michael's communiqué #1
01/06/2003

I recently had a lovely date which included an impeccable plate of cous-cous at Cafe Gitane on Mott Street (a scene somewhere between Casablanca and Zoolander) followed by a matinee viewing of the film Adaptation. Once in the theatre I couldn't help but wonder if the Bernard Sumner look-alike in the the leather pants two seats to my left had been required to purchase a ticket for the Chihuahua he had nestled in his Louis Vitton duffel bag. Anyway I digress. There is a scene in Adaptation where one Nicholas Cage is talking to the other Nicholas Cage (he plays twin brothers) about an episode of adolescent ridicule The Tortured Nicholas Cage witnessed The Happy-Go-Lucky Nicholas Cage endure at the hands of his high school dream girl (confused yet?). The Tortured Nicholas asks how the Happy-Go-Lucky Nicholas could experience such humiliation and rejection and still feel all right about himself and the girl. Happy-go-Lucky Nicholas reminds Tortured Nicholas that the love he felt belonged to him alone, and that no one could soil it or take it from him. He tells his broody brother "We are what we love, not what loves us."

Maybe this scene can help explain the invention and re-invention of our band MY FAVORITE. There have been so many beautiful moments and miraculous signs standing alone in a vast landscape of obscurity and disappearance. But the meaning of MY FAVORITE is in a kind of encoded love that is quite hard to explain. But since the valour is in the trying...

...three points of reference...

The Fallen Cheerleader who bothered to look over my shoulder at the hopeless prose I jotted into a camouflage Andy Warhol journal. Who walked with me through strip mall cemeteries towards the edge of the polluted water. You could not skip rocks on Lake Ronkonkoma... everything sunk straight to the bottom. So we did this instead.

The Boston Philosophy Minors, weighed down with badges, dancing and affirming their belief in MUSIC as The Push Kings and us sweated our way through hit songs from a world that never was. A world glimpsed only in our bright, fractured reflection in the disco ball. Sensed only for an instant in the way the cold air felt against your face when you hit the sidewalk outside the club with your ears still ringing in harmony with a hundred others.

The Gothenburg Army, their mouths full of powdered tobacco, their heads prematurely full of nostalgia and existentialism. Raising their fists, and tearing down speakers, all the while singing along to a song about angels, saints and rosary beads. God bless Sweden.

We are what we love, not what loves us. If the world wishes us to be pop stars...I have packed my bowling bag and am set to go. If MTV wants us to come by, we'll show, with a word or two to say about the sound of the ferry drifting across grey waters, or how Capitalism and War are Siamese twins. And if Nike wants "Homeless Club Kids" for a commercial...well forget it...I'm holding out for Fred Perry.

We are what we love...Anorak sing-alongs, supermarket poetry, flashing colored lights, a bust of James Dean, broken strings, condemned students houses, chocolate cake, pawn shop drum machines, drawing in the margins, a feedback encore, watery beer, illegible fanzines, plans for robots, pinball vacations, coastal towns at twilight, cheap carnival Halloweens... our criminal world.

We are the Substitute Cult Heroes Union. The previous ones have left for the French Rivera. We are yours, you are ours, and beggars can't be choosers. They can't touch us now...we are what we love.

The new year will feature the release of The Happiest Days Of Our Lives: The Joan of Arc Tapes which will compile the three Joan of Arc EPs plus songs from the long-rumored never heard final Joan of Arc session we dubbed Death In June. There will be other surprises, plus a bunch of really interesting re-mixes, liner notes and artwork. We will also be playing new songs from our next potential record...the horror themed The World That Never Was at upcoming shows. Until then...

Yours truly,
Michael Grace Jr.