There's finally something that's making me happy, outside of those moments, of course, where I marvel at my child or the love that our cat, Tiny, has for my wife. It's like walking into a forest with a cathedral - canopy of trees hanging over the green stinking mist of forever. Don't really know how to talk about it. But anyhow, my damn, shameful obsession with The Who is once again brought to the surface because of this new film that came out a couple of weeks ago. It's called "Amazing Journey - The Story of The Who," and really, it's several films woven together.
But I don't want to say much about it because it's all about feelings which, if you're not a fan of The Who, these feelings are like something insipid or foolish uttered in a mockumentary. So, well just fuck that, and you know, it's all silly. With the wisdom, ahem . . ahem. . . of nearing forty-one, and that jaded eye, quivering with caffeine and sprouting crows' feet like cracks in the L.A. sidewalk, I look askance at my history of wasted time, money and tears over this shit. But this is my life, after all, and if you don't give a shit, then don't keep reading. But really this document that the film is, well, it just makes me happy. Happy in a way that a good workout used to make me happy. I don't cry. I haven't cried since I stood at my father's graveside, and in the toilet on the ElAl, and this film doesn't make me cry. But it would have. Now it's just about seeing stuff in a very inside-out kind of way; these people who make up the band, or rather the remnants, Pete and Roger. Of course, members of their crew, family members, and famous members of other bands who were influenced by the band, like Sting and Noel Gallagher pepper the film with opinions and smiles. But this is a painful document to watch.
Watching it sober, in more ways than one, is at once raw and transcendent. It's quite definitive for my taste, at least, and I don't really give a shit what other more seasoned or critical fans are saying that the film is lacking or leaves out some performance, or how it strays, or fuck knows what else. The theme of chapters presented as "tracks" of a vinyl album is effective. It reminds me of them old good days. I like it. Enough said. Now go and buy it or try to catch it somewhere in a theater or borrow it from me.
I'm having a really tough time and it's just making me happy and giving some needed distraction. It stinks like an ashtray, and vomit, and gin, and it sounds like a party. And I'm glad to be alive with it.
