As extreme as that change to minor in More Than Words

Mark this date. The internet has turned in on itself.

W brought it to our attention, but now it is mainstream. This world is striking, preemptively, upon itself. Everything is intricately linked and intricately self-aware.

W brought it to my attention, and I thank him for the lesson he has taught me. Advarp is built upon the foundations of the preemptive strike – she aims to be self-referential, self-deprecating and self-serving.

What am I talking about? The burden of 'internet hype.' I've been a victim of it. And now, to curb its casualty rate, it is provided as a built-in disclaimer.

This is good, but you already knew that.

It explains itself away. Once it becomes stated, it cancels itself out, and therefore no longer plays a part.

The best of the year, and not just so far, but until 31 December, already.

And now, if only the real world would sit up and take notice.

Thanks to SY and GR

I remember thinking I was so cool, at fourteen years old, listening to the extended [twenty-minute] version of Diamond Sea, from their [then] latest record Washing Machine, and managing to make it all the way to the end, though I don't know who I was trying to impress at that time, as I didn't know anyone that would have cared that I was listening to Sonic Youth. I soon gave up trying to impress myself.

I'm all grows up now, and I'm getting excited about them all over again. I'd fudged them off in the interim years, to the extent of ignoring their recent tour for Murray Street, or Sonic Nurse, or whatever they might have released while I'd had my back turned. But, now, they're coming back to me.

For years, Daydream Nation has been there, staring back at me, at the top of my list, telling me to riot against platform shoes and Marshall stacks, but I ignored the call. When I finally did come to it, the guy at the record store said he was happy I was buying it, just because it is his second favourite album of all time. I'll light a candle to your sentiments.

Now, I understand the guitar freak-out, something that couldn't come from anywhere but New York City. It's all about the decisive moment; when they switch from playing our understanding of the song to playing their understanding of the song. When we fear for the life of a few guitar strings, for just a few minutes, while the other strings drift out of tune with each blow; in the pursuit of art-noise while remaining unwilling to step outside of mainstream rock. No part of the guitar is sacred, all of it will make a sound through a Turbo Rat and Big Muff, even below the bridge, after the nut; those PAFs resonate; the amp is an instrument, too; and so on with all abandon.

And remaining sure that Sunday comes again, and that they'll return to the theme we all came to expect, inevitably.