Crazy May: Mark E Smith, a Genius, is Dead

It isn’t May, it’s January, and my keyboard insists it’s Cray May, nothing Crazy about it. First it started dropping r’s and then it was z’s after I tried to swap the spring thing under the r and z keys to make the r key work.

Mark E Smith, a genius, has died and I listened to some of his songs last night, on the floor, which was probably right. It’s still the same as when I was fifteen. I get ill after one song. There’s too much of what I like in what he did, like orange juice with the water evaporated out of it, super tart I’d imagine, or super sweet, depending on your orange. There was never anything diluted about the Fall.

You’d have to be an alcoholic to make music like that. You’d have to, or it would kill you off at the start rather than at the end. I suppose that’s why most music’s so boring. Survival strategy #1 for geniuses: you make anything amazing and it will probably kill you, so don’t. Either make do with something melodic that doesn’t hide how torn your heart really is,  or do things very occasionally, or you will die. The options for geniuses are limited.

This is why most music is so awful. There are so many spaces to fill. And not only music, I hasten to add. For every book I buy there’s a possible place in a bin. For Each film I watch there’s a likely a wasted half hour, which is roughly how long I think you need to give a film before escaping. People are much the same.

You’d think being good at something would help, not kill you. How depressing. I shall now listen to Live at The Witch Trials.

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