| OK so here’s what it’s like. I moved to Chicago in the fall of 1995 and found myself in a situation where I was quickly amassing more CDs than I could really handle at once. (We packrats experience these periodic reawakenings our peculiar illness -- the disease that we kind of enjoy if we’re honest about it, the one that causes us, eventually, to fill whole rooms with records that we may or may not ever find ourselves wanting or needing to hear again; we cannot help this, so we just kind of roll with it.) Somewhere along the line I got a bunch of stuff on Atavistic, a Chicago label that focuses its attention of the sort of music that resists categorization -- of course, every God damned rock band in the world likes to think that it can’t actually be categorized, but Atavistic is into the sort of thing that usually gets called “No Wave” (which describes nothing) or “Modern Classical” (which is bullshit) or, probably most effectively, “outside” music. |