Everything might happen for a reason, sure. While I can’t rule that option out, I’m thinking probably not, though. Most of the time any reason, or reasons, would be as random, or illogical, or inexplicable, or downright dumbass, without meaning, devoid of any planning, only turning out to be the result of the endless, boring, repetitive, and random mysteries of the moment with no more malice or forethought or “divine” engine behind it than the simple passing of time, the passing from youth into older age, from inexperience into experience: humans being humans. If there are happy accidents then surely there must be unhappy other things as well, all fuel for those hunters after drama and darkness.
Sometimes I wonder how I would be able to live my life if every time I make a mistake someone was there ready to put it down in print, to attribute it to a grand plot to upset the balance of right and wrong. I’d be so fucked if that were the case. Most of us would be. So fuck the recent bad press about Calvin Johnson and K Records and the upsets and sinking ships and legal briefs and drama hunters. We weren’t there, we don’t know, and those who were there are on it now, searching for a way out, a way back into the light. So we can all get back to the music, and our collective humanity.
Thing is, Calvin Johnson gave us so much cool: cool music, cool radio, cool record label, cool analog retro recordings, cool vinyl, cool cassette tapes, cool interviews, cool discoveries, all flowing through his teeming creativity and restless mind searching for the “new,” the exciting, to entertain and enthrall us. To have him close out the first night of The Business Presents, the mini music festival and brainchild of Nick Rennis and his own teeming, restless imagination for what a modern-day record shop might be in a ruined landscape where most people have no idea how to sell music, in a world where most people hate new music, was a brilliant healing moment at a time when the darkness seemed poised to win big victories against all of us who just want more great music, who just want to pause to remember fallen friends, who want kindness more than the hammer blows of media bullying. Johnson’s Selector Dub Narcotic is just another band in his evolution as a performer, human, and unique creative explorer. Meeting him was exciting. Watching him perform was happy healing escape.
Things break. In Japan, they fix broken objects like tea bowls with gold to celebrate the break, to make it visible, to make it more valuable as a thing mended than as a broken thing to be thrown away. We all break things. We crash through our lives and leave our scratch marks on everything we smash into pieces. Polymaths like Johnson and Rennis, surveyors and purveyors of what might be, challenge us by asking the important larger questions about why we’re here and what we should do with the time we have before us. The answers can be found, but it’s hard work. Each new insight slowly downloads into our brains and we move ahead, haltingly, randomly. We all run out of time. This is just a crazy experiment in being alive, people. Just do shit. Make shit. Be kind. And fix it when it breaks.