Swedish Pop

Why am I such an obsessive?, W. ponders. Take Jandek. That's all you listen to now, isn't it: Jandek? There's nothing else on your iPod. I always need some marker on the horizon to head toward, W. notes. You need to measure yourself by something.

W. laments that I'm no longer open to pop music. Coming downstairs on a recent visit, I find him sitting on the sofa in his dressing gown with a cup of tea, listening to Jens Lekman. It's pure pop, W. exclaims. Nothing makes him happier, especially in the morning, W. says, than to fill his house with Nights in Komedia.

Of course you only listen to Jandek, W. says. He tried to have a Jandek party the other night, W. says. He couldn't play any Jandek until Sal, who hates Jandek, passed out around 5.00 in the morning, but there were still a few people up, young people.

How long do you think they could stand Jandek?, W. asks, how long? He pauses dramatically. Three seconds, he says, that's all they could take. I think one of them shat herself, he says. 

For his part, W. appreciates Jandek, although Sal has thrown away all the Jandek CDs I burned for him. He appreciates Jandek, whereas I am obsessed with him. It's all you listen to, isn't it, Jandek? W. says whenever he puts Jandek on – whenever I send him a fresh batch of Jandek CDs - he finds himself leaving the room. He can't be in the room with it, W. says. He goes out, and then upstairs or downstairs, but he can't endure Jandek, even though he appreciates him, W. says.

When I visit, it's different, W. acknowledges. My presence in the room helps him with his Jandek listening. It's because it amuses him to see obsession in person, W. says. The look on your face, says W., it's hilarious. You look like a fascinated ape, he says.

W. has a certain respect for my obsessions, W. says, although they're absurdly narrowing. Your whole life has been nothing other than a series of obsessions, W. announces, and this is your latest one. W. is more measured than I am, he notes. He's interested in many things, in a whole expanse of things, for example, the whole gamut of Swedish pop.

That's what he listens to in the morning after he's read his Cohen, W. says. Two hours of Cohen - from four to six PM – without so much as a cup of tea, and then his cup of tea and Swedish pop, W. resting in the fact that he's already done a morning's work. It's a kind of reward to himself, W. says, his Swedish pop. It's an essential bridge between his morning of work and the rest of his day. It's the hinge of his day, W. says, his Swedish pop.

Of course, you would know nothing of this, W. says. When do I work? What do I all day? You're an administrator, W. says. You administrate all day, and then you put on Jandek and weep into your bovril.