James William Hindle
(Badman)
by Jamie Kiffel
After a couple of Sapporos and edamame at Planet Thai, the unmarked converted warehouse (you can find it by the post postmodern physics-powered fountain of the rowboat leaking water), we stopped into The Pod, that new space with Warhol movies projected over the bar, you know, the place that’s in all the design journals. We stopped to pick up the new James William Hindle on the way out of that bookstore with all the private small-house printings… what’s it called again? The one with the scarves made from recycled sweaters thrown between the stacks? Anyway, wait – what? You haven’t heard of James William Hindle? Hello, what are you doing in Williamsburg?
Really. He’s like Elliot Smith before everyone was passing around his tapes. He’s a British guy who’s taken American folk style but adjusted it BBC style, with slightly off quips and plenty of long chords and acoustic strumming that takes as much time as a BBC documentary – not like America’s three-minute processed ear junk. Very surreal. “And today I was thinking of a blood-red scroll with your name written on it: Your dead soul.” That’s from “Remember My Markings.” I’m sure you’ve heard it, you probably just didn’t notice because of that fur collar thing you got at the thrift store. It happens. It’s not practical to be trendy, but it’s so much better than being mainstream. Anyway, Hindle covers The Bee Gees: “I Started a Joke” – remember that song, “I finally died, which started the whole world living…” that song about the guy who’s blocking the progress of society just by existing? Obviously, that’s anybody who thinks or feels or even tries to be different these days. Right in the middle of the darkest, most stunning, orchestral cello strokes, he comes out with the line “Don’t blow the load that lingers.” I mean, the thing was recorded in Haight in San Fran, you know. This is the real thing, the real trendy. It’s like a thin artist, a person hiding along the wall, not actually changing things but observing with a slight bitterness. Totally stripped down, shades of gray and brown, the complete spectrum for a professional observer. You really should get a copy before he’s passé. Of course, I’m only telling you because I’ve already heard of the next best thing.
(1388 Haight St. #211 San Francisco, CA 94117)
