"Such a strange, strange boy..."
Jul. 23rd, 2010 08:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceI am notoriously, obsessively loyal to individual artists. As a teenager, I once stopped Brian Aldiss in the middle of Blackwell's Bookshop (when he didn't know me from Adam, you understand) not to play fanboy as I ought, but only to ask why he hadn't included Harlan Ellison in a "Best of the Sixties" anthology he'd edited. At the time, I'd read everything Ellison ever published; which at the time meant importing books complicatedly and expensively from America, on a teenage income. It's like that, I get hung up on one person: not to the exclusion of others, but... well. Like that.
If I were a one-woman man, it is clear, that woman would be Janis Ian. This news comes as a surprise to some; Ian Rankin is on record as one of those surprised, despite how long he's known me and how well. It's almost a surprise to me too. I do love being sung to, and I do love women's voices; but even so, I don't quite know quite why it is that she hits all my buttons so precisely. Ever since "At Seventeen" happened, she's been my default position. I forgo evenings with Ian, to see her live; she's automatically top of my playlist, and already in the stereo more often than anyone else. Playing now, while I paint, while I sing along.
I dunno. It's just a thing, 'k?
In other news, it's remarkable how much more time there is of an evening, when the TV is unobtainable. I have been cooking a complicated curry in between painting jags; I am on the edge of finishing both the painting and the curry. If the living-room weren't full of books, I would probably have given up on the painting an hour ago and let it ride till tomorrow, while I filled a plate with curry and slumped in front of something-or-other. As it is, I shall paint till everything is covered, and then eat curry over Cousin Kate. "Heyer, lad, Heyer's the stuff to read/For fellows whom it hurts to bleed..."
If I were a one-woman man, it is clear, that woman would be Janis Ian. This news comes as a surprise to some; Ian Rankin is on record as one of those surprised, despite how long he's known me and how well. It's almost a surprise to me too. I do love being sung to, and I do love women's voices; but even so, I don't quite know quite why it is that she hits all my buttons so precisely. Ever since "At Seventeen" happened, she's been my default position. I forgo evenings with Ian, to see her live; she's automatically top of my playlist, and already in the stereo more often than anyone else. Playing now, while I paint, while I sing along.
I dunno. It's just a thing, 'k?
In other news, it's remarkable how much more time there is of an evening, when the TV is unobtainable. I have been cooking a complicated curry in between painting jags; I am on the edge of finishing both the painting and the curry. If the living-room weren't full of books, I would probably have given up on the painting an hour ago and let it ride till tomorrow, while I filled a plate with curry and slumped in front of something-or-other. As it is, I shall paint till everything is covered, and then eat curry over Cousin Kate. "Heyer, lad, Heyer's the stuff to read/For fellows whom it hurts to bleed..."