Perhaps some future race of aliens will come across this blog. I hope this video makes them wonder about us. What sort of people made videos like this? A creative, multi-faceted group of people (even if those sorts comprise a minority of people not craven to white supremacist, authoritarian buffoons who employ tanning beds).

Indie rock is becoming a fading Polaroid in the pantheon of a music landscape turned to crap. When the “weeping” electric guitar is going the way of the dinosaur, those in the know recognize that we’re on life-support and it’s time to prepare for manning the lifeboats.

If the death of indie rock isn’t a herald of what’s to come, the craven political tilt of the  church in America lends portent, also.

A Pillar of Salt
The Thermals

We were born to sin
We were born to sin
We don’t think we’re special sir
We know everybody is
We’ve built too many walls
Yeah, we’ve built too many walls
And now we gotta run
A giant fist is out to crush us

We run in the dark
We run in the dark
We don’t carry dead weight long
We send them along to heaven
I carry my baby
I carry my baby
Her eyes can barely see
Her mouth can barely breathe

I can see she’s afraid
She could see the danger
We don’t want to die or apologize
For our dirty God, our dirty bodies

Now, I stick to the ground
I stick to the ground
I won’t look twice for the dead walls
I don’t want a white pillar of salt
I carry my baby
I carry my baby
Her eyes can barely see
Her mouth can barely breathe

I can see she’s afraid
That’s why we’re escaping
So we won’t have to die, we won’t have to deny
Our dirty God, our dirty bodies
Songwriters: Hutch Harris / Kathleen Michelle Foster