Dinosaur Jr.
Bug

J is a strange guy, at least as much as I am: long white hair, a characteristic belly, and always wearing something purple. He doesn't utter a word unless he has to, and when he speaks, it sounds like he's meowing. They say he's a charmingly unpleasant person, the kind you just want to drown in violence. In fact, it's been 15 years since Lou last spoke to him because they had a big falling out back in '89: it's better this way, J didn't want Lou to talk... <<Shut up and keep quiet, these are the terms, play and don't cause trouble>>. But Lou, poor naive guy, wasn't okay with it and decided, amidst many "fuck yous," to start a new band, Sebadoh, with many pretty songs and a few lousy albums.

For many years, I believed that music had to be drenched in something... blood, sweat, tears, but it had to drip nonetheless.
It's not true. The musical subtitle to the text is deadly boring, a kick in the balls, an 8:30 mass, something way too simple.
I want to talk about sad things and do it with a smile on my face. I almost want to be moved by my own sadness while people think about how to dance to my music, or I want to be lazy and still make music that's meant to inspire something other than suicide.

"Bug" is their third album, the one J prefers, the one I prefer, the one that changed my idea of music. Cleaner and more focused than the previous ones. The melodies... I have no adjectives. The guitars... Same. At times dreamlike it sweeps me away and we sing, we sing together. I'm off-key, J is worse than me and Neil wasn't any better, but we're beautiful, the songs are beautiful, and we can do it all. We sing in the shower, we sing on the train, we sing in the car, we sing at the supermarket, we sing until someone gets mad. And so this won't be your favorite album, but in the story of my life, you don't count. You weren't the one accompanying me to high school every morning, and you weren't the one running with me in the Neapolitan countryside with the farmer wanting to shoot us.

In short, this album is me, and I care about J. I'm not sure if he'd care about me, but that's okay... I'll settle for one of his guitars. Is it rock? I don't know, I think it's more pop than rock, still one of those albums that are part of my personal history, one of those that stays inside me, that I love.

My thoughts, on the final screams of Don't, go to my friend Lou, prodigal son, good songwriter, lazy nerd. Lou, in these cases, in Naples we say: appuojc ò cul a copp.