The Reatards - Out Of My Head, Into My Bed
This should be the part where I apologize about not updating this blog too often, but I refuse to do so. I’ve been too busy in the real world doing real things. Namely, myself and some friends started a record store in Tallahassee, Florida and we’ve been working our asses to get it going strong. And it’s been a struggle worth doing - so far, Retrofit Records has been doing well! We’re actually preparing even as we speak for a show tonight with Nobunny, but during the lull I thought I would post on here. Updates unfortunately have to be sporadic, only because my laptop got stolen, and, well, using an iPad to update a music blog isn’t going to work out.
My soundtrack for this journey in my life has largely been influenced by my business partner, Sharod Bines. He’s worked for years under the name Back to the Garage to bring a metric fuckton of garage and punk to the Tallahassee area, including groups such as Jacuzzi Boys, Shannon and the Clams, and The Spits - all bands I’ve mostly ignored in the past, but began closely listening to now. When we first started getting the store together during the summer, he was constantly blasting garage rock in the store, and he nearly pissed himself when Goner reissued the first Reatards album. Teenage Hate was recorded and released when Jay Reatard was still under 20 years old, and even though he was young, he exhibited a tremendous skill with melody as well as a deep knowledge of early rock and roll as well as punk. This, for us, was our holy grail for the start of the store, and this (combined with a shitload of beer) fueled our late nights stripping, painting, and preparing our space. Every track on Goner’s reissue is a rugged little lo-fi gem, but this one grabbed me the hardest. It’s an ultimate expression of longing, with all the rage and despair of every teenage boy’s heart. Who hasn’t had an unrequited love? And who hasn’t felt anxious about sharing those feelings? Underneath Jay’s shouting and the rowdy playing, this is actually an extremely tender song. I felt his near obsession rivaled my desire for the shop to get started.
RIP, Jay. You were a fuck-up, but you were a great.