleeping on top of my car when it was parked in a field, snowed in, in the desert.
I never knew what the hell Beck was mumbling, and didn’t want to know because I assumed (correctly) that it wouldn’t be as resonant as the music was for me. The only part I could understand, and which I loved: “Little boy, little boy / Laying on a sleeping bag / Watching, watching / Through the cracks of his eyelids.”
I remember sleeping bags and staying up late and camping out and being a boy, and this song seems connected to that now.
Other things to see: