I wake
up from a well-deserved nap and Paul
Westerberg’s Grandpaboy album is still on the stereo, but all I
want to hear is The Drone That Began On The First day Of The Universe And
Will End Only When We Have All Become God. But I don’t happen to own
that record, because in the first place no-one knows yet what that record’s
name will be or what label it’ll be on, and in the second place I’ve
had a rocky relationship with drone music. It doesn’t lend itself to
objective criteria, which drives me nuts, and it’s only recently that
I’ve been able to drop the attitude about music played mainly by people
who are stoned out of their minds. But the heavy metal I enjoy, which will
someday usher in a new age of government by heshers, of heshers, and for
all you people who in the Bright Light of the New Day will all become heshers,
leaneth sometimes toward The Kingdom Where All Is Drone, and it has opened
my ears somewhat, as has my shameful and ever-deepening excursions into
ambient
music.
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