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.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Nine sounds for snow
Halloween, Alaska - The Light Bulb Does
Winter seems to be a strange phenomenon in Blacksburg. It sneaks up on us, and it can be moderately warm, mid sixties in December and early January, and we think nothing of it. But when wintertime truly rolls around, and temperatures are peaking in the twenties and falling into single digits, it's as if the world has gone mad. Maybe it's just that we're all too busy to notice that it's indeed getting colder out there. We forget to check the weather each day, and I know I was quite surprised when I walked out the door this afternoon to find already half an inch of snow.
It's nights like this where all I want to do is curl up into my blankets and sleep until spring. Most everyone has the same urge right now, be it coffee or hot chocolate, warm soup or grilled cheese. For me, winter brings another thought to mind - sparse, floaty sounds that drift by like the loose snow on hills. That's what I feel whenever I listen to this particular track, or anything else from Halloween Alaska's second album, Too Tall to Hide.
It was an album that hit me just at the perfect time, one that had been released around September but didn't really get noticed until late December, when the year was pretty much over. I was going through a difficult time that winter, having lost my greatest friend and truest love to distance and any number of other unalterable factors. The strangest part about it, to everyone but me, is that we were never "together" in a relationship sense, yet I loved her more dearly than anyone I'd ever known, and probably ever will. But that story's for another song.
I remember spending my late nights listening to these tracks on repeat, huddled up in blankets in the corner of my room, and waiting to fall asleep. Something about the endless reverb of the piano and the heartbeat pulsing drum programming was soothing to me in a very difficult time. It seemed to be such a definitive sound for winter, as if somehow they had taken the surreal and soothing center of winter and pumped it in through my ears. Something in that sound made me feel warm, despite the freezing temperatues. I was happy, or at least I thought I was. It was a massive loss for me, yet somehow I found solace in those songs.
It's in this that Halloween Alaska helped me keep my mind afloat that winter. It was a cold time, a difficult time. Listening to it now brings back the emptiness, but it also brings back the warmth. Grilled cheese with apples inside. Watching movies under piles of blankets. The first snow, the one that came in December for once, as we walked to class early one morning. The last snow, when I brought her hot chocolate as we studied for our last final exam of college. The day she left for other countries, and greener fields, and people with names that were spelled the same but with different sounds.
And for the day after, wondering if she had ever been real at all.
Plug in, and turn it up...
Winter seems to be a strange phenomenon in Blacksburg. It sneaks up on us, and it can be moderately warm, mid sixties in December and early January, and we think nothing of it. But when wintertime truly rolls around, and temperatures are peaking in the twenties and falling into single digits, it's as if the world has gone mad. Maybe it's just that we're all too busy to notice that it's indeed getting colder out there. We forget to check the weather each day, and I know I was quite surprised when I walked out the door this afternoon to find already half an inch of snow.
It's nights like this where all I want to do is curl up into my blankets and sleep until spring. Most everyone has the same urge right now, be it coffee or hot chocolate, warm soup or grilled cheese. For me, winter brings another thought to mind - sparse, floaty sounds that drift by like the loose snow on hills. That's what I feel whenever I listen to this particular track, or anything else from Halloween Alaska's second album, Too Tall to Hide.
It was an album that hit me just at the perfect time, one that had been released around September but didn't really get noticed until late December, when the year was pretty much over. I was going through a difficult time that winter, having lost my greatest friend and truest love to distance and any number of other unalterable factors. The strangest part about it, to everyone but me, is that we were never "together" in a relationship sense, yet I loved her more dearly than anyone I'd ever known, and probably ever will. But that story's for another song.
I remember spending my late nights listening to these tracks on repeat, huddled up in blankets in the corner of my room, and waiting to fall asleep. Something about the endless reverb of the piano and the heartbeat pulsing drum programming was soothing to me in a very difficult time. It seemed to be such a definitive sound for winter, as if somehow they had taken the surreal and soothing center of winter and pumped it in through my ears. Something in that sound made me feel warm, despite the freezing temperatues. I was happy, or at least I thought I was. It was a massive loss for me, yet somehow I found solace in those songs.
