In a recent interview with Terri Gross to promote her memoir, Kim Gordon said that playing the bass guitar is a physical act, in that how you move your body impacts the sound the instrument makes. This surprised me, not because Gordon isn’t a proficient musician, but because I would never describe her style of playing as graceful. While an alluring onstage presence, but Gordon’s relationship with her axe seemed cumbersome, like it was holding her down. Ranaldo and Moore wielded their instruments with flair; Gordon jostled and bounced, sometimes like she was trying to revive a an engine. If released of the weight, what would she do? Is this all she could muster, or was there more to her - a Ginger Rogers with one foot stuck in a lead cast.
For these and more reasons, this performance of “Reena” is awesome. I remember seeing this on TV (I was a huge Conan fan). “Rather Ripped” is a beautiful album, remarked upon its release for its lack of abstraction and the occurrence of 3-4 minute pop-rock songs that jam. So, here she is, in front of the mic, no instrument, in heels and a silver gloss blouse, two hands on the mic, rocking back and forth in quick syncopation, keeping time like a shimmering metronome. What she’s wearing is important, because Gordon is the only member of Sonic Youth whose style evolved and matured, not with current fads, but with age. Moore wore jeans and t shirts, and wears jeans and t shirts; perpetual adolescence, whereas Gordon’s mutating style forged a space in rock and roll for different kinds of identities: female, middle age, mother, wife. Her body isn't the same as it was 20 years ago, and Moore isn't afraid to acknowledge that.
Despite the song’s chorus “You keep me coming home again,” Gordon’s lyrics are directed toward the title female figure whose relationship is never explicit. Secret lover? Confidant? Object of worship or envy or admiration? Someone her age or younger or older? Someone married like Gordon was at the time or single? Someone with a family or who lives by herself? Gordon never lets on, but hints that Reena is oblivious to the the best parts about herself:
“ A wild horse sitting right there by your side
Hard to ignore, hard to disguise
Will she ever realize?”
Lyrics websites note that Gordon said that Reena is a fictional character she created in collaboration for a book; she’s not real. If time tables are to be believed, Moore’s affair that would end he and Gordon’s relationship was in its nascent stages at this point. Some interviews say that he met this other, younger woman while working a book, others say that this woman was Gordon and Moore’s longtime nanny for their daughter (it’s probably the same person).
This rendition of “Reena” strikes because Gordon’s voice is shot, overcoming a cold or just plain worn out from touring. Instead of shying away, she leans into it, her voice like a quickly dissipating trail of smoke; it’s out of key and she doesn't hit the high notes like she does on the album, but it works, due to Gordon’s commitment to presence: she is herself with a scratchy voice and no apologies. .
Two minutes in, the instrumental break erupts, all pummeling chords and propulsive drums. Gordon lets go of the mic, drops back, and releases into orbit. She’s warming up:jumping in heels, a little higher each time, swinging her arms up and around her head, then criss-cross, gaining speed, her head a platinum blonde whirl, the tempo picking up, she’s gone full tilt, doing a kind of ecstatic multi-directional jumping jack, her slender blouse framing her breasts, her legs look akimbo, she’s sufficiently whipped into a frenzy, a quick twirl, then another, shes briefly on one leg, will she lose control?, no, she’s got this, the chorus is right around the corner, will she make it in time?, yeah, she’s got this, she throws herself out of the loop, jumps in front of the mic with both feet firmly planted, grips it, rocks back, then swings back into place, and, without missing a beat - right back where she started -, as if she never even left, she sings, sure, a little out of breath, but better still, breathless, “You keep me coming home again.”
The song ends
“ When you were gone I was out of my mind
I had a friend who laughed all the time
I had a friend who cried all the time
I had a friend who screamed all the time
I had a friend who lied all the time”
Then, she slowly glides back into the ether, pure motion. Does she prefer the rush to the statis? It’s a dumb question: you can’t live in either one forever, you need both. Maybe she’s been in statis for too long, and is trying to reacquaint herself with revving yourself up in the moment, abandoning your body to the sound crashing around you as you dodge and weave alongside it. Practicing for when she’ll need these skills in real life. I don’t think Kim knew what was going on at the time, but it’s striking that she ends the song telling us that she has a friend who lies all the time. Sometimes, we create fictional characters to convince ourselves of things we need convincing. If it happened, it would be fucking hard, but she’ knew she’d be okay. Thanks, Reena - wherever you are.
In a recent interview with Terri Gross to promote her memoir, Kim Gordon said that playing the bass guitar is a physical act, in that the sound the instrument makes changes depending on how your move your body. I took this as a surprising statement, not because Gordon isn’t a proficient musician, but because I would never describe her style of playing as graceful. While an alluring onstage presence, it seemed that the axe was just getting in the way or perhaps holding her down. Ranaldo and Moore wielded their instruments with flair; Gordon jostled and bounced, sometimes appearing like she was trying to revive a dying lawnmower engine. If released of the weight, what would she do? Is this all she could muster, or was there more to her - a Ginger Rogers with one foot stuck in a lead cast?
