I have overplayed Best Coast’s debut full-length from Mexican Summer, “Crazy For You,” to the point of nausea, since August of this year. I blast it in the car, listen to it in the bedroom, sing what words I can remember during my morning shower, let it seep through the speakers when I’m blogging about other bands. You might think I’m obsessed, but I would argue that it’s not about me. Something in the girly, silly, lazy, bratty, surfy, stony, gritty indie tuneage adheres to the brain and you kinda can’t shake it. It’s hard to imagine that anybody could.
In short, Best Coast is crack. And my stereo is the pipe.
There’s something about “Crazy For You” that takes me to a different place, outside of the eastside LA hood that I happen share with the band, a place somewhere in my memory: It’s the late nineties, I’m wearing a Cub tee and bright red lipstick, leaning against a beat-up mid-century office chair (the fruit of a good dumpster dive) on the floor of an artfully dingy Bay area dining room, inhaling the pervasive house aroma (a mix of Nag Champa, wheatgrass, clove cigarettes, dusty vinyl, rum and crappy Canadian weed) of my host’s charmingly shitty abode. The house is filled with friends that only seem to wear various shades of hemp. We’re ranking all the bands on Lookout! Records. I’m listing rockass chick bass players I wish I could be. We all just bought a bunch of used first-edition CDs at Amoeba. I don’t own a cell phone. Nothing in this moment is ironic. Nobody has ever used the word “hipster” to describe someone or something occurring after 1970.
It’s a fantastic escape. I feel light, like I did then–when a drive to SF, lap around Haight-Ashbury and $5 rock show was all a person needed to feel alive. But always, the album ends and I realize that I’m looking at my laptop, writing about famous assholes and dirty politics and really depressing corporate fails, and my back hurts from sitting too long. I feel ancient and irrelevant and grouchy and employed and no longer anything resembling cool. Worse, although my house might bear the faint aroma of medical cannabis, there isn’t a clove for miles and miles.
So I walk over to the pipe and spin Best Coast again.
Filed under: Bay Area, Best Coast, Best Coast "Crazy For You", Crack, Debut Album, Echo Park, LA Bands, Lookout! Records, Los Angeles, Memories, Mexican Summer, Nostalgia, San Francisco, Vinyl Records, Weed
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