Seal Jubilee

Sorry to keep posting lyrics on the blog, but I was listening to this song on the long walk home from work today and really listened to the lyrics for the first time. I thought they were pretty awesome (even though I have no idea what the song is about) so I thought I'd share them with you...

Seal Jubilee by Bat For Lashes

"The seals, they cried in jubilee
The sharks, they howled along with me
And birds, they flew into the wind
The whale, he roamed the lonely sea

And I dived into you
I dived into you
On this ocean hue
'Cause I dived into you

The lighthouse dog lifted his brow
The crippled trees bent low to growl
And swans, they wrestled with lifetime's grasp
In hopefullness they nestled the past
Teachers and travellers made their mark
They dined and feasted on whale and shark
And so the ocean lost its depths
And boredom rained as the ocean wept

Birds they raised their young for dead
And ladies used feathery pillows for bed
And black snow came and black snow stayed
And froze the ocean out of love
Out of love

I lay quiet, next to you
Transformed a whole
Transformed anew
No longer diving into
But lying quiet next
To you"

County Bounce

Just a quick shout out to my friend Walker for putting me onto G-Side and Jay Electronica, who I mentioned in the last post. Check out his blog "County Bounce" if you dig hip hop and rap (or even if you don't--there's a lot of good shit on there). Dude has one of the best tastes in rap music that I know, and his knowledge of the scene--especially Southern rap--is pretty much unmatched.

If you need some evidence, check out this track by the Alabama rapper, Yelawolf. He's not exactly a household name yet, but just wait--Walker says this guy will be huge, and after seeing him live last week, I believe him.

Showtime

At least from a music standpoint, this month has started in a great way. Starting last Tuesday, I went to three shows in three nights--Yelawolf and Wiz Khalifa at a sold out Middle East, A Sunny Day in Glasgow at Great Scott, and finishing off in a strong way with Vampire Weekend at The Orpheum. A two day lay-over was followed by Serena Maneesh on Sunday (thanks again to Kevin for the tix).

But it won't stop there. My calendar is quickly becoming dominated by upcoming concerts...this is what's on itinerary right now:

Thursday- Cymbals Eat Guitars @ Middle East

Saturday- Ted Leo and the Pharmacists @ Paradise

April 18th- The Thermals @ Middle East

April 22-25th- Weekend road trip to Greensborough, North Carolina to see G-Side (if you're into rap and don't know about this group, download this mix-tape now)

May 3rd- Yeasayer @ Paradise (I will get tickets to this show)

May 11th OR 12th- Dr. Dog @ Paradise (sponsored by WERS)

May 15th- Jay Electronica @ Paradise (check out this song "Exhibit C"...one of the best hip hop tracks of '09)

May 21st- Devon the Dude @ Paradise


Annnd that's just April and May. There's a good chance I won't end up going to all of these shows, but I'm going to damn well try. I don't know if it's the warm weather or just an influx of great shows into Boston over the next few months, but it looks like a whole fucking lot of my nights this Spring are going to be spent destroying my eardrums and dancing and sweating my ass off amongst numerous hipsters, stoners, and black X's.

So psyched.

p.s. in the spirit of the post and for your viewing pleasure...wobblegirl:

No words.

Film Noir

I'm all washed out by the side of the road
Broken bones Matilda left a note and a rose
Saying "Baby honey child, I loved you so long
but you deserve much better than me"

So I'm just burning all around
All the miles in the road
And I'm never going back
And I'm never going home
I've been gone too long
I've been less right than wrong
I've lost so much blood in the falling out

And I lit a fire that wouldn't go out
Until it consumed the walls and roof of this house
Until all I remember was burning away
And all I remember, you're burnin' away

See for 10 long years I've been hustling around
Tryin' to wash the sins and sweat from my brow
Just trying to find a better life for me and my own
Just some rest for these tired working fingers

But nobody never gonna tell you the way
You gotta figure it out boys and suffer the rain
And the fools in the night, and the heat of the day
When all you ever really wanted was for someone to understand

And I lit a fire that wouldn't go out
Until it consumed the walls and roof of this house
Until all I remember was burning away
And all I remember, you're burnin' away
Well don't you take it so hard and baby don't you cry
You cross your hard heart and hope to die
Don't you tell me no more lies, you lied all the time
Don't you tell me no more lies, you lied every night

And you're sugar and spice, and everything nice
You got Monroe hips, your poison lips and knives
And your sugar and spice, and everything nice
You got open wounds in a young boy's pride

And I lit a fire that wouldn't go out
Until it consumed the walls and roof of this house
Until all I remember was burning away
And all that you left me you're burning away
Well don't you take it so hard and baby don't you cry
You cross your hard heart and you hope to die
Don't you tell me no more lies, you lied all the time
Don't you tell me no more lies, you lied every night

Time, time, tickin' away
Time, time, tickin' away
Time, time, tickin' away
Time, time, tickin' away

Tom Waits Series: 1973- Closing Time

Let's get March started off on the right foot, yeah? February was a weird month and I'm ashamed to say my blog was an unfortunate (and unnecessary) casualty. I promised new posts (that weren't being an emo bitch) and I have not delivered. But here's to a fresh start!

First up is an account of Tom Waits' first album, "Closing Time", as you may or may not recall the little experiment I undertook...well, about a month ago. I knew it'd be slow going, but I didn't think I'd be this ADD about listening to (and reporting on) music.

Anyway, I feel as though I have digested "Closing Time" about as much as I can hope to. So what's the verdict for Mr. Waits' first album? Not much. It took me a few weeks of repeatedly coming back and listening to the album to come the the conclusion that...it's just not very good.