It's in this that Halloween Alaska helped me keep my mind afloat that winter. It was a cold time, a difficult time. Listening to it now brings back the emptiness, but it also brings back the warmth. Grilled cheese with apples inside. Watching movies under piles of blankets. The first snow, the one that came in December for once, as we walked to class early one morning. The last snow, when I brought her hot chocolate as we studied for our last final exam of college. The day she left for other countries, and greener fields, and people with names that were spelled the same but with different sounds.
And for the day after, wondering if she had ever been real at all.
Plug in, and turn it up...
Monday, January 29, 2007
A desolate sound
Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here (click to listen)
I'd think it's likely that everyone, everywhere, probably has some kind of story dealing with this song. No matter where it's played, someone will undoubtedly chime in with "this song reminds me of when..." and then there's stories galore, some happy, some sad, some altogether worthless. But stories, stories as far as the ear can hear. Ironic, then, that the song be one of such solitude and detachment, when it has the power to bring everyone together. Maybe that was their intention all along?
But this song reminds me of when I was a junior in high school. We had a radio station at my school, nothing formal, and actually it was quite illegal the way we ran it. We were transmitting at very low power, on a frequency that we had no legal claim to, and the studio was simply a room in the cafeteria that had been allocated for one of our electronics classes. The setup was no more than two CD players, a tape deck, two microphones and a four channel mixing board, but it was fun (and pretty advanced for being free radio in high school). The station only really lasted for two or so years, my last two years of high school. I prefer to assume that it fell apart without my presence, however true that may be. It's nice to dream about being that important.
One day after school, I was hanging out in the station during a friend's show, waiting for my then-girlfriend to get out of whatever after-school activity she was involved in. It was a lazy afternoon in the spring, not too warm or cold outside, and no real need to be anywhere. I was laying on the couch, not really talking to him and just relaxing, when he put the song on. I had never really heard it before. I guess that's not true, really, as a song like this is never heard for the "first" time. I guess it would be more accurate to say that I really listened to it for the first time. At the time I didn't know the story behind the song; barely knew the names Syd Barrett or Gilmour or Waters. But something about it resonated within me, perhaps the distance, the detachment.
I wouldn't say that listening to it that day made me feel alone, or abandoned. More than anything, it just left me wanting... something. Some kind of connection, something to attach to. But there wasn't anything, not then. I laid there, staring at the ceiling, for what must have been ten or twenty minutes before anyone said anything again. Something about that song had taken the wind out of both of us, removed that standard chatter that happens just when time passes. Eventually, the girl I was waiting for showed up, and she sat down on the couch with me. I held her hand for a while, just wanting to feel that connection. The warmth. And it was there, and eventually things felt right again.
She left me that summer, right near my birthday, either over the phone or by letter or by some other distant method. One present I got that year, turning 17, was a CD copy of Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" LP. Even though I couldn't bear to listen to the title track, I put it in my CD player anyway and let it wash over me. The distance was what I felt more than anything else; that, and the subtle beauty of it all. It was the first time I was freshly alone, and it just felt... right somehow, to listen to that album, then, when I felt it the deepest.
Today, when I hear the song, I know the story behind the album, and the mysterious circumstances surrounding its recording, the album's intention to describe the detachment of society at the time, and any number of other "meanings" put forth by the band. But whenever I talk to anyone about it, they always have their own story. So if you've got a story having to do with this song, and I don't doubt that you do, please share it here. Share it with me, and with the other readers. Help us all find solace in the fact that such a desolate sound can bring people together.
Plug in, and turn it up....
