Ah, Music

It's pretty rare for me to listen to music and not wish I was in some way involved in it; writing it, playing it, giving someone a line that is put into the lyrics and, in rare occasions, dating the singer (Feist!).

I've long since given up any idea of doing much more than actually owning an instrument. I'm so out of practice with the guitar that when the rare urge strikes me to play, I'll pick it up for a short period, realize I'd have to practice daily for months to get back to where I was when I played often, and then I put it down in frustration. Obviously not the way to go if I want to get any better, but really the guitar itself does very little for me as a solo instrument. If I could sing, I might be more inclined to play. If you've ever passed me in the car or taken a road trip with me, you know I love to sing, but I'm terrible at it. Really, really terrible. That's not the guitar's fault but he must be punished for my shortcomings anyway.

I can only name a few songs where the guitar itself has actually stood out and made me take note (that wasn't a pun, I swear), and often it's only a few, short seconds. Even more rare is a full, guitar only instrumental that can keep my attention. But when it happens, it's glorious. I'm looking at you, "Elevator Beat" by Nancy Wilson.

I on occasion ponder the idea of picking up the cello. Not so much for the instrument itself - though I'm fond of it - but for the ridiculous mental image I for some reason have of me playing it. I see myself at my 6' tall window, shades drawn back and window open to the outside world, my form dimly lit by the moonlight as I play, shirtless and weeping. None of those things except playing by the window would actually happen, but my brain is pretty convinced that is how it would all go down. I might be wearing some sort of hat while it all happens too.

Most music is made up of small, pleasant moments to me. I've had to curb the way I suggest music to friends because I always want to say, "you should listen to this song because at 3:15 there is a bridge where the vocals crack for just a moment right when the violin in the background increases tempo and..." That doesn't work for most people, I've found, though one or two friends appreciate and share similar fondness-es.

There are countless songs that I am of the opinion that none should live without, and it's the whole song that I love, but there are always tiny fragments that really make it for me. They tend to have certain portions that I could happily replay over and over. It could be literally 3 seconds of a specific compilation of sounds, or one word sung in a pleasing way, or of course a specific phrase or lyric that resonates in me. A few of my favorite examples:

Gomez - "Tijuana Lady"

I'm not really all that big a fan of Gomez. At least, there's far more that they've done that I dislike more than I like. A lot of it has to do with their multiple singers. I'm not fond of any of them except Ben Ottewell. But they don't have to have a flawless history to make an amazing song.
Ben has a voice that I only know how to describe as "dusty". When I first heard them, his vocals made me conjure an image of a tall fellow with dark hair and, for some reason, a duster. Turns out he's just a normal looking guy with glasses. Who'd have thought?

The appeal for me in this track is mostly in the chorus. Ben sings dustily and is unexpectedly joined by a female singer that I've never really taken the time to identify. A friend once described her voice as "warbly" which I suppose works as well as any other adjective. Perhaps "husky". So often duets of this nature end up, in my opinion, with one singer dominating and certainly this is often the desired result but just as often it isn't. Or at least, feels like it shouldn't be. These two manage to intertwine in such a way that many times you're not sure which one of them you're focusing on. The voices become homogeneous yet somehow still very independent.

The guitar is picked lightly during the chorus and only really stands out when the singers rest and the ever descending notes feel almost like steps towards the next vocals. Steps you can't help but ascend.

Mogwai - "Small Children in the Background

A much-loved all instrumental track. It starts quietly, the silence covered with a slight layer of static. Gentle hints of cymbals while the drums pickup softly; at least, softly as any drums can. Crisp, long notes from the guitar hang all over the air, lazily picked at first but more defined with purpose as the song progresses. The crash of the cymbal intensifies along with the guitar until there is just a thick fog of music that rises up, the drums punctuating through the mist so that you cannot miss them. They aggressively attack you and suddenly cease where you expected them to march on, and right when you think it's about to all come down to silence, it explodes. It overwhelms you for a mere 20 seconds and then it unexpectedly drops. The static still permeates the silence but you can tell the quiet is starting to overcome. Deep bass rolls through your chest and the guitar - more talk than action now - sinks back into lethargy as everything starts to spread out and fade until only static is left, which cuts abruptly, leaving you with nothing but silence and goosebumps.