Which is why this performance of “Reena” is all the more awesome. I remember seeing this on TV (I was a huge Conan fan). “Rather Ripped” is a beautiful album, remarked upon its release for its lack of abstraction and the occurence of 3-4 minute, um, pop-rock songs that jam. So, here she is, in front of the mic, no instrument, in heals and a silver gloss blouse, two hands on the mic, rocking back and forth in quick syncopation, keeping time like a shimmering metronome. What she’s wearing is important, because Gordon is the only member of Sonic Youth whose style evolved and matured, not with current fads, but with age. Moore wore jeans and t shirts, and wears jeans and t shirts; perpetual adolescence.Gordon’s mutating style invented a kind of presence in rock and roll, creating space for different kinds of identities: female, age, mother, wife. Her body isn’t the same as it was 20 years ago, and Moore isn’t afraid to acknowledge that.
Despite the song’s chorus “You keep me coming home again,” Moore’s lyrics are directed toward the title female figure whose relationship is never explicit. Secret lover? Confidant? Object of worship or envy or admiration? someone her age or younger or older? Someone married like Gordon was or single? Someone with a family or who lives by herself? Gordon never lets on, but hints that the best part about Reena is that she doesn’t even know it:
“ A wild horse sitting right there by your side
Hard to ignore, hard to disguise
Will she ever realize?”
Lyrics websites note that Gordon said that Reena is a fictional character she created in collaboration for a book; she’s not real. If time tables are to be believed, Gordon’s affair was already in motion at this point, and that he met the woman he would leave his wife for while working a book (other reports say that this woman was Gordon and Moore’s longtime nanny for their daughter; it’s probably the same person).
This rendition of “Reena” strikes because Gordon’s voice is shot, overcoming a cold or just plain worn out from touring. Instead of shying away, she leans into it, her voice like a quickly dissipating trail of smoke; it’s out of key she doesn't hit the high notes like she does on the album, but it works because Gordon is committed to presence.
Two minutes in, the instrumental break comes in, all persistent chords and pummeling drums. Gordon lets go of the mic, drops back, and releases into orbit. She’s warming up:jumping in heels, a little higher each time, swinging her arms, her head a platinum blonde whirl, the tempo picks up, she’s gone full tilt, doing a kind of ecstatic multidirectional jumping jack, her slender blouse framing her breasts, her legs look akimbo, she’s suffienctly whipped into a frenzy, a quick swirl, her knees must really be feeling those high heeled landings, shes on a one leg at one point, will she lose control?, no she’s got this, the chorus is right around the corner, will she make it in time?, yeah, she’s got this, she’s thrown out of loop, she bounces up to the mic with both feet firmly planted, grips it, rocks back, then swings right back into place, and, without missing a beat,right back where she started, as if she never even left, she sings, sure, a little out of breath, but better still, breathless, “You keep me coming home again.”
The song ends
“ When you were gone I was out of my mind
I had a friend who laughed all the time
I had a friend who cried all the time
I had a friend who screamed all the time
I had a friend who lied all the time”
Then, she’s back into the ether, in motion. Does she prefer the rush to the statis? It’s a dumb question: you can’t live in either one forever, you need both. Maybe she’s been in statis too long, and is trying to reacquaint herself with revving yourself up in the moment, abandoning your body to the sound crashing around you as you dodge and weave your body alongside it. Practicing for when she’ll need these skills in real life. I don’t think Kim knew what was going on at the time, but it’s striking that she ends the song telling us that she has a friend who lied all the time. Sometimes, we create fictional characters to convince ourselves of things we need convincing. If it happened, it would be fucking hard, but she’ knew she’d be okay. Thanks, Reena.
Helga Davis wore black leather pants with thick yellow heels last night. She sang a de- then re-constructed "Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child." She killed it, then resurrected it, then offered a piece of it to all of us as communion. When she first started hitting the high notes and letting her operatic voice flirt with rhythm & blues, with pop, with diva-ness, her left leg and arm flayed out as if a jolt of electricity had run up her spine. As she sang, her fingers curled tightly around the extra inches of her sweaters' cuff. When the lyrics detailed pain, her hands trembled and shook,, the way autistic kids flap and flutter when they want to express an intense emotion purely: with the body, foregoing language. Watching Helga Davis perform is slightly annoying only in the sense that you must tolerate those who are watching her for the first time. Audible gasps."Ah!" Mutterings: "Oh my God." Awed exclamations: "Her range!" A standing ovation ensued. It was a memorable and powerful night.
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