Monday, February 15, 2010

U.S. Girls - Go Grey (2010)

I talked to Megan Remy for just under a minute once. Or maybe I didn't even say anything other than the standard "Yeah, heh..." She was telling me about the piece of paper that she was writing the prices for her merch table on, how the other side contained information that she had printed from the library about how to stay healthy. I was looking forward to her opening up the cardboard boxes that she had with her so that she would know that I was the first in line to buy her records, pretty much the main reason that I had ventured all the way down to some shitty Bridgeport art gallery on a Saturday night that I should have probably spent studying. But no, she just sort of wandered off to chat it up with her former (?) roommate (?) and my plans were shattered. While one of the other bands was playing that night (AIDs Wolf? Gah...), I felt like she was glancing over at me (probably not the case) and began to worry that I had creeped her out by making such a point to sit right up front during her set... pretty much directly in front as she kneeled on the cold basement floor like some angel sent from above, conjuring this cruddily hellish racket with a few effects pedals, a tape recorder, and an amplifier.

I had just turned 19 years old and attended the show by myself. Throughout the rowdier sets of the night, I stood up front hanging onto a paper bag containing my winter coat, a 7", and the treasured vinyl copy of Introducing... that I had to make sure didn't get bent in the sea of spazzed out mosher types. The orange line had stopped running by the time it all ended, so I was forced to trudge all the way up Halsted St. from 32nd St. to Roosevelt and over to the red line. It seemed far at the time. Maybe it is. By 2:30 A.M., I was back in my DePaul University temporary dorm with no sign of my roommate, as per usual. Contemplating my failure to whisk away a nice lady and prove my ability to make her blissfully forget it all, as per usual. I threw on Tonight's The Night and once again surrendered to the draining black hole that that hazardously overheated living space seemed to form around me.

A month later when I moved back into the now safe from toxic chemicals dorm room that Patrick and I had been forced to evacuate that winter, I took that black hole with me and it ensured that my soul would continue rusting away until summer. To think about what the hell I was doing exactly one year ago is to be brought back to an age where time was a stifling fog being hazily drifted through. It's a feeling not unlike the one brought to mind by Megan Remy's music as I first encountered it. As expected, Go Grey sounds quite good at night. What is there to really say about it? "Girl group," yeah, sure. There aren't as many instrumental tracks this time around. In fact, a couple of these songs, while fucked up and terrifying as expected, rock somewhat conventionally. "I Don't Have A Mind of My Own," for instance. Maybe that stuff was already happening on that Gravel Days thing, but I only heard it a few times. "Sleeping On Glass" is like a six minute long multipart epic! Never heard her tackle something like that before, gee whiz! I still enjoy the sounds and what she's trying to do with them, but can't help but think of an interview that Remy did with Tiny MIx Tapes in December 2008, perhaps while she was working on the songs for Go Grey: "The newest record's not as dreary. I'm feeling better, I think." And that's great, but something has still been stripped away. Something that drew me in. I wish I could adequately describe the refinements in sound and overall aesthetic showcased by this new recording but I should really be getting to bed. Sorry.


Download Link: "Red Ford Radio"


Adrian said...

dude, i must have been literally a foot away from you during her set. i feel like we might have had a brief shared acknowledgment of the wipers being played through the PA.

Leif Garret(t) said...



I remember seeing Max Palmer (at the time just "that kid I keep seeing everywhere for some reason") bobbing up and down to "Is This Real?" and wanting to slap him.