It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a strip club. The co-workers of my first job, along with the president of the company, were the ones took me to my first. They made it a point to “initiate” me when they found out I had never been. I still look back on that memory fondly, because I was so young and green, and they wanted to get me over my inexperience.
But it was never something I did with any frequency. You always look at those guys, seating by themselves at the head of the table with a beer in hand, thinking, “Is this better than what you have at home?”
After all, strip clubs are never really about the girls. It’s about being out with your friends, when your parents think you’re at a movie1. They’re like concerts. You could sit at home and listen to a CD with studio quality sound, but there’s something different about the atmosphere of a live experience.
It’s easy to grow past the appeal of strippers though. There’s no personality there. Even Playboy models have likes and dislikes. The furthest a strip club goes is by saying, “Here’s Porsche, and she used to be an airplane attendant”.
Don’t get me wrong; I love the female figure. But there’s no appeal in a stripper.
- Some of them had ringtones set for their home numbers, and just the ring would set off a round of teenage spite [↩]
Eric, who used to work with me, introduced me to Brant Bjork, and stoner rock in general, about two years ago. It’s a genre that explores delightful repetition, where variations are subtle, but powerfully psychedelic.
[I]t is certainly accepted that the effects of marijuana and the often low or psychedelic riffs of stoner rock complement each other.
—Wikipedia, Stoner rock
I liken the idea to Plastikman’s debut album, Sheet One. Though of a different genre — trance — it features a perforated album cover, an homage to acid tab art, for which the LSD enhances the details of every single minimalistic beat (so I’m told).
While I’ve enjoyed Queens of the Stone Age, who are considered to be influenced by the stoner rock movement (indeed, Josh Homme and Brant Bjork formed pioneering band Kyuss while in high school), the sound is a little more commercial, less droning.
After I heard a few songs by Brant Bjork, I was hooked. I never associated it with a memory, which is what I do with almost all my songs, but it was good enough that I didn’t have to.
At Thanksgiving, during one of my trips through the mall with Andrew and Alex, I resumed my search for Brant Bjork’s solo album by the name of Jalamanta. It was a bigger city, a bigger place…maybe I’d have a better luck. Unfortunately, every music store gave me the same answer; it was an album they didn’t keep regularly in stock.
Alex asked me what I was looking for, the name of the album and artist, and I didn’t think anything of it.
Yesterday, I found a package in the mail. Fragile — CD, it said. Inside was the Brant Bjork CD I’ve been looking for, which they found at an independent music store. Along with the CD was a card made from my Pollen Junkie photo (which was taken in their garden), with a message written on the back.
And as great as it is to finally hear the songs I’ve been missing, as nice as it is to have an original release, it’s nothing compared to the thoughtfulness, the effort they made to find me exactly what I was looking for.
Update: Julie bought me a lucky bamboo plant, along with a vase filled with decorative rocks and a cute hand-drawn card. Very, very nice! Definitely an effort spent acquiring all these things, and much appreciated.