Music for Sedation
In the last two weeks, several people who don’t know each other told me I should meditate. Perhaps it was my clenched fists or violent outbursts. I don’t know. It’s a nice idea, and I went online to learn how to do it. I learned that it takes time, and I don’t have enough to meditate. So, I went to Amoeba Music in Hollywood to buy easy listening records. You know you’re wound too tight when you think Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby are just a bit too raucous. There is no easy listening section at Amoeba. Obviously, people who shop there are very hip and buy vinyl to spin at their DJ gigs. This is good for me, because all the records I want are in the $1.00 Clearance section.
Within 15 minutes, I’d only made my way through the first four rows of records and I had to stop. At this point, I had 40 records. Clearly, this could go very wrong without some self-control. I hope that my love for easy listening doesn’t spark a trend. I seem to be the only person in Los Angeles looking for these records, probably for good reason. Now, you may say, “Sean, no, bad, stop.” I admit the music is remarkably schmaltzy. It’s amazing that someone could beat all the life out of every song on a record. But it is relaxing to me and takes less effort than meditation.
The covers all share the feeling of heavy sedative addiction. The women tend to look like they’ve been slipped a roofie, and the men tend to look neutered and stunned. There’s no room for excitement, passion, or anger in this world. Even the typography goes out of its way to be “nice”. And, of course, you knew that The Lawrence Welk Show was destined to end up here at Burning Settlers Cabin. If you can manage, you must watch this clip until the terrifying people in yellow sweaters pop into the screen and demand that you, the viewer, be happy and nice and pleasant. I mean it, be happy dammit! But not overly happy.
