New York '91

A certain indulgence, polished, high-gloss, slick and shimmering in the ruins of '80s finance—a sudden puncture, like the crash of October ‘87, Black Monday. People were still ordering cocktails as the market nosedived. The news rippled, not like panic, but like a static hum, as if the bottom hadn’t fallen out quite yet.

You were there, or you think you were, caught in that strange interstice between what was and what would become the rebellion against it. You remember the feedback loops, the screech of guitars that sounded more like white noise than music. Daydream Nation was on every cassette deck, but no one could say why, just that it fit with the times.