I'd think it's likely that everyone, everywhere, probably has some kind of story dealing with this song. No matter where it's played, someone will undoubtedly chime in with "this song reminds me of when..." and then there's stories galore, some happy, some sad, some altogether worthless. But stories, stories as far as the ear can hear. Ironic, then, that the song be one of such solitude and detachment, when it has the power to bring everyone together. Maybe that was their intention all along?
But this song reminds me of when I was a junior in high school. We had a radio station at my school, nothing formal, and actually it was quite illegal the way we ran it. We were transmitting at very low power, on a frequency that we had no legal claim to, and the studio was simply a room in the cafeteria that had been allocated for one of our electronics classes. The setup was no more than two CD players, a tape deck, two microphones and a four channel mixing board, but it was fun (and pretty advanced for being free radio in high school). The station only really lasted for two or so years, my last two years of high school. I prefer to assume that it fell apart without my presence, however true that may be. It's nice to dream about being that important.
One day after school, I was hanging out in the station during a friend's show, waiting for my then-girlfriend to get out of whatever after-school activity she was involved in. It was a lazy afternoon in the spring, not too warm or cold outside, and no real need to be anywhere. I was laying on the couch, not really talking to him and just relaxing, when he put the song on. I had never really heard it before. I guess that's not true, really, as a song like this is never heard for the "first" time. I guess it would be more accurate to say that I really listened to it for the first time. At the time I didn't know the story behind the song; barely knew the names Syd Barrett or Gilmour or Waters. But something about it resonated within me, perhaps the distance, the detachment.
I wouldn't say that listening to it that day made me feel alone, or abandoned. More than anything, it just left me wanting... something. Some kind of connection, something to attach to. But there wasn't anything, not then. I laid there, staring at the ceiling, for what must have been ten or twenty minutes before anyone said anything again. Something about that song had taken the wind out of both of us, removed that standard chatter that happens just when time passes. Eventually, the girl I was waiting for showed up, and she sat down on the couch with me. I held her hand for a while, just wanting to feel that connection. The warmth. And it was there, and eventually things felt right again.
She left me that summer, right near my birthday, either over the phone or by letter or by some other distant method. One present I got that year, turning 17, was a CD copy of Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" LP. Even though I couldn't bear to listen to the title track, I put it in my CD player anyway and let it wash over me. The distance was what I felt more than anything else; that, and the subtle beauty of it all. It was the first time I was freshly alone, and it just felt... right somehow, to listen to that album, then, when I felt it the deepest.
Today, when I hear the song, I know the story behind the album, and the mysterious circumstances surrounding its recording, the album's intention to describe the detachment of society at the time, and any number of other "meanings" put forth by the band. But whenever I talk to anyone about it, they always have their own story. So if you've got a story having to do with this song, and I don't doubt that you do, please share it here. Share it with me, and with the other readers. Help us all find solace in the fact that such a desolate sound can bring people together.
Plug in, and turn it up....
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Amplify Your Airwaves
I'm starting a new feature here. With each entry, you can click on the song to download it. Convenient! Now you don't have to hum along to get the real feeling.
Killing Joke - The Death and Resurrection Show
It's somewhat hard to believe that I would come across a song like this, never mind enjoy it and play it regularly. Most people assume I stay away from the heavy stuff; things with loud guitars and massive drums. But everyone has an angry music phase, and I'm no exception.
I didn't know much about the realms of independent music when I started as a DJ on the college radio station, WUVT. Sure, I thought I did - and I probably knew more than most people. But I had never heard of many bands that are staples of my ears these days: Belle & Sebastian or The Dismemberment Plan come to mind. I didn't know about independent record labels like Touch & Go, Quarterstick, The Militia Group, Ipecac, or any number of other ones that couldn't be found at the local Wal-Mart. So joining up with WUVT gave me a chance to explore things I'd never heard of, or even never though to look for before.
