| |
|
| jrnls80s is a scrapbook of sorts: fragments of emotion and information, inked onto pages like ghostly souvenirs, representing a decade of Lee Ranaldo's life. But Ranaldo does not languish in the hinterlands of self-reflection. His memoirs are devoid of the maudlin, and indeed, he seems to stave off sentimental sweetness at every turn. The end result is a collection of beautiful prose that elucidates the life of an extremely complex and talented artist. |
What the book offers is a singular insight into one-quarter of Sonic Youth, a history of what the 80s were like inside Lee Ranaldo's head.—What the book offers is a singular insight into one-quarter of Sonic Youth, a history of what the 80s were like inside Lee Ranaldo's head. > Read the entire review | |
| Paper | 5.5" x 5.5" | 198 pgs. | ISBN: 1-887128-31-5 | List: $15.00 | 12/1/1998 |
Available on Powells.com, Amazon.com, from your local BookSense store, and bookstores everywhere!
|
About the book: Poems, lyrics, letters, observations, wordplay, and postcards from the early days of Sonic Youth.
Sonic Youth spent most of the 80s sleeping on floors, driving used vans, touring across a neurotic America and the globe beyond. Before they became part of the national bloodstream, they created an underground swell, encouraging adventurous listeners to jack in to their matrix of pantonality, feedback, and chiming scree. All the while, Lee Ranaldo was drinking in the landscape, the clubs, the people; recording a journal of this wild ride.
"This book includes early fledgling thoughts all the way to Daydream and the conquest of the indie scene, plus such faves as 'Hey Joni' and 'Eric's Trip'...I realize I've wanted to do this book forEVER."
—Lee Ranaldo
From the book:
Well Cody I don't know if there'll be any way to explain to you what kind of stuff it is yr dad does for his living. I'm sure that at the very least it's not like anything yr friends' dads do! Yr half-way across the globe, three and one half years old. Meanwhile, yr 32 yr old dad is gesticulating on stages across Europe, letting anarchy (and occasional brilliance--ahem!) run wild for unbelieving audiences... Will you ever see me in this insane state? By the time yr old enough to come along and really experience Sonic Youth, and retain the memory, will it still be there for you to see? I wonder. This is what yr father does, son, something not describable in terms of skill, or profession. Let's just call it performers and performance. It's the only word which takes variety into account. Let's call it Hell Breaking Loose. Let's call it Out To Pasture. We can't always call it music, but we can usually call it Sound. Let's call it Volume, let's call it Sex/Noise. Let's call it Empty and Full all at once.
–a letter to son Cody, October 5, 1988, Barcelona 4 a.m |
