Watching Trying to Get to You, it's almost impossible not to think that he was some kind of deity. For most of the special, but especially for those three minutes, you forget his past. You forget what's to come in less than ten years. Impossibly vital, impossibly handsome, impossibly talented, impossibly Southern. He's a fucking demigod out there.
I...I don't know how to begin.
You've seen vanity projects before, but not like this. The astrologer is shirtless more than he should be and looks vaguely goblin like. He pronounces Libra as "lie-brah" and lunar as "lou-gnar," so you know he knows his shit. So many jarring tonal shifts. Unrelenting pace. Stolen Conway Twitty, Moody Blues, and Procol Harum tracks played in full. Fish-eye lens first person dive bar urinal cigarette flush. Maria Ouspenskaya references. Portable TV on top…
My tape ends with some stray Flipper, MDC, and Throbbing Gristle footage. Plus Robot-Flesh-Machine Performances from Survival Research Labs ("we should have more threats and more endangerment of human lives" "it's better than TV") and Z'EV banging shit with cans on chains for like fifteen minutes. Shit rules.