The First Chapter of Giuseppe di Lampedusa's "The Leopard"

Aristocracy is not fertile ground. Thus, it is with a good deal of irony that a man as thoroughly aristocratic as Don Fabrizio de Salina would be such an energetic and optimistic lover. What is more, he is not sexual because he is sensual, like you might expect from one with such refined taste; he is sensual because he is sexual. He enjoys witty symbolism more than most, but sex is firstly and most importantly sex. There is no Freudian subconscious. The soil, even less fertile the class that owns it, would not allow for it. After all, this is Sicily.

“All politics are local” is inaccurate. All people who are interested in their locality are political. Partisanship begins between two people; this is where it’s strength lies. Once it extends beyond two, stretches out further to two others or three, then it receives a vocabulary, an identity. Soon enough, this vocabulary grows large enough, becomes introspective, and then it is that people forget the initial power of partisanship. The abstract identity assumes a power that it does not have, and word and expression that tied the group together unravels; it was the thread itself that was the strength, not the weaving.

The problem with aristocracy is not that it is limited and limiting. The difficulty is rather that aristocracy is ubiquitous, that we all, to some extent or another, harbor aristocratic tendencies. This is why “if we want things to stay as they are, things will have to change.” If the Liberals were thoroughly liberal, then there would be no need to overthrow the Aristocracy: it would crumble under the weight of it’s own false premises. But, the Liberals too are aristocratic. They believe, like everyone, in the existence of a community of the best. They see and admire virtue, adore excellence and so it is that the most alarming moment of the first chapter of “The Leopard” is the stunning beauty of the daughter of the head of the Liberal revolution. Virtue is like a woman. When Don Fabrizio seeks out a woman it is for her, not the appearance of her, not the idea of her. When we admire excellence and virtue it is not for the appearance of it, not for the idea of it, it is because we are drawn to it, we wish to be in the company of it; we believe that we too take part in it. This is the problem with aristocracy.

The sun burns the Sicilian soil. The vibrant tapestry of Sicilian Aristocracy flutters in the hot wind, sparkles in the sunlight. Shuffling feet and ruffled skirts announce the last serenade of a party that does not know that it is not dying. Death is much too democratic to be invited to this dinner. And far off but at the same time the soldiers anxiously waiting on the border are like chess pieces, not the other way around. Revolutions are won with battles, with ships and arms, planning and tactics, and they never create anything. They are like drunken oaths: bad if they are forgotten, worse if they are remembered.

We are caught on the wrong side of history. But then again, so are flowers after they are picked. We somehow manage to keep bringing them inside to decorate our houses.

Minus Tide - The Quit

Starting an indie album with a song called “Manchester” is a little bit like putting the word “Metaphor” in the title of a poem. It’s obvious; a red flag. Given Manchester’s place in the history of indie albums, it's about as subtle as the dude in the chicken suit outside the tire shop. HEARTBROKEN POP!! reads the sandwich board, heavy by mid-morning This would be true if we were talking about Englishmen, but we’re not. The Quit are from Seattle, and this is their first album. One last kick at this dead horse: I can’t help thinking of the embarrassing blues of sixties Brits. Down in the Delta (of the Thames)! Grits and Whiskey (Bushmills, of course)! But then, the Stones built an early career on Chuck Berry, so I guess there’s no reason The Quit can’t attempt the same with Morrissey or whoever. It’s just that as an opener, “Manchester” raises the bar for those who like this kind of referential bar-raising, and lowers it for those who don’t.

So: yes, it’s a good song. It’s catchy; poppy; the guitars sound like they’re being played by elves who will evaporate if anyone turns the bass EQ above 1. Basically, it sounds British. And in lead singer Scott Shoemaker's list of planned activities, the line “Start a football riot/Try to kiss the queen” feels just right. It’s as knowing as the song’s title and tone. As far as the rest of the songs lyrics: I have no idea what he’s talking about. Is he seducing some Northerner? Maybe not. Something about Manchester seems to make him very nervous. Also there’s some kind of conflict occurring. Is it a break-up or a fist fight? Is the whole thing an escape fantasy? In any case, I’m willing to give them the benefit of the doubt for the likeability of the tune. If the album continued to pick up steam from here, they would have earned their song-titling bravado. And the next two tracks do maintain much of the first’s momentum. “Faster” cruises right along, excusing some beat-deadening chorused hand-claps. The bridges, all high voice and simple instrumentation, stick in a head something serious. I don’t know if it’s intentional or not, but the subject matter is as American as can be. He (and, one presumes, she) are hitting the road, leaving that damn town behind. The English, of course, leave nothing behind. If it’s intentional, it’s a clever touch.

The song “Dark Days” wobbles on the edge of the album’s collapse into mediocrity, but it's The Quit’s wheelhouse: pure pop guitar, impassioned dork vocals, and pitch-perfect dynamic shifts. They sound like what I want them to be: an American band with just a hint of that shameful English Romanticism. Built around one stereo acoustic guitar riff, it’s also the album’s most direct song. He just loves her, you know? She isn’t sure, but he fucking well is. It’s a really charming Death-Cab-if-they-didn’t-suck moment. How could I resist? And that cracking voice of Shoemaker's is a genuine instrument when applied correctly. Sometimes he overreaches (as my cellist girlfriend put it, dude needs to stay in his range), but a simply-put love song seems to be just the venue for his emoting.

I won’t vouch for the remainder of the album. It’s not interesting. Which is a testament to whoever ordered this thing; he knew where to put the money shot. But that’s small consolation for the drift into the blandness of “Kicking and Screaming” and the fake Rock and Roll of “This Time”. Despite a strong beginning, Minus Tide betrays the kind of self-doubt that can lead to a band name like “The Quit”. They must have thought themselves incapable of making more songs as good as the first three. Or, worse, they didn’t know that the rest of this album should have been scrapped. Keep the attention on Shoemaker's better instincts and a memorable pop album may someday materialize.