Sigur Rós - "Njósnavélin"

One of their only tracks I can spell without looking at the album. I have about 10 versions of this song and I have been for years unable to decide which one I feel is the defining one. It's a rare situation where the studio version is actually in the running for that honor, which goes as "Untitled Track 4" on the album ( ).
This one I partially love because of the song itself, and partially because it was burned into me when I watched Vanilla Sky.
There's nothing that isn't amazing about this song. The slow lead-in, ethereal guitar hauntingly humming in the background, the deep yet soothing drums echoing, the sharp, strong strings picking up the softness and making way for the vocals (which, I'll warn you ahead of time, are gibberish). I struggled often to put meaning to the words before I learned that this whole album is in Volensak / Hopelandic which is Sigur Ros-ian for "made-up". That's right, all the lyrics are in a made-up language. I suppose that means that you get to apply your own meaning to the songs. And I like that.
But before I knew all of this, I landed on believing the lyrics were, "You sigh alone - you sigh alone; not for long," which was both incredibly sad and incredibly uplifting all at once.

Feist - "Intuition"

Her live show at the Ryman won me over on this one. I'm usually pretty against crowd participation as far as them singing along is concerned; I go to listen to the band, not the crowd. Yet my evil looks under a furrowed brow never seem to deter them. This time, the crowds involvement made it better.

She sings:
"And it's impossible to tell how important someone was
and what you might have missed out on
and how you might have changed it all
and how you might have changed it all for him...
and how you might have changed it all
and how you might have changed it all for him..."

The last part of the final verse...the guitar fades and she follows up with, "Did I? Did I?" and the question just hangs in the air, expecting an answer that never comes. The only response is the slight echo as it is swallowed by the large room. She repeats herself and again it hangs uncomfortably, still unanswered against all odds though accompanied by a single plucked string of the guitar. A third time she asks; again no response. Once more, desperately...and nothing. Powerful and demanding this time, she shouts her question out and the crowd answers her with the same, "Did I? Did I?"
Clearly no one has the answer she's looking for and she closes with, "Did I miss out on you?"

Radiohead and PJ Harvey - "The Mess We're In"

Well, I guess it's Thom Yorke with PJ Harvey. There's a section around 2:45 in where Thom starts singing, "what was it you wanted?", repeated by PJ as soon as he finishes. This happens once more with the start of line two, "I just want to say..." but their roles are then reversed mid-sentence as PJ quickly finishes this line, "...don't ever change" before Thom does. The rest of the bridge follows this order with PJ speaking first followed by Thom singing same lines (with small differences between them as shown in parenthesis):

What were you wanting / (what was it you wanted)?
I just want to say....
...don't ever change / (don't ever change now baby)

and thank you-
I don't think we will meet again
and you must leave now / (and you must sleep now)
before the sun rises - over the skyscrapers / (above skyscrapers)
and the city landscape comes into view.
sweat on my skin...oh...

Thom starts to fall behind ever so slowly as the lyrics continue until PJ is often overlapping him with her line while he is still finishing up the previous one. It sounds like it'd be messy when reading about it, but they manage to compliment rather than clash. The bridge completes with a final lyric that they both say together; "this mess we're in..." Chilling and powerful.

Ani Difranco - "Soft Shoulder"

One of my favorites from her. Every part of it. However it's a fine example of a song that has small parts that I could happily rewind over and over.

A few great lyrics;
"And I danced to one of your old tunes- with my true love on our wedding day" Great lines, plus the way she emphasizes "day" is very pleasing.

And the last line:
"We had barely said hello...and it was time...to say 'goodbye' "

There is a unusual guitar moment here; the guitar mostly rides backseat during this whole trip but tries to be a backseat driver, taking the wheel for a second around 3:49. Two sharp notes arise and then there is some sliding done with dangerous timing, each following note held until the absolute last second before breathlessly jumping to the next.

Queens of the Stoneage - "Go With the Flow"

Nothing really special about this band to me except but they have some fun songs. But they did manage to get at least two lines right when they came up with:
"I want something good to die for...
...to make it beautiful to live"
I'd happily trade all of their other work for this ideal.

Since there's a thousand songs I could point out that have amazing pieces to them, I better stop before this gets out of control. I even left out a few of my prime examples, so you're welcome for the reprieve. Your job, anyone out there, is to share some similar songs if you have them and note what makes them standout. A vocal inflection? A guitar riff? Etc. I like to see what drives the emotions of others in this way.

