Sunday, December 5th, 2010

radiumgirl: (kobra kid)
*points to shiny new icon*

I have a pretty eclectic taste in music, but I tend to shy away from discussing it in this journal because I don't feel like I'm particularly versed in music debate. I like what I like, and some of it is really embarrassing to admit and some of it is a little bit impressive (I think) and some of it is just weird. My iPod rocks everything from Taylor Swift to Marilyn Manson to Def Leppard to Claude Debussy to the Little Shop of Horrors soundtrack. I like what I like for reasons that largely only make sense to me, so I never feel particularly comfortable defending myself over it. I recognize the examples of both high and low culture in my taste for what they are.

I love to pimp music though.

My Chemical Romance has a soft spot in the part of my heart reserved for music. I Brought You my Bullets, You Brought me Your Love and Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge were both released when I was in high school, both lived in my discman, and both were, at the time "my personal soundtrack."

Whatever. It was high school. I got sent to the guidance counselor's office once for sitting in Geography and deliberately ripping up my black stockings. The plaid skirts, the spiked collars: this was tenth grade.

And I was pretty much over it by the time college rolled around. The Black Parade blew my mind with the complete make-over the band gave itself. Alot of people bitched about the "mellower" sound, but I saw it as a nod toward maturity, a step away from the "nobody gets me" bullshit that permeated (especially) Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, and while it was still kind've a downer album, it had it's brighter moments. Not to mention, a good portion of the close friends I have today came directly from a listening party someone threw in their dorm for the album, and our crazy English deconstruction of the music video.

Now, I'm prepared to get pelted with wet garbage for this, but after admitting that I like MCR at all, I don't think my opinion can get much worse, so: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys is one of the most amazing things I have seen or heard all year. I absolutely love it, and I think it's whole "stand up to the man or die trying" vibe is fitting at this time where I'm really nowhere near where I saw myself being when I was in college. Two different friends laughed about my selling out this week, and while my response was basically "fuck you I have bills to pay," I've still been laying up at night, staring at the ceiling, contemplating the implications of my current predicament.

Tonight, I cleaned and organized my closet. I pushed all of my regular clothes to the back and moved my work clothes up. The result of this is that you peer into my closet and the first thing you see are hangers of button down shirts, pressed slacks, and a blazer or two; but if you move them aside, there's the zombie tee-shirts, and the neon colored stockings, and that fuzzy pink lumberjack hat that I scored from the Salvation Army last winter. Radium Girl is a total Killjoy at heart, unfortunately for her, Mary likes to make her car payment on time.

This is the trailer for the album, and if you're interested, I've posted the two corresponding music videos beneath the cut. They actually tell a story, with "Sing" being the sequel to "Na Na Na" and, angsty pile of romantic that I am, I totally cried. And Owen totally mocked me for it.



Fuck Like a Kennedy )

June 2011

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