Thank god this wasn't my first exposure to Waits or it could have been a while before I gave him a second chance. To put it plainly, there isn't really much evidence--at all--of what makes Tom Waits the Tom Waits people know and love today. I talked to my brother about this, and he made an interesting point that he knew people who have said "Closing Time" was their favorite Tom Waits album.

I find this incredibly fascinating because it's so totally different and indistinguishable from his later work--and I'm not even talking just shit from the past couple decades. The album itself is, well, pretty bland. That isn't to say it's not enjoyable, but there really isn't anything here that might indicate the long transformation to come. "Closing Time" is a poppy, folksy, bluesy debut that just reeks "sap". Honestly, the best word to describe the album is "cheesy".

Those of you who know Tom Waits now know that sentimentality is not really his trademark. But you wouldn't know this from listening to his first singer-songwriterly debut. There are a couple fun, catchy songs--in particular I was attracted to "Old Shoes (& Picture Postcards)"--but in the end it's impossible for me to get past the cheesiness of the lyrics, the simplicity of the writing, and the general blah-ness of the songs. A good example is "I Hope That I Don't Fall In Love With You"--yes, that's what it's called. This title comprises the chorus of the song, but it ends even worse, with Waits crooning: "And I think that I just fellll in love with you." Really? Really Tom Waits?

Lastly, every time I listen to the album it begins to sink into obscurity at about the mid-way point, and to me this is the death rattle of a very unremarkable album. So all in all, a mediocre affair. It took me a while to realize that if I detached his name from the album it probably wouldn't be something I'd have more than a few days on my iTunes library.

Unfortunately, his next album, "The Heart of Saturday Night", isn't too far from this one.

Thankfully, though, I know what is to come. And from an early listen, if I strain real hard I start to pick out the faint resemblance of some of the brilliance he is known for today. Until next time though! Hopefully the wait won't be as long...cheers to a new month and second chances!

The Hitchhiking Game

I want to relate a passage from a short story I just read recently. The story is by Milan Kundera (it’s in the collection “Laughable Loves” if you’re interested), one of my favorite authors; I can’t think of anyone who better captures the human spirit and mind as it really exists, free of romanticized thoughts and fictionalized, story-book motives. Instead, Kundera writes with a stark nakedness and truth that shows all of the insecurities and imperfections and fears that exist within the human mind (though there is an undeniable “lightness” that inexplicably parallels the unflattering portrayal of human beings).

This is particularly evident in the interaction between the people in his stories, often characterized by jealousy, selfishness, and distrust—among other unfavorable distinctions of the mind—which stem from a disconnect between actual intentions and perceived intentions combined with a stubborn, often prideful and sometimes ignorant, refusal of honest communication.

The story I mentioned, called “The Hitchhiking Game”, brilliantly captures this disconnect, showing it extending beyond interpersonal relationships; I would almost go as far as calling the disconnect an epidemic—a disease of the human spirit—as false motives are iterated to the point where they become almost indistinguishable from the truth. A person’s life, love, and work become determined by external perceptions rather than their own thoughts and desires. If this doesn’t make any sense (and I can see that without perspective it might not), you should probably just go ahead and read the story.

But first, to give you a reference point, “The Hitchhiking Game” is about a working man and his younger girlfriend of a year as they take a vacation, their first significant time spent together free of work. When they initiate a game where the girl pretends to be hitchhiker and he the stranger who picks her up, their insecurities about each other, their relationship, and their own lives are given an indirect outlet, and subsequently the two begin to realize that they really are strangers to each other and in their lives. What follows is a passage from the story that I found particularly resonant—hopefully it will provide you with a picture of some of the aforementioned ideas:

There was nothing the young man missed in his life more than lightheartedness. The main road of his life was drawn with implacable precision: his job didn’t use up merely eight hours a day, it also infiltrated the remaining time with the compulsory boredom of meetings and home study, and, by means of the attentiveness of his countless male and female colleagues, it infiltrated the wretchedly little time he had left for his private life as well; this private life never remained secret and sometimes even became the subject of gossip and public discussion. Even a two week vacation didn’t give him a feeling of liberation and adventure; the gray shadow of precise planning lay even here. The scarcity of summer accommodations in our country had compelled him to book a room in the Tatras six months in advance, and since for that he needed a recommendation from his office, its omnipresent brain thus did not cease knowing about him for even an instant.

He had become reconciled to all this, yet all the same from time to time the terrible thought of the straight road would overcome him—a road along which he was being pursued, where he was visible to everyone, and from which he could not turn aside. At this moment that thought returned to him. Through an odd and brief conjunction of ideas the figurative road became identified with the real highway along which he was driving—and this led him suddenly to do a crazy thing.

“Where did you say you wanted to go?” he asked the girl.
“To Bystrica,” she replied.
“And what are you going to do there?”
“I have a date there.”
“Who with?”
“With a certain gentleman.”

The car was just coming to a large crossroads. The driver slowed down so as to read the road signs, then turned off to the right.

“What will happen if you don’t turn up for that date?”
“[It] would be your fault, and you would have to take care of me.”
“You obviously didn’t notice that I turned off in the direction of Nove Zamky.”
“Is that true? You’ve gone crazy!”
“Don’t worry! I’ll take care of you,” said the young man.

The game all at once went into a higher gear. The sports car was moving away not only from the imaginary goal of Bystrica, but also from the real goal, toward which it had been heading in the morning: the Tatras and the room that had been reserved. Fiction was suddenly making an assault on real life. The young man was moving away from himself and from the implacable straight road, from which he had never strayed until now.

“But you said you were going to the Tatras!” The girl was surprised.
“I'm going, miss, wherever I feel like going. I'm a free man, and I do what I want and what it please me to do.”