The Eidoloclast

Before the massive dose of word-vomit that I don't have planned, here's a song for you.
I can't say that I liked this song when it ran across my Spotify Discover Weekly playlist.
In fact, I hated it. I thought it was annoying, something worth comparing to outsider legends like The Shaggs or Jandek.

Alright, full disclosure, I really like Jandek. He's haunting in the best of ways. The Shaggs... I like them for purely anthropological reasons, a matter of culture.

But I can't say that anymore. The work of R. Stevie Moore has done something to me, changed something in my mind.

Or maybe it activated something that was there all along?

There's something in these nonsense lyrics, that nasally voice threatening to depart from the notes you expect, and the ever-present gargling of that VHS home video your grandma took of you playing with your cousins at the turn of the century.

You would reenact movie scenes, often sacrificing accuracy for imagination. The Grinch (2000), starring Jim Carrey, had just released on DVD. You insisted on playing the lead. You forced your cousin to play Max's part, the dog. She still brings it up today.

I listen to this song and feel as if I see myself for the first time, myself as I truly am. A song like this comes along every so often and dumps the perfect concoction of chemicals on your brain to knock you loose from your mortal moorings. You see yourself from the correct perspective.

Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Just call it a higher perspective for now.

It's as if all you are, were, and will be is laid out, but I have to say, it extends beyond that. All of humanity comes into sight, our condition clearly visible as the playful fragility and ephemerality of each life washes over all your thoughts and emotions.
Upon further reflection, it's no surprise that "Pink Litmus Paper Shirt" has such a profound effect on me. Moore's absurdity, his childish lyricism, and that bubbling audio quality that threatens to give out at any moment, all these elements come together to create the perfect reflection of life as we know it.

This song is the stray sound trapped in an overlooked tape that lives in an old radio. The infantile fantasy of stardom an immature man put into the universe.

The first listen of this song may leave us thinking that R. Stevie Moore is a clown, an "artist" talentlessly drumming out these tunes that verge on ridiculous parody.
However, if we allow ourselves to let go of the expectations we have with music, stop judging the song according to an arbitrary standard of good or bad, it's obvious that Moore isn't looking for anyone's approval. He isn't writing to impress He's not even trying to make sense.When we take a step back, allow our firm sense of self to unravel, we can objectively look at this life.
We don't make any sense. We made up rules and told ourselves to follow them all to the letter because "that's just how it is."

Isn't that what you tell your children when they ask the hard questions?

Maybe this is just a song about wrapping yourself up in acid use.

Even if it is, everyone knows acid use correlates with ego death.

No matter what the song is about, there's a lesson to take away from R. Stevie Moore.
Life opens up when we stop getting tangled in our sense of self.
Maybe the headlines scare us.
Maybe our health is failing.
Maybe we're lonely.
There's a lot of days where these facets of life will paralyze us and make us miserable.

Not just their own either. The best way to keep others from crawling around in your psyche is to put them in their own box.

Letting yourself spill out of your own psyche is the beginning of truly being.
It's a chance to serenade the universe, to share a song that's so uniquely you that everyone can find it in themselves.