Nature vs. Nurture. It’s all I can think about when listening to Lynn Fister’s Aloonaluna project. Am I a product of my environment or a product of the ebb and flow of the world? It’s even in the name — loon(ey) and luna(r); the magnetic push and pull of French philosophers and dead Greeks. Tomes of knowledge condensed into the poppy drone of Mythologies. Fister doing more than pulling off clever flicks of her musical wrist. Where does nature end and nurture begin? Hillary Clinton is whispering “It takes a village” with the Billboard enthrall of an Oprah audience coming down. It’s a gleeful argument played out on tape, Fister’s imagination and wherewithal too cunning for but one splotch of blocked critique. So I close my eyes and decide to settle the debate. I hear familiar themes, not just those of the existential, but those of long-gone Nickelodeon and PBS children’s programming. “Canyon” is a sad man who’s one poorly-conceived-spacesuit away from being Secret City, “Horse Tentacles and Coral” a strange new beat mashing up Pinwheel and Ghostwriter. With this, I’m taken back to summer nights in a sardine can known as a trailer, the delights of playing 8-bit games lit by the headlights of a car through the slit windows of the basement. I dream of running through thickets of weeds and tall grass, being chased by angry hornets after stumbling upon their discarded nest. I am no closer than I was before Aloonaluna. Guess I best flip it over and start from the beginning.
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