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Out at a club the other night, and not really having a good time of it, as it was a flashy-light tiny bad-dancer's on wooden boxes club with horrible tinny yuppie make-sick music. And everyone of course is trying to dance and hook up, et cet. while I wait in a corner with whisky and aren't I a killjoy and I should just dance.
We get outside, I'm still trying to explain how soulmurdering some of the stuff coming from those speakers was, and everyone's half-placating and half insisting I just didn't want to get up and dance. And then, from some car on the curb, Jimmy Cliff. The Harder They Come. Now that's make an idiot of yourself dancing on the sidewalk at one in the a.m. and then throw your head down like Van Morrison being soulful in concert badass motion-requiring music.
And, as the television proved to me a few hours ago: Motorhead's Ace of Spades.
And and, because I'm a horribly sappy miserable so-and-so, I am inevitably swept up and carried off to magick sappy-sap land by two Zombina and the Skeletones' songs. She has No Reflection and Let's Get Familiar. Entirely different sort of 'Fuck yeah!' but definitely a 'Fuck yeah!' of its own. |
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