"I dream of a hard and brutal mysticism in which the naked self merges with the nonhuman world and somehow survives...Paradox and bedrock."-Edward Abbey

27 August 2010

The Perfect Band

Space Team Electra has always been my favorite local band. The lyrics and instrumentation are what grabbed me. Well, and the lead singer wasn't too hard to look at, but I never once wanted to hold up her poster with one hand, despite what one of Jezebel once said after we saw the band perform at the Bluebird.

Sadly, they only made two full-length albums and one EP. Then, like the mourning mist, they were gone. Once or twice, I've heard whispers of a possible reunion, but that seems to only be a mental-blue balling rumor.

My companion describes her favorite band as the black jelly bean of music. You either love them or hate them. No shades of Grey there. I tend to think of Space Team Electra in that context. Over the years and lifetimes I've introduced cats to them, I've either been praised and thanked or told to go fuck myself.

I've also gotten the same reaction when playing Faith No More, which is kind of sad...

Every so often, I have heard someone speak of the perfect album. One example was Jets to Brazil's Orange Rhyming Dictionary, which is a good album, though I'd not say perfect. A friend of mine used to say the same thing about the Counting Crows first album. Now, Let it Bleed from the Rolling Stones, Physical Graffiti from Led Zeppelin, and either Let it Be or Abby Road from the Beatles are some perfect albums. I could listen to all of those in their entirety for the rest of my life. Peter Gabriel's Up, Social Distortion's self-titled album, and Faith No More's The Real Thing fall into that category as well.

Yet, when I think of the perfect album, the perfect song, the perfect band, I think of Space Team Electra. I cannot explain. They just resonate for me like that.

Fuck, at one point, I joked I'd marry the girl who liked Space Team Electra as much as me...

Although, if you even joke with Sabina that we're common-law, she'll launch into a drawn-out oxygen wasting denial. Use a spousal term, she'll yip like she's been burned alive, or, at the very least, kicked really, really hard. Not that I've ever done such things just for entertainment. That would be cruel.

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