Look in the mirror
A face you know too well
If this is heaven
I’m going straight to hell– Golden Microphone, Cindy Lee
I’ve started writing this blog post at least five times already, looking for the best way to dive into my reflections on Cindy Lee’s Diamond Jubilee. The old-versus-new angle, the time-versus-engagement perspective, and the double-disc-in-this-day-and-age point of view are but a few of the beginnings I’ve tried. Every single time the opening paragraph felt wrong, leading to nothing in particular and thus being utterly useless.
The thing is Diamond Jubilee had its moment earlier this year, when everyone in the music business was talking about this seemingly absurd record, repeating the story of its origin over and over again. Sure, the release on GeoCities and YouTube, the fuck Spotify! stance of its authors, even the US tour cancellation, all make for great anecdotes, but why does Diamond Jubilee have such an impact on me?
To a certain extent it’s precisely because of everything surrounding it. The /r/cindylee subreddit, for example, full of people sharing everything and more about Cindy Lee, has thrown me back to a time, almost fifteen years ago, when my partner and I had a blog on all things Neutral Milk Hotel. We translated lyrics into Italian, wrote news and thoughts about Jeff Mangum’s future, and got in touch with amazing people overseas who kindly sent us rare live footage. I’m deeply fond of that pre-social-network period of the digital era, even though I know it’s easier in today’s web to find like-minded strangers. Anyway, when music channels people’s enthusiasm beyond the mere pleasure of listening, I’m always moved. This is the pure energy that music delivers no matter one’s opinion of it, its raw power able to cross physical and psychological distances.
Furthermore, Diamond Jubilee makes me feel like I felt when I fell in love with the Smashing Pumpkins’ Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness and the Magnetic Fields’ 69 Love Songs. These are two of my all-time favourite records and they happen to be long and unafraid of pushing stylistic conventions to their liking, much like Cindy Lee’s daring venture into the sublime does. A long album is like an invitation to enter a special place, a place whose owner is confident enough to ask for quite a lot of one’s own time so they can unfold an unorthodox amount of tales for them. I have but the utmost admiration for artists who truly believe that people will appreciate their willingness to share so much with them.
Speaking of actual content, if one trusts the press then Diamond Jubilee is otherworldly and unique, either an experimental rendition of Twin Peaks’ sounds re-engineered by Phil Spector’s machinery or bubblegum pop for the end of the world. To me Cindy Lee are delivering a lonely goodbye, written for everyone and spelled to nobody. I feel alone when I listen to Diamond Jubilee, and I get the impression that its authors feel alone too. Some say that this is a nice soundtrack for an on the road trip to somewhere far, but I’d rather not drive to these songs because I know they’d point me towards a different direction, eventually taking me to an unpredictable destination. Whatever Cindy Lee sing about seems to come from people who are tired of everything, sounds and words echoing each other to no avail. When the voice leaves and the instruments develop the melody, I am put in a room with the eerie sensation of being lost in a space I should know by heart. If this is Cindy Lee’s idea of jubilee I wonder what exactly they are celebrating here. Whether it’s their demise or the world’s, I see no diamonds. I only hear them.