About

The Post-Rockist’s dream concert would be Mozart opening for Otis Redding. Runner up: Bob Dylan opening for the caveman who first decided to hit sticks on a big stone in a continuous, rhythmic pattern, with an aftershow duet performed by Frank Sinatra and Fela Kuti, singing a Pere Ubu song, with Bach tickling the ivories and a follow-up remix by Danger Mouse. In the crowd, Joey Ramone is slowly inching his pointer and middle-fingers up Mariah Carey’s skirt, while Judy Garland and Keith Richards share addiction stories. Maybe Ray Davies smiles that crescent moon grin as he observes Aretha Franklin sass Barry Manilow for including a drastic modulation in most of the songs he’s ever recorded. Barry shrugs and admits that he learned it from The Strokes. Dizzy Gillespie and Woody Guthrie talk Yankees while Sly and Jeff Tweedy talk Elvis. And there, in the back–no, not here but way back over there–sits the Post-Rockist, soaking it all in, jotting notes, believing that this is all really happening, with the understanding that everything that is music is music. Then Thom Yorke and Ice-T ride by on unicycles and the Post-Rockist writes about it, probably in the form of a villanelle.