Ah Shoegaze, although I was still a mere nymphet during the 90s and was engrossed in tween pop groups (just had a side thought, suddenly, whilst thinking about 90s pop songs, um ‘Hit me Baby, One More Time’ sounds like a pop thumbs up to domestic violence and I remember singing it coyly to boys at the school disco, hmmmm). Anyway, my babysitter was obsessed in the other 90s, the 90s I will always have faux nostalgia for you know: Harmony Korine, Smashing Pumpkins, Fiona Apple, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and My Bloody Valentine. I remember going into her room, even though I was threatened to stay out and looking at the posters of a baby swimming in a pool, of a guy wearing a handkerchief tied around his head like a bow, of a woman with a black bob and a black dress lying on a bed, with her legs crossed in the air and a cigarette in her right hand; this was a far cry from the tween coated walls of my room, suffocating in Spice Girl jetsam. I remember my babysitter playing a song; it was otherworldly, between sleep and sheet, between longing and lust and it stuck with me but overtime I forgot who sang it.
I discovered the genre of shoe gaze through dream-pop group Beach House and remembered that song I once heard in a time of being babysat, a nostalgia I couldn’t quite place, perhaps because it spoke to an inexistent space in my soul, an unrequited invitation to the universe. I finally found it today it was Machine Gun by Slowdive and I have been listening to it on repeat. It’s like reacquainting myself with a lost love, blessed by a lifetime of lost lovers. It’s funny but the band was born in the same year I was born.