Radiohead - Reckoner
I was about five seconds away from sleep tonight when I heard the opening crashes of Reckoner. I was immediately granted intense sensory memories of a morning in October. Since I started this project for the express purpose of relating stories like this, I decided I owed it to myself to get out of bed and write.
Maybe you didn't know this, but I'm a big radiohead fan. Have been for a long time. Like most of my generation who are into the "indie music", Radiohead was one of the bands that first expanded my minds and ears. Do you remember ok Computer? Do you remember the excitement about Kid A? I remember using Napster (yes, the original one) to download Amnesiac when it first leaked, track by track, out of order, 20 minutes per song on the 56.6k dial-up modem. Mom yelling from the other room to get off the line because she had to make a call. I told her what I was doing, and she told me to burn her a copy when it was done. I got seriously ill trying to see them live. I have them all, I have the EPs, I have some b-sides. I bought all the albums on release day once I was old enough to get albums for myself.
In Rainbows was not much different, that is to say, in the level of excitement. There was a lot less time to prepare, of course, since they announced it just days before releasing it online. I wanted to hear Reckoner. A live clip of it had made the rounds for quite some time, years even, before the album's release. Really rough and angular rocker. Intense. I was ravenous. I also had to wake up very early the next morning. But of course I stayed up late to download it, burn it to cd, and put it in a safe place to remind me to take it with me on the drive to work in the morning.
It was six-forty AM on Thursday, October 11th 2007 the first time I listened to Reckoner. The sun was slowly coming up as I was bundled up in my car on this particularly brisk autumn morning. My car didn't really agree with my desire for the heat to come on. Finally. Track 7, the one I had wondered about for years. I was passing the WilcoHess on South Main in Blacksburg on my way to Christiansburg to open the store that morning. Early, cold, anticipatory. Where are the guitars? This is a really great opening. Very different than what I remembered from that video. Does it change? Will it be sudden? Here, after the second verse, that's where it rocks out. Right? No? I'm confused. This song is called Reckoner. There is nothing about it that resembles what I had been expecting. Is that bad? Am I upset? No. Definitely not. This is something different. It's expecting something to be one way, then having that rug pulled out from under you. Then, finding that you didn't fall down. It was an illusion? That other one? This is the real song. This simply feels right. This might be one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard. I played it again four times before I got to the store. I played it several times that morning while alone, opening, baking bread and slicing lettuce.
Leaving work ten hours later, I paused outside on the way to the car. I could feel in the air, something, something changing. It was a slow change that I didn't notice for so long. And then when I did, it felt abrupt, startling, like it happened overnight. It was autumn. Trees had changed color. I had been wearing light jackets more often than not. Autumn is my favorite time of year, and I was in it. I listened to Reckoner once more that night, at dusk. I put it on and stared out the window and let it wash over me. How did I not notice this change? What happened to summer? I acquiesced to the fact that the harsh sun and humidity were departing, leaving the calm, still air of autumn. I was content. Reckoner was not the powerful, monolithic statement I expected. Reckoner was a levelling, a calming, a stillness.
Some changes are gradual. Some are startling. Some change is without our consent. Some times, change turns out to be for the best.
Plug in, and turn it up...
Sunday, August 02, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Roadworn Optimism
Fleet Foxes - Ragged Wood
Despite our best attempts to hinder it, time continues to pass. It trudges on day after day, with little regard to what we want and when we want it to be each day we wake up. It's that passage of time and the change that tags along for the ride that buried this project under days, months, even years of rubble. It has been three years, one month, and twenty-four days since I first aligned the words on those first posts. Much has changed. Some has not. I am in a different place (many places) and there are different people in my life. But I still have that desire to dress up these memories. Some are true. Well, most if not all are true. The wording, as usual, has been dressed up for a good evening read.
I spend most of my life on the road now. I drive hundreds of (if not a thousand) miles per week to and from locations for work. This gives me a lot of time to listen to music and reflect. But this story is not about a reflection I made on the road, it is a reflection upon the road itself.
