Legacy: BNL needed a bit hit after One Week, lest they be known as that Chickety-China band. I had found my first love, and kindred spirits. It was the first album I memorized word for happy sounding but actually sad word. As a lonely 6th grader, I asked for this album for Christmas 2000. But let's not lie they just made you say underwear. Still one of the Ladies' classics, a positive yet depressing song as only BNL can do about the malaise of coming back home after after being famous. But I never got into to before I heard this hit. I had been vaguely aware of this band years earlier, for that "Chickety-China" song. Does the music I first got into still hold up today? Probably not. I became adept at switching the cable from MTV on channel 3a to Nickelodeon on 3b. It was a bit like a speakeasy I listened to Kiss FM in the car with my older brothers, I would hang out with neighborhood friends at 4pm after school so I could watch TRL at their houses. An overreaction, yes, but like a preacher's son to corn liquor, I eventually found pop music. So in a moral blitz from the sonic onslaught of Biggie Smalls and Nirvana, my mom put a ban on pop radio in the house. When he first got into pop music, the radio was all grunge and gangsta rap. I was born in 1989, my oldest brother was born in 1979. When I die, I'd sooner go to middle Earth." There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true? Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab.
that long magic moment before we wake.įantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real. "The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams.
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