Joan Of Arc: "A Tell-Tale Penis"

Blogging has turned indie rock into the same kind of two-tiered bullshit machine as the top 40 or mainstream film. The big get bigger, snowballing on leaks, joined by bandwagon teenagers hyped by armchair critics desperately looking for the next big thing. At least it’s not all controlled by Swedish svengalis or fat studio cats, but are sweaty fingered music nerds that much better? Hardcore fans may feel good that there’s no room for cult bands to get swept up in the commotion, but for those who like to share it gets kind of depressing.

“A Tell-Tale Penis” is exactly the sort of song that would turn a bedroom pop band into an overnight phenomenon. The problem is all the kids who “know” Joan of Arc as that vaguely difficult band that one emo freak liked in high school. Maybe the best parallel is Vicky Cristina Barcelona; if it was by some nobody director who had to lapdance their way to Sundance, it could’ve been the next Little Miss Sunshine. Instead, critics have to mince words and “take into account the oevure” while audiences think about that asshole roommate who wouldn’t shut up about Bananas or the weird stepdaughter/wife thing and a perfectly accessible and wise romantic comedy with big stars in it gets average box office and only matters to the few that care about Woody Allen in the first place.

Well, fuck that. I want you to act like this song is the debut single from the next Fleet Foxes. Who cares that such carefully modulated ambivalence could only come from someone with more relationship and career ups and downs than everyone in Fleet Foxes combined. If that doesn’t work, pretend that Joan of Arc is all of your friends’ favorite band and that this song just leaked today. Think about how you’d tell them that Tim Kinsella uses his trademark atonality “masterfully” by quieting it down and putting it behind the melody, totally flipping everyone’s expectations and in the process managing to sum up exactly how hope and confusion can turn into the smallest, soul-killingest kind of despondency.

Or maybe it’s just a dumb confessional song from that pretentious guy who started emo. Just don’t let indie rock tell you what to think before you’ve heard it.