First time I heard The Memories’ new release, In La La Land, I was taking a mean shit, you know. And while this chocolate shotgun had a Blue Moon shootout, hooks and feels and fuck-feels just started oozing out. In my high school best friend’s bathroom. Second floor. Where, as he says, “Is not dump friendly.”
So I get to thinking that I never really kept up with my high school friends — despite countless, forever-many memories — I always remember why I moved away: ridicule. Ridicule in hilarious, because it cuts right to this funny-bone bravado; what almost dares one to say, “I couldn’t [do something] because my girl was having an abortion that week.” Or heckling our hairiest, oldest member of our group, “Oh, he’s a big boy. He can do it because he’s a big boy. Boy boy going for seconds?” Like…
Here I sit. Pants around my ankles. Another round of rapid-fires. The bowl, a mess. In La La Land filling me with passion. When my friends burst into the bathroom, arm-lock me, I’m Buffalo Bill above the toilet, getting a Polaroid taken, that’s hung on a wall just high enough so I can’t reach it without being stopped. The Memories seem like really good friends. In La La Land doesn’t fucking stop twisting.
Tapes and digitals now through Gnar Tapes.
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