2008 Woodie Awards
A night with Ladytron's The Witching Hour
By: Matt Won, Opinion Editor
Issue date: 4/21/06 Section: The Arts
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It's another Friday evening of dashed hormonal hopes, missed chances, and hot girls who listen to enough Maroon 5 for me to be able to sour grapes their sweet promise. Alas, no real love, or even that wonderful delusional physical/real love, awaiting me in my lofted bed. But all's almost well in the world: I'm a hipster and The Witching Hour, Ladytron's third LP, beckons.
“When they come out to find you / And they cannot describe you / Someone somewhere has to buy you / Out of your weekend,” Helenie Marny alluringly chides me on “Weekend.” She could be talking about herself, but I embrace the dynamic. “That's fine with me, baby, just remember I'm cash only, no Visa.”
“Friday is the teacher / And Monday the tormentor,” she continues. She knows her teasing will drive me mad, but I ignore her soothsaying and fall into the gorgeous hypnotic trance she weaves.
The apocalyptic siren call of “High Rise” has me leaping onto the rocks with nigh Cruise-esque abandon. My roommate awakes confused: I tell him some shit about me just having realized I'm never going to make love to Audrey Hepburn, or something like that. I slip in and out of sleep, but not because the album's more-driven sound is putting me to sleep-it's the 200 mg of caffeine leaving me like the morning after that's got me drifting in and out, but it's better that way, kind of like a Sigur Ros concert.
The demon that enters my room shortly thereafter admonishes me to stop this whole filesharing thing and pay attention to “that faggot-ass Ben Franklin.” For sure, the RIAA is on some next-level shit; they've stepped their game up so much that I both don't realize that this is a dream and I forget that I actually legally emusic'd the new Ladytron.
Accordingly, my retort to the demon is less than coherent, something like “get the hell out of my room.” My roommate evidently mutters something equally incoherent but this entire episode ends up a wonderful transition as I awake to the soaring synths of “White Light Generator,” lifting me to a euphoric high at which my heightened senses can sort out the fact that the likelihood that the RIAA collaborated with a homophobic demon to get me to stop filesharing was probably low, as in, like, me replacing Gregory Peck in Roman Holiday low.
“When they come out to find you / And they cannot describe you / Someone somewhere has to buy you / Out of your weekend,” Helenie Marny alluringly chides me on “Weekend.” She could be talking about herself, but I embrace the dynamic. “That's fine with me, baby, just remember I'm cash only, no Visa.”
“Friday is the teacher / And Monday the tormentor,” she continues. She knows her teasing will drive me mad, but I ignore her soothsaying and fall into the gorgeous hypnotic trance she weaves.
The apocalyptic siren call of “High Rise” has me leaping onto the rocks with nigh Cruise-esque abandon. My roommate awakes confused: I tell him some shit about me just having realized I'm never going to make love to Audrey Hepburn, or something like that. I slip in and out of sleep, but not because the album's more-driven sound is putting me to sleep-it's the 200 mg of caffeine leaving me like the morning after that's got me drifting in and out, but it's better that way, kind of like a Sigur Ros concert.
The demon that enters my room shortly thereafter admonishes me to stop this whole filesharing thing and pay attention to “that faggot-ass Ben Franklin.” For sure, the RIAA is on some next-level shit; they've stepped their game up so much that I both don't realize that this is a dream and I forget that I actually legally emusic'd the new Ladytron.
Accordingly, my retort to the demon is less than coherent, something like “get the hell out of my room.” My roommate evidently mutters something equally incoherent but this entire episode ends up a wonderful transition as I awake to the soaring synths of “White Light Generator,” lifting me to a euphoric high at which my heightened senses can sort out the fact that the likelihood that the RIAA collaborated with a homophobic demon to get me to stop filesharing was probably low, as in, like, me replacing Gregory Peck in Roman Holiday low.
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