Indie’s not a Place, Dude, It’s a State of Mind
by Chester J. Hornrim

(Brian is currently in hostage negotiations with a deranged handyman at his Bed-Stuy apartment building. His regular column will, God willing, return soon—and if it doesn’t, then the handymen will have already won. In the meantime, here’s some random guy that he met at Alt.Coffee.)

So I’m walking down Delancey the other day, and I hear two guys talking about Yo La Tengo. Of course I’m super-psyched, because you know I love Yo La! (That’s what I call them, because I’m a hard-fucking-core fan)…Anyways, so I turn around and I see that these supposedly “indie” guys are wearing suits! Honest to goodness suits! That just about threw me into a tizzy, let me tell you. Indie rock is not the home of businessmen and squares, and it certainly isn’t the home of suits. We were in the street (so I didn’t do anything), but if we were at Piano’s or a Deerhoof show or something, you better believe I would have said something totally sarcastic under my breath.

“Hey douchebags!” I would have said. “Futures are up on the Asian market, huh? Compucore’s a stinker! Buy, sell! Buy, sell!” And then they would have given me some weird look or something, and I would have gone to the bathroom. But in my head, I’d totally be thinking, “Stick to your Toby Keith records, you work-a-day slaves! Leave Yo La to the real fans!” That would have showed them. People always tell me I’m the most sarcastic person they know, I might add.

I carry a messenger bag! I knew about your favorite band even before the band did! I ironically mourn the death of irony! Doesn’t that mean anything to these people?

It’s like you can’t even trust bad people to like bad music anymore. It’s like, back in the day, I could just look at a kid wearing Vuarnet and Reebok Pumps and just know, “Oooooh, that kid’s all up on the TLC tip.” Or like, when my stepdad Craig was all stoned on the couch after another day of mooching off my Mom, I could just tell he was going to throw on some craptastic Deep Purple album and call me a “fag-boy”, maybe flick my ears until I ran to my room and slammed the door. Now it’s just all gone to shit. I haven’t heard from Craig in four and a half years, but hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if I ran into him at Other Music, picking up some Lightning Bolt seven-inch. Fucking Craig, man.

Anyways, this got me thinking about my boys Yo La…I mean, they’ve been my favorite band since I was in the sixth grade (remember? I knew about them before you did, sucka!), but now I’m starting to wonder—if people in suits know about Yo La, who else does? Donald Rumsfeld? My abusive not-father? Doctor Fucking Phil?!? I mean, Christ! It makes me think that Yo La might not be as indie as I always thought, that they might be swimming in that tepid, piss-stinking swamp also known as the MAINSTREAM!!! If that’s where they’ve been hanging out, then maybe I’d better towel myself off. Maybe I need to find myself a new swimming hole, one with a ropeswing and hot, naked indie chicks who talk about Derrida and then make out with one another. Most importantly, my new swimming hole has to be a secret, one that only I know about (and the naked indie chicks, of course!).

So here, officially, in front of my 16 readers, I renounce my previous favorite band, Yo La Tengo. It a momentous occasion, and you should all feel privileged to play witness. Yo La is officially dead to me. I have no Tengo. And hey, while I'm on a roll, here’s a question for you: what does the La in Yo La Tengo stand for? Give up?

The answer’s not integrity, I’ll tell you that much! Certainly isn’t indie cred, because they definitely don’t tengo that anymore!

(What did I tell you about my sarcastic wit? Huh? Huh?)