Coming Apart 


I’m having a nightmare, and Kim Gordon is in it. She’s whispering like a wall collapsing. ‘You’re it. No, you’re it’. Everything’s swarming and grey – I feel like I’m being dunked overboard on a pitch black night –  but it’s all only getting worse, more intense, the longer the dream goes. Cicadas howl and mass, someone keeps fetching at my hair like they’re trying to move hay with a screwdriver, and I’m part of a procession down a great slope that’s thick with blood and smoke, somehow aloft on top of it and crushed underfoot at the same time.

A hooded figure keeps appearing and then sluicing off into the background, like a cloud shaped after menace. Every time I see it, I shiver. A hammer swings high and low, chains clank and doors slam shut as we all pass. I don’t know why, and I don’t know what it means, and I can’t say to guess or understand about what it means about me, but I am certain that I never want to leave, if I knew how.

And Lee Renaldo’s last solo album really sucked balls, so I hope he listens to this when he gets the chance too.

Rating: 5 stars