song of the day 1. Jenny Hval

The images she dislodges from my mind with this song I am unable to share.

A favourite memory from Caboolture was playing a previous Jenny Hval song – Innocence Is Kinky – to my class right after I had explained the Secret of Music. That your choices help inform you as a person and how others see you as a person. And that if I found such a song erotic, which I do (very) then it gives more away about me than if I tell them I find a particular Beyoncé performance erotic (I do, very), as one is more… I would love to hear Beyoncé say cunt. I think about submission. I don’t think it’s about submission. I think it’s about holding, being held. Every song is a story. That is one reason to believe in Hval. One student was so freaked out – she told me, week 9 – that she seriously considered dropping out of the course. Not that I believe confrontation or challenge is necessarily the way to communicate, just that it is fun to tease.

See that picture of Kim Fowley as a corpse with a half-naked lady draped around him? Now that is living.

The images she dislodges from my mind I cannot share because if I leave nothing to the imagination then what the hell is the point of your imagination? Role reversal is interesting to me. As is gender reversal. As is examination of the rules of attraction. I wage this constant battle inside, more obviously (to myself) these days when I have come close to realising what it is I desire, whereby I keep myself closeted away so I do not make ripples while simultaneously dreaming far wilder dreams then I believe I have read, heard, seen. I love ferry rides, the symbolism of them and the pelvic thrust of the engines. I believe that I could have a great conversation with someone into ferry rides, shouting and submission. Not myself. I hold little interest for myself, despite it all.

The three ladies dancing in the shower do look like Status Quo from 1977.

I saw Perfume Genius in Brisbane last year (this year?) and I was so disappointed, with the smoke and mirrors stripped away he lost much of his fascination. The opposite of Hinds then, who I saw the same night and in a different venue – the closer they became, the closer they became. A much easier illusion to maintain. I yearn so badly to see Jenny Hval perform live it is like a perpetual internal torment (somewhere, just there, to the left of the afterburn) but I know that the mystery could be dispelled and she may prove not to be a witch after all. Not a witch after all. That would make me so sad.

I do of course appreciate she is an actress.

I dunno man. How personal do you want to go? How much detail can you stomach? Do you need me to go into explanations as to which parts I find arousing, and why? When does this cease being criticism and start being confessional? (Maybe I should have asked myself that a long time ago.) The expression on her face while she’s running… the close-ups of her shaving… the moments of self-absorption (I’m wondering right now if I’d find it so erotic without the music: I can’t answer that because I’ve heard the music)… the way it should feel voyeuristic but doesn’t because the details are so generously shared… the reclaiming of personal space through dance and movement… the running of the tap… the closed eyes… the stretching of skin. All of this is taken in conjunction with the music. Of course nothing is explicit. Or is it? I can’t work that one out. The video pulsates with dissonance. Innocence is indeed kinky.
Song of the day – 604: Jenny Hval