![]() In the ’80s, when everyone else on their scene was slackers, they were avid networkers and stanch careerists, making the kind of business- and art-world connections they’d need to build something. They married in 1984, before Sonic Youth was even any good, and, despite their noise-rock’s sonic and lyrical obsession with chaos, their career seemed to grow out of the concerns of people who were making art to organize a future, rather than elude one - doing it for houses and college funds and a shared old age on a porch somewhere. But they weren’t really love-song types, like John and Yoko or Paul and Linda or Georgia and Ira of Yo La Tengo or Kurt and Courtney or even Biggie and Faith - their marriage was less a subject of their music than the fact of it. Thurston and Kim occasionally wrote about their relationship (it’s especially there on 1998’s A Thousand Leaves, whose “Sunday” is one of the most beautiful evocations of domesticity I’ve ever heard). Confusion is next, as Sonic Youth sang in 19-fucking-83.Īnyone with any interest at all in the band’s musical milieu had to - at one time or another - hold them up as paragons of how to do something as awesome as be in the coolest band on earth and as-your-parents-y as be married. What the hell! If this is possible, nothing is off the table: Michele Bachmann taking the oath of office, high ratings for the NHL, get ready, here they come. They’re in their 50s they have a 17-year-old daughter. ![]() ![]() The coolness and longevity of their relationship - and the band it foregrounded - was a natural fact and easily one of the most admirable institutions in rock history. The news on Friday night that Kim Gordon and Thurston Moore had split up after 27 years of marriage was for indie rock fans like having a rock thrown through your bedroom window. ![]()
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