Reflections on "John Wayne Gacy Jr"

Whilst it's been some time since Sufjan Stevens' Come On Feel The Illinois, it's best songs still haven't lost there spark.

"John Wayne Gacy Jr." still hits me hard. Until now I hadn't seen the accompanying film clip. If possible, it makes the song even more poignant; the Simon and Garfunkle style vocals are accentuated by the mix of primary school "stranger danger" instructional videos and out of context 8mm home movies.

The overall effect is a jarring juxtaposition of nostalgia - for a time when home life was simpler, hitch-hiking was not loaded with innuendo or possible abuse and families were tight nuclear units - against the overwhelming feeling that any perceived normality during any era is a facade.

The public consensus, if you read your daily newspaper, watch your A Current Affair and eat you Weet-Bix every morning is that we're living in less safe times than ever before; the Gacys, Beaumont twin abductors, Dahmers, et al of this world have opened the floodgates to a deluge of paedophiles, rapists and murderers who lurk around every corner.

"John Wayne Gacy Jr" as a song, especially when combined with its film clip, suggests (accurately, to my mind) that there was never a golden age of innocence, more a willing ignorance from the parents and police forces of times gone by; the assumption being that everything was alright, and that if something went wrong it was more than likely the work of someone outside of the community. The fact that Gacy's own neighbours testified on his behalf in his trial, despite the overwhelming evidence (over 30 bodies in his house's crawl space, plus a confession) is a shocking indication of the ability of people to protect community (or at least the sense of it) at all costs.

The vocals are a trap, drawing you in with their S & G-esque bitter-sweet harmonies, just to pull your breath from your lungs during the chorus ("oh my god"), then kick you in the stomach as the final lines fall in to place, where Stevens seems to suggest that each one of us buries the reeking bodies of our secrets in the crawlspaces of our lives.

And in my best behavior

I am really just like him
Look beneath the floorboards
For the secrets I have hid

The last lines can seem a little disingenuous, Stevens turning the camera around on himself and us for a last shock-tactic that is somewhat clunky. However the most disturbing thing about serial-killers, to my mind, is their ability to function as amplified portraits of the society around them. Again, the ability of Gacy's neigbours to testify on his behalf points to this - don't exhume our secrets, we don't want you to know. And even more to the point, we don't want to know. In this way, Gacy functions, at least metaphorically, as the body in the crawlspace of 70s and 80s America.

In Little Bones specific news, I have ordered a hand-wired 18W 1974X clone from a guy called Eric McChanson who makes boutique valve guitar heads, which should be in my hands around 20/07. We're not playing the Arthouse this month, as you may have guessed, but we're looking to record together in late July, and get a booking agent around the same time so we can start gigging earnestly.

Hope you're all well.

- Wes