In another era online, I'd spend hours upon hours stumbling across blogs from well-read music enthusiasts with a lot of time on their hands. A lot of these bloggers would just back into a thesis by applying whatever they were reading (Guattari, Foucault, Marcuse, Virno, etc) to whatever music they were enjoying at the time. I’m guilty of this theoretical malpractice as much as anyone. It’s a fun exercise, if not a little dishonest or unrigorous.

This book harkens back to those glory days. In this way, you get pieces both compelling (Deleuzian paranoia in Ariel Pink’s need to codify and flatten disparate genres, a reading of Marine Girls that somehow incorporates Cixous’ Laugh of the Medusa, Deleuze’s idea of the becoming-woman, and thalassophobia as a particularly masculine fear) and obvious (Brian Wilson’s Smiley Smile as a radical rejection of the commercial grind, a Debord-heavy piece on R. Stevie Moore’s cognitive dissonance around "stardom").

The author is aware of the limits of some of the “theorizing" here; there are constant disclaimers and jokes around how tenuous the connections are. I’m not entirely convinced by most of the arguments, but I’m not sure they’re intended as arguments in the first place. In any case, I don’t think there’s anything inherently leftist or anti-capitalist in recording outside of a traditional studio.

Lo-fi music subverts some commercial expectations, sure, but I don’t think it is inherently more critical of those expectations or the larger system behind them. Composition and creation in general is already an act of criticism, and the use of “primitive” or noncommercial equipment doesn’t necessarily imply a wholesale rejection of principles we might understand as right-wing (brazen ego-centric individualism, an unquestioning desire to preserve tradition, grossly commercial aspirations, the exploitation of fellow musicians and the rejection of the communal, etc.) Many lo-fi musicians might have “eccentric” aesthetic preferences, but a disturbingly conservative (or even fascistic) ideology is not necessarily incompatible with a little tape hiss or distortion. It’s true of black metal, it’s true of Ariel Pink (and to a lesser extent, R. Stevie Moore), and it’s true of a lot of the artists that weren’t cherry-picked for these essays. It’s telling that a great deal of this music is still rooted in pop, with song structures and melodic gestures recognizable within the larger pop tradition. Compared with, say, free jazz or harsh noise, bedroom pop can be read in bad faith as beholden to certain bourgeois values, even if it eschews others in its production or distribution.

But that’s largely outside the scope here. With a healthy dose of skepticism, this book make for an enjoyable, quick read. I do think the pieces on Daniel Johnston and Perfume Genius are a little flimsy, but the piece on Mount Eerie’s Dawn is strong. A mutual enthusiasm for the music on the part of the author and the reader can make or break essays like this, and your mileage may vary. For better or worse, I have time for it.

Two minor quibbles (I am petty). First - calling Wild Honey “quite uninteresting” is very nearly grounds for dismissal. I had half a mind to set the book down right then and there. (Kidding, sort of). And second - I read a lot of theoretical writing. Lotta jargon passes by these eyes. And in my many years, I don’t think I’ve ever read anything with more instances of the word “quotidian” in my life. Helpful word, sure, absolutely. Love that word. I use it from time to time! Great word. And I understand that a lot of this music proposes an alternative to imposed norms. That’s a lot of what I love about it too! But it’ll take me a while to reintroduce that word into my vocabulary. Might need to give it a little time.