Discomfort

I'm rather a large Jeff Buckley fan. Having written a few of my favorite all-time songs, he's pretty high up on my list of musicians. And he left us far too soon.

However, that said, I still am mildly uncomfortable when I log into myspace and see this:

Musical Memories

As I may have previously mentioned, I've been feeling rather old lately. I've decided it's not because I actually am old, but because things in my life's proximity are making me feel that way. Today, music has made me feel old.

I was introduced to music at a young age. When I was growing up, my mother always had the radio on while she got ready for work and I ready for school. She also had it on while driving to our destination. I didn't have any specific tastes, I just liked whatever came on the radio, though I do specially remember not liking 'Don't Worry, Be Happy'.

I've always enjoyed music and my growing up "around" it certainly helped spur that love; the idea that there exist people who don't enjoy music at all has only recently been introduced to me and it's a thought my mind keeps trying to reject like a body might a baboon heart. Also, since I grew up in the 80's, I have a rather disturbing amount of songs from that time forever burned into my brain. Those of you who have ever taken a road trip with me or been on the phone with me when I zone out and start singing to myself know this all too well.

I have been going through the tedious task of converting all of my CDs to digital format so that I would have my entire collection instantly at my fingertips. Many of you have been through the same no doubt, and likely you remember well the horror of the process. It does however hold a few pleasant surprises such as discovering forgotten music. Among my collection I found not only a depressing number of CDs I can't believe I ever listened to, let alone purchased, but I also found some old CDs that, while not truly forgotten, I had not listened to in years upon years. There's nothing else quite like rediscovering a song you used to love.

Like most people - or so I imagine - I didn't really develop real musical preference until I was in my early teens. It used to be that it came on the radio, I was happy with it (which is most certainly not the case now). I remember the very day, the very album, I got that first started my interest in exploring music on my own and began the evolution of my own musical palette. Like probably many people my age, that album (or at least band) of influence was:

This was the first CD I ever owned, and it was for my 13th birthday. And this very disk is rather what has made me feel old. As I put this album tracks onto my computer, it is automatically updated with the track titles, band name, and year released. To my horror, "Bleach" is nearly 20 years old! The day I got this CD does not seem distant at all and when it was given to me it was only a few years old. How can it be 20 years old? I remember vividly things said on that day, and things done on that day. The memory is still so fresh. The day I purchased their new album, "In Utero", seems almost as recent, and of course the unfortunate loss of Kurt also feels quite near.

Speaking of "In Utero", I ran across it as well and had an urge to listen to it. It is the first time I've listened to the original copy since high school and the first time listening to it at all in at least 8 years. It seems amazing to me that I can have not listened to "In Utero" in over 8 years as I think it will always feel like a new release to me for some reason.

I'm constantly amazed at the ways music can move a person, and I learned some new ways today. First off, I noticed that the cover of the album was turned around so that it was facing the inside of the CD case. For a split-second I was curious about this until I suddenly recalled one of my best friends back then had turned it around because he did not care for the cover and liked the inside of the jacket more. I'd never switched it back I suppose. I haven't seen that person in many years and this unexpected reminder of him made me miss my friend. It was almost like being able to touch the past.

The second thing was that when I opened the case, what was left of a Fruit Roll-Up wrapper fell out. This might seem an odd thing to you, but to me it was a memory that felt very fresh. My girlfriend at the time used to buy these for me and sneak them into my school bag so I'd randomly find them during the day which, at the time, made the day pretty awesome. What was more special about this is that she used to open them and carve the words, "I love you," out of the gummy surface and then reseal the package. She did it so well that, had I not known better, I would have thought they always came that way. What a pleasant surprise this was the first time she did this, and it wasn't much less special the following times. It never grew old, in fact. To this day I can no longer eat them because opening the package to not find that message waiting for me would wound my soul. The part of me that I keep hidden which still cherishes the memories of the long departed love wants to believe that every package has this sort of message and isn't willing to risk that it might not. Part of me needs to believe it is true. The world seems all the better for the possibility that it could be.

I wonder how nostalgic all this will be when I'm actually old? I'm not sure if I look forward to finding out or if I dread it.