Bad Religion, Stranger Than Fiction (1994)

Tonight I hurried home, dodging shouts from the charming group of gentlemen* walking behind me because I was quite excited to cook my first non-Mexican meal since I've lived here. (Yes, I've lived here a month.) (Yes, I really like Mexican food.) On the cards: prawn, lime and asparagus risotto. All together now: NOMMMM.

Key to the success of this meal was excellent music to accompany what can only be described as a cooking frenzy. (I'm not going to lie, at one point there was open flame.) (What? I'm still getting used to my gas oven.) I put my iPod on with every intention of listening to something mellow and suitably calming, and yet... I found myself.... not being able to get past.... Bad Religion.... and who doesn't love a good '90s throwback while tearing the kitchen apart?

16 year old me** loved this band, and 16 year old me was actually kind of awesome, so I didn't argue with the precocious little wench when she decided we were going to listen to this tonight. And16 year old me was - as I'm sure my parents would tell you, as always - right: it turns out I didn't want mellow at all, I wanted punchy early-'90s punk. 

Just how good is this album?? It is so excellent, and I almost can't believe I forgot how great it is. I alarmed myself, not only by setting my gas oven on fire, but also by knowing all the words to pretty much every track... teenage habits die hard. I love this album for its raw energy, the way it feels kind of excited amongst all the societal angst.  It showcases some actually pretty good guitar work (apparently 'Guitar World' named it the top guitar album of 1994) infectious drums and the three-part harmonies aren't bad either. I kept trying to pick out my favorite track: the facetious "Hooray for Me" was an old favourite, the title track embodies all the pulsing energy that I like about the album and displays some pretty cracking lyrics, and "Tiny Voices" does some pretty fun things vocally. In the end I couldn't choose, so I just enjoyed them all and smiled that wry smile again thinking of all kinds of excellent teenage antics.

I used to really love proper angry angsty punk played badly and loudly. This album is none of those things, but it's bloody brilliant - and I guess that's why 20-something me likes it almost as much as 16 year old me did. And so, open flame aside, I had to enjoy the spectacular irony as I sat down to my horribly bourgeois meal with my glass of German riesling, and listened to early 90s political rants about the middle class. Delightful, not lost on me, and so delicious that I listened to the album loud and fast and twice in a row. 

I told you, NOMMM.

*see look, I can do this diplomacy thing

**for the record, I was not 16 in 1994....

Shake the Room.

It's kind of hard to believe I've only been in Mexico a few weeks and I do feel terribly naughty for not having blogged much. I've been inspired by this delightful blog to sort myself out and blog again. The good news which you will all, no doubt, be pleased to hear, is that I have mastered the delicate arts of topping up my phone credit, and indeed eating lunch. I've also managed the gym (where I stand out because I'm wearing neither makeup nor Sketchers shape-ups) which, as a bonus, does feature some extremely good looking football teams. And perhaps most importantly, I am now dominating the hour-long walk to and from work every day. It was my enlightening experience with The Black Keys that did it. No longer am I the shy little blondie... I don't walk to work, I strut. The trick is in finding the right music, turning it up loud, and totally owning it. 

 

Mexico continues to charm and surprise me. There's something simultaneously cringeworthy and delightful about hearing your karaoke go-to song blaring (and I'm not talking elevator music here, I'm talking full-throttle, 2-bottle-BYO, do-it-justice blasting) through the lobby of your workplace as you depart for the evening.  The music here makes make me smile slightly ruefully, in that "what were we thinking?" kind of way. Apart from Cher Shoop Shooping her way through the lobby of one of Mexico City's nicest corporate workplaces, I can, for instance, right now hear Alice DJ's 1998 "Better Off Alone" pumping up from the street to my office. It is only marginally better than yesterday's mariachis. 

 

This place is confounding and charming and delightful all at once. It is home to some of the most sophisticated restaurants and bars on the planet. It is a sprawling, crazy mad City with some beautiful, offbeat neighbourhoods. It has more culture and history than I could ever hope to absorb. And last weekend the local radio played Joan Osborne's "One Of Us" (1995) not once but twice within the space of an hour. This alongside "Barbie Girl" (1997) and, inexplicably, The Naked and Famous. (Still think they're great, still hate that single.) 

 

Given this obsession with music that should never have been in fashion, let alone still be popular, I decided recently before walking home from work: if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. I searched through the deepest, darkest depths of my iPod to find the cheesiest playlist I possess, thoughtfully put together by an old flatmate made for a party. (Yes, this is my excuse as to Meatloaf's presence on my iPod.) Cheesey, for sure. But honestly, how can you not strut it to Bat Out of Hell? What's not to love about a bit of Ace of Base? And can you honestly tell me you could walk a tree-lined street to the dulcet tones of MC Hammer without getting a little wiggle on? Didn't think so.

 

Soon I'll go back to normal music, my saviour in this wonderful city where the moustache is permanently in fashion and, musically at least, the 90s live on. But for now I've got a hot date with DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince. Boom.