John Fahey, Ben Chasny and Coffee-Flavored Beer

About twice a year the folks, the kids, myself and the related people get together at the Brooklyn Brewery to get that stupid sort of drunk you get from having a very short amount of time in which to drink. Apparently the neighborhood kids have gotten hip to the wiseness, because while their Saturday tour-n-drink events were always a bit tight we have never witnessed a standing room only day. Good for those guys, for sure, but if we hadn’t cannibalized a table it would have been shit city. The 8% coffee stout helped tremendously.

Before the main event I had some time to kill, so I visited Sound Fix, which I am old enough to remember as the original location of Beacon’s Closet. I haven’t been to EarWax in a while and SF is on the way, and I figured it would be a good place to pick up John Fahey’s Red Cross album. I’m getting up in years and in this turbulent, Illuminati-controlled economic climate getting basted and then shopping for records is a sure way to end up with a lot of poor choices in your pocket.

John Fahey Was All Sorts of Tragic

Wikipedia or an old Grey Lady article can give you the relevant background info. Later on before Fahey died, when Jim O’Rourke was all up in his Santa Claus-ness, Fahey supposedly disavowed his earlier work as sentimental or some other word that is artist-speak for “supergay”. I’ve not yet sought out his later material. I may never do so. Jim O’Rourke is filed in the corner of my brain that’s called BORING so his name inspires neither confidence nor fear. There’s nothing wrong with some sentimentality, anyway.

My favorite pick from that period is America, which strums along at a mid-tempo pace that fits driving across long, boring states and rolling green hills. I’ll take sentiment over ressentiment any day.