I was recently listening to an episode of How Long Gone when host Chris Black described himself as “advanced basic.” Without him having to explain it, I automatically knew what he meant because it’s exactly how I would describe myself. Being advanced basic is a practice in opposition. If you’re advanced basic, you’re both aware that you are a snob and yet passionately averse to snobs. If you’re advanced basic, you love your Birkenstocks as much as the girl who goes tree planting in British Columbia, but as an advanced basic you are very much aware that’s embarrassing to wear socks with the Arizona style even though it’s not to wear them with the Boston style. If you’re advanced basic, Sally Rooney’s Conversations with Friends is your favourite book. Being advanced basic is knowing that your interests exist in that translucent millenial-pink middle ground between incredibly tasteful or incredibly cringe. What advanced basics know, what I know, is that even though you may have better taste than most others, you’re no tastemaker. When it comes to taste, we do not lead, we follow (and occasionally shepherd). I’ll just never follow someone wearing a pair of Vejas.
On the topic of taste, I recently finished Rax King’s Tacky, a collection of alleged “love letters to the worst culture we have to offer.” Tacky tackles culturally controversial ephemera like the sickly sweet scents of Bath&Body Works, the brash appeal of Sex and The City’s Samantha Jones, and the deranged digital world of The Sims. The best essay in the book is “Exactly as Much Spinach-and-Cheese Dip,” on The Cheesecake Factory. In it, King writes about how The Cheesecake Factory functions as a blank slate and great equalizer (of sorts). It’s a “potent imitation of luxury” that “let’s us play dress-up,” she writes, and experience the pleasure of wining-and-dining without the nagging dread that when the bill came, we’d quickly enter overdraft. If you could embrace The Cheesecake Factory without snobbery, you could be free to enjoy the pleasure of its illusions. Ideally, all the essays in the book would be like this one, deep dives into the cultural history and lasting impact of the tacky with a touch of personal anecdote. Unfortunately, Tacky is more interested in using these things as vehicles for sharing King’s (mis)adventures in love. At the center of each inquiry into the tacky, is a story about sex or romance gone wrong, with one or two exceptions. (The Cheesecake Factory essay also involves a tale about an older man, Richard, who takes a 19-year-old King to CF for their second date and in his insecurity, spoils what had previously been magic between the two.) As RAFTM Verity1 texted me, it’s not the worst thing if I was interested in essays about sex and love but I can only read about the awfulness of the 45-year-olds who date 19-year-olds so many times. The thing that brings Tacky together, and what makes it a worthy read, is that it makes a case for earnestness, for unbridled enthusiasm. Whether it’s taking the high school bad boy at his word when he says he cares for you or gobbling up episodes of Jersey Shore like you’d die otherwise, Tacky suggests that a willingness to be open to “all the too-much feelings” can never be wrong.
Two weeks ago, Harry Styles put out his best album, Harry’s House, and I love this shit so much I’m listening to it four times a day. On this album, you can hear Harry taking everything he’s ever experimented with on his previous albums and refining it to perfection. (If only he’d stop wearing those horrendous jumpsuits.) When Fine Line came out, Harry told Zane Lowe that it was an album he made for himself, without a care for how it was received or if there were hits on it. At the time, I remember that statement feeling disingenuous because songs like “Watermelon Sugar” and “Adore You” were clear attempts at making a hit. While Harry’s House has its hits — as RAFTM (and former CR guest writer) Kyle noted, “Music for a Sushi Restaurant” sounds like something Pharrell Williams got his hands on — but the album really does feel like Harry following his instincts and trying things out. As of this moment, my top songs are “Little Freak,” “Matilda,” and “Love of My Life,” with an honorable mention to “Boyfriends.” (I also really liked reading Kyle Chayka on the album’s City Pop influences.)
I’ve also been listening to Lykke Li’s EYEYE, the melancholic yearning of which is a welcoming contrast to the happy satisfaction of Harry’s House. EYEYE is heartbreak in motion — the lyrics evoke empty hotel rooms and endless hallways, silver Chevys and driving through long tunnels. The songs sound like they are being sung to someone who always has their back turned and so when Lykke sings “turn around, you / The movie is you and I” on “ü&i,” the last track on the album, the desperation is tangible. She wants her feelings and dreams to be recognized, to know that she’s not the only one caught in the web of wanting. As someone who is forever crushing and eternally crushed, I can relate. My personal favourites are “5D” and “Happy Hurts.”
The passing of Ray Liotta last week affected me more than I would have imagined. Liotta was an actor who was a fun presence to see as a supporting actor in the films I watched, including Marriage Story, but whose career I’ve never dived into. It’s been nice reading through people’s tributes to him and learning more about his work. I’m going to watch Goodfellas this weekend and then maybe Something Wild. I also really ate up this tribute and line reading by Hunter Harris about his role in Marriage Story.
I love that RAFTM Winnie’s enthusiasm about food in cinema — during dinner recently we chatted about their paper on the relationship between food and sexual appetite in Miriam Toews’ Women Talking and Carmen Maria Machado’s Her Body and Other Parties — and I love how it translated into this food diary about eating during the movies. I especially loved the vivid tension created by watching Moonlight for the second time while a bead of condensation made its way down their finger.
BRAIN VOMIT
I’d never heard the term “irony-poisoned” until I read this rambling and confusing piece about Urbit and the Dimes Square crowd and neo-fascists(?) I’m not sure what or if I was supposed to get anything out of it — at times it feels like it was written to make more clear a strange cultural scene that is becoming more popular (or at least known) everyday and at other times I felt like I was watching HRH.
Let’s just say that my Letterboxd username is “gretacore” for a reason!
IF YOU’RE A PACK ANIMAL…
RAFTM Emma Cohen is launching a reading series in Toronto and for the inaugural event on June 26th, I’ll be reading *something* alongside RAFTM (and former CR guest writer) Jess Kasiama and RAFTM Hannah Ziegler. There’ll also be performances by Glutenhead and Ten Boy Summer. Tickets are $15 and available here.
That’s all this week! Thank you to everyone who has upgraded to a paid subscription — you warm my vampire heart. This weekend, apart from watching Ray Liotta movies, I’ll be trying to plan for my big move. Wish me luck!
Reader and Friend to Me. Coined by Rachel Tashjian.
I loved “the songs sound like they are being sung to someone who always has their back turned”