The Phoenix Foundation ~ This Charming Van
(written: 19 April 2004)
I was inspired to add an entry today, sitting on the train coming home from work, reading my new book, Nick Hornby's "31 Songs", where he basically rips off the Ratpony format like a slut, but does it in great detail and generally waffles on about other things that make no sense what-so-ever to me.
But he does it beautifully and I envy that.
So consider this my nod, sideways, like a stupid vapid moron, to the genius of Nick Hornby.
Those of you who know me, know I'm rather fond of my little city. Wellington is a gaggle of stern faced business men and politicians, striding impatiently around dawdling school kids, staring intently into shop windows. Wellington is randomly placed, incredibly weird sculptures that look like giant metal lego pieces or huge rotating green M&Ms. Wellington is a mixture of buildings, some old and restored, others just old and decrepit, each rusty flake of paint telling the tale of its local drag queens intermingling with the aforementioned politicians. Wellington is weather than will drive you insane, and generally floor you with whatever it settles on... both in a beautiful... wow this place is fantastic way... and a FUCK YOU YOU CUNT WIND THAT WAS MY ONLY UMBRELLA YOU WILL PAY LARGE!!!! way.
One of my favourite things about Wellington however is the culture. Now, I'm not talking about those little maori girls singing their waiatas woefully out of tune in Manners Mall this afternoon. Oh no. I'm of the firm belief that they should be punished.
I'm talking about the peeling posters covering up events from days ago, layer upon layer of artwork and events that the vast majority of the passing world don't even notice. The posters that you might not ever notice at all if you weren't waiting around, eyes peeled for something to fix your insane stare on.
Today while waiting for a friend to use an ATM I gazed around, surpressing a yawn and wondered if the stuff dripping from the roof above was water or something far more sinister. You know, I'm paranoid for a reason. One afternoon while I was at university, we went down to Lido for a coffee and my friend Kathryn stood under a drip. Ohhh no no, it's cool, it's just water. Oh wait. It's stained. Oh god, what is that smell? Etc. Anyway, a cheap and nasty looking pink flier caught my attention. HELLO, I shrieked in delight. The Phoenix Foundation! My brand new favourite band in the whole world. Well...
You see, back in February we saw Evan Dando play. Evan threw a tanty and punches were tossed about. And so on. What marred his own performance couldn't touch the support act, the wonderful Phoenix Foundation. To cut what is threatening to be a long story short, I fell in love with the mellow dreamlike sound. I even bought their album for ten dollars more than the normal CD price. Shock! Gasp! Terror!
This Charming Van was of course the first song off the album that truly struck me.
This Charming Van is a sleepy, sunny morning song. A slow stroll down Lambton Quay, smelling the cookies, and the warmth from the stores coaxing you in. It's the kind of song that John Cusack.. uh.. Rob... would put on in Championship Vinyl and sell 5 copies of the album Horsepower. The kind of song that would send you into a content little daze while you flicked through the bargain CD tables in Real Groovy. The kind of song that would draw you into a store, despite how cool and scary the sales folk look. The kind of song you'd want to write about because even though it's a relatively new song to you, it still felt like home (not a house). It felt like the city you were born in and had pretty much spent more than half your life wandering, witnessing you form your interest in music, nuturing it, and gifting you so many wonderful bands to go see play.
I'd welcome The Phoenix Foundation into my living room ANYDAY.