Powerful faculty! Jad Fair's, we say. Undaunted, at 65 years of age the man continues locked up with only one toy. Which is none other than his particular Rosebud, childhood (hypothetically) lost. Enviable. Parapeted in childhood, plush bunker flavored with Proustian pastries, and broken the protocol of growing, the above is allowed to challenge the inclement rain of howitzers that adult life holds. At the time of writing the last chapters of his Bildungsroman, that is, those of maturity, Fair defends innocence over experience, without excluding one from the other. Everyone happy
Artist: Half Japanese
Rating: 7 out of 10
Come and see, then, another parade of vampires and zombies, of hypertrophic crabs and living dolls, of those creatures, in short, that habitually populate the imagination of this pope of proto-indie noise American, immediate ancestor of Daniel Johnston, favorite of Kurt Cobain and object of a cult whose apogee took place in the 90s of the last century. Invincible, eighteenth studio album of Half Japanese, the band that he co-founded with his brother in 1975, perseveres in that parvularia path whose legend reads: "Young forever". Guarantee of purity tattooed on the heart. A bit of optimism, the semi-Japanese heart muscle contracts and sponges through 15 new songs with the soul of comic book, but also assorted of love in bulk, cosmic polyamory.
In that fixed equation of Half Japanese, it is that affective incontinence, precisely, that vaccines Fair against the sarcasm virus incubated when resentment intensifies as youth is left behind. Positivist, instructive, the author enunciates his happiness at the stroke of euphoric affection, speech only altered by the reverse of that state of grace that is puericia, this is his nightmares, although even here, the monsters that inhabit them behave affably. Reincarnated in a puppeteer by Rocky Erikson & The Aliens, Fair and his quartet adopt in these episodes a rugged garage format; but since they are the least, since they prefer to daydream, the perennial pop reigns amateur, crunchy melodic puff pastry baked with succinct artisanal pálpito, that, although polished, retains intact all the constants of that endearing eccentric that is Fair, Syd Barrett punk of the American Midwest.
At old age, small pox, says the proverb. "Hurray for love!" Proclaims the chief medionipón proving that it is never too late to contract them. Propelled by that imprint of Platonic divine madness, that dementia that can reach the beauty to which sanity does not reach, Invincible reconciles the tragicomic idiosyncrasy of the big boy with the vigorous serenity of the pre-senile man. True, better look at the decline from that perspective, without presbyopia, celebrating that no matter how much our carcass and mind deteriorate, the ability to love, to love, not only does not decrease but can multiply, benign cancer, regenerating existential metastasis. Perhaps it is the greatest teaching detached from Invincible; Over the years, the reasons for wanting to become more wise … and if there is luck less selfish.