Ok . . . after a solid hour away from the computer I can safely say that yesterday’s Deerhunter/Olivier Groulx/Orwells fiasco got out of hand.
Upon initially seeing the video it struck a deep nerve within me. It was primal; I can’t explain it. The similarities felt too blatant to be a coincidence. This instinct was then exacerbated by a flood of texts, Tweets and emails from friends and acquaintances who felt the same way — which made the whole thing get under my skin even more. When I put something out into the world, I become very protective of it. Particularly when it’s work I’m proud of. And especially when it has to do with my lil bro’s band (or family in general).*
I regret getting so emotionally invested in the whole thing and exploiting the controversy in some kind of self-serving way. I also apologize for the zingers I slung at Mr. Groulx. The Internet is a weird place and it can bring out a strange, ugly, gossipy side of one’s personality. I am not exempt from this phenomenon. I am human. Sucks sometimes.
Ultimately, the success of the Deerhunter video doesn’t have anything to do with the success of the Blood Bubbles video. They don’t cancel each other out. Their similarities are perhaps a total coincidence. I should have been hip to that long before going ape shit. Egos blow dogs for quarters.
Mr. Groulx says he hadn’t seen the Blood Bubbles video until this incident. I’m going to take him at his word.
For archival purposes, I have left the original post up. It’s a thing that happened; taking it down feels dishonest somehow. Instead I will let this post serve as a kind of amendment.
At the end of the day, I am still very grateful that I got to talk with Bradford Cox about the appropriation and ownership of retro iconography. How cool is that? It’s that kind of connectivity that ultimately makes the Internet a beautiful thing despite some of its more, uh, unfavorable side-effects.
*This trait runs in the family. At SXSW last spring, my old man jumped onto the stage and got into a physical altercation with the sound guys after The Orwells’ set was cut short and they destroyed a microphone in protest. It’s oddly enough one of the proudest memories I have of my family. I think we would have made good in the Hatfield & McCoy days.