Last night I was in my own apartment. Relocated to Matthews, North Carolina (a suburb of Charlotte) and displaced from literally everything and everyone I know. It's rough. At times it makes me feel like shit. But this is what I've done and it's going to end in the best because, well, it's me and there is no other option for me. I have settled in to my apartment and become resigned to the fact that I will spend most of my time here alone. My record player keeps me company. I put on the Fleet Foxes record, as it is one of the best in my collection to play on the record player. It sounds, well, right. Anything can be played on vinyl, but only some albums sound like they were created for a record player; this is one of them.
I lay on the couch through the opening two numbers, pleasantly soothing into the feel of it. Track 3 is Ragged Wood. If you've listened to the album, you know it starts off strong -
"WHOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH--OOOOOOOhhhhhh-oooooohhhhh...."
Pow, like a fist to the gut. It has been over seven months since I was listening to this album in my car. I sang along. Loudly and off-key. Windows down despite it being the middle of January. I felt great. I felt free. I had left my old job, and I was looking ahead. To the future. It was that time that everyone says to themselves "Ok, me! This is it, the beginning of the rest of my life! Things are going to be great. You are finally, unequivocally, on the right track."
But of course I think we all know that it's just deception. Even if we believe it at the time, there's always the nagging sense, that "hey, maybe this wasn't the best idea?"
We'll never really know. Nobody ever does. That's the joy of the human condition - we only get to experience one outcome of each choice, each decision on our path. And so there I was last night, remembering the moment I told myself that this was, definitively, a new beginning. The real start. What a deception. Every single day is a new beginning.
This is not a depressing thought.
This is not some self-depreciating, soul-crushing moment of my life.
This is, assuredly, what it is. Roadworn optimism. Wood weathered and scarred but true, solid true.
Plug in, and turn it up...
Tell me anything you want, any old lie will do.
Call me back to you.
Despite our best attempts to hinder it, time continues to pass. It trudges on day after day, with little regard to what we want and when we want it to be each day we wake up. It's that passage of time and the change that tags along for the ride that buried this project under days, months, even years of rubble. It has been three years, one month, and twenty-four days since I first aligned the words on those first posts. Much has changed. Some has not. I am in a different place (many places) and there are different people in my life. But I still have that desire to dress up these memories. Some are true. Well, most if not all are true. The wording, as usual, has been dressed up for a good evening read.
I spend most of my life on the road now. I drive hundreds of (if not a thousand) miles per week to and from locations for work. This gives me a lot of time to listen to music and reflect. But this story is not about a reflection I made on the road, it is a reflection upon the road itself.
Last night I was in my own apartment. Relocated to Matthews, North Carolina (a suburb of Charlotte) and displaced from literally everything and everyone I know. It's rough. At times it makes me feel like shit. But this is what I've done and it's going to end in the best because, well, it's me and there is no other option for me. I have settled in to my apartment and become resigned to the fact that I will spend most of my time here alone. My record player keeps me company. I put on the Fleet Foxes record, as it is one of the best in my collection to play on the record player. It sounds, well, right. Anything can be played on vinyl, but only some albums sound like they were created for a record player; this is one of them.
I lay on the couch through the opening two numbers, pleasantly soothing into the feel of it. Track 3 is Ragged Wood. If you've listened to the album, you know it starts off strong -
"WHOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH--OOOOOOOhhhhhh-oooooohhhhh...."
Pow, like a fist to the gut. It has been over seven months since I was listening to this album in my car. I sang along. Loudly and off-key. Windows down despite it being the middle of January. I felt great. I felt free. I had left my old job, and I was looking ahead. To the future. It was that time that everyone says to themselves "Ok, me! This is it, the beginning of the rest of my life! Things are going to be great. You are finally, unequivocally, on the right track."
But of course I think we all know that it's just deception. Even if we believe it at the time, there's always the nagging sense, that "hey, maybe this wasn't the best idea?"
We'll never really know. Nobody ever does. That's the joy of the human condition - we only get to experience one outcome of each choice, each decision on our path. And so there I was last night, remembering the moment I told myself that this was, definitively, a new beginning. The real start. What a deception. Every single day is a new beginning.
This is not a depressing thought.
This is not some self-depreciating, soul-crushing moment of my life.
This is, assuredly, what it is. Roadworn optimism. Wood weathered and scarred but true, solid true.
Plug in, and turn it up...
Tell me anything you want, any old lie will do.
Call me back to you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)