My first show on the station was on our AM sister station, sort of a training grounds before people moved up to FM. I got there early that day, and I wandered around the station a bit to acquaint myself with the new surroundings. I gazed through thousands upon thousands of albums, looking for anything that sounded familiar. While flipping through albums in our newly added shelf (which we call rotation), I happened across this album that said it guested Dave Grohl on drums. I thought "why not? I like the Foo Fighters. This couldn't be much different, right?"
Yeah. Right.
I started off the show safely, with a Verve Pipe track. Nervously, I took the microphone from time to time to tell everyone what it was they'd just heard (if anyone was even listening). About 20 minutes into the show, I remembered that album, what was it again? Killing Joke. Ha, that sounds intense. Well, I'd never really considered Dave Grohl's affinity for the harder stuff before. I popped it into CD2, cued the track up, and faded in. Within the first few seconds of "Ja-jug ja-jug-jug" crunchy guitars, I knew I was finding something new for myself. This was what I came to this station for! This is what independent music was all about! Something I hadn't heard before. Something... edgy.
From there on out, I was always in that rotation section, looking for what was new and would turn my ears just the right way. I found a lot of good music on that shelf - Laguardia, Apollo Sunshine, Wesafari, Danielson, Anathallo, Sufjan Stevens... honestly the list could go on and on. Very few things ever packed quite the same punch as that one Killing Joke track that I stumbled upon one day.
And it would come back around again, from time to time. Several years later, just a few weeks ago now, I was hanging out with the WUVT staff (of which I'm now a part) in our office, and we decided that it was time to forcefully remove a piece of furniture from the studio. There was a couch there, one that had been there since long before any of us had started, and its time had definitely come. Who knew what kinds of things had happened on that couch, or the things that could be growing inside it. It needed to go. And it just so happened, as we grabbed saws and started kicking at armrests, that the song came over the airwaves. I had pre-recorded a show with the station's music director, and we had tossed The Death and Resurrection Show in the middle somewhere, just to turn it up a notch. And it couldn't have come up at a more fitting time, as we destroyed that decrepid old rack.
Removing it was also just another step in the rebirth of WUVT, something that's been going on all year. The station had stagnated some in previous years, and this year's staff was finally getting things done. We were scheduling regular concerts, gaining visibility in the community, there was a new promotions campaign... and then, over winter break, the station was struck with a major setback. Our transmitter started having problems, major problems, and our reach was crippled. Barely able to broadcast outside the town, we were unsure what to do. But something interesting happened - our staff worked twice, three times as hard as they had before (which was already a monumental effort) to get the word out about our situation.
And amazingly, people listened.
Something we hadn't really counted on was how well our cries would be heard by alumni, connections, friends of friends, and others. Our station's online stream was still getting the signal out. And it still is. As it stands now, we've made extraordinary progress in just a few short weeks. The road from here isn't going to get any easier, and we've still got a heck of way to go in rebuilding the station and our transmitter. But there's something about WUVT that just can't be held down, it seems - something edgy, something in the way the staff is always looking to try something new to get noticed. It's what independent radio is all about.
Talk about your resurrections.
Plug in, and turn it up...
For information about how you can help WUVT get back on the air and back to full power, PLEASE visit our website at www.wuvt.vt.edu. Thank you for your support!
Killing Joke - The Death and Resurrection Show
It's somewhat hard to believe that I would come across a song like this, never mind enjoy it and play it regularly. Most people assume I stay away from the heavy stuff; things with loud guitars and massive drums. But everyone has an angry music phase, and I'm no exception.
I didn't know much about the realms of independent music when I started as a DJ on the college radio station, WUVT. Sure, I thought I did - and I probably knew more than most people. But I had never heard of many bands that are staples of my ears these days: Belle & Sebastian or The Dismemberment Plan come to mind. I didn't know about independent record labels like Touch & Go, Quarterstick, The Militia Group, Ipecac, or any number of other ones that couldn't be found at the local Wal-Mart. So joining up with WUVT gave me a chance to explore things I'd never heard of, or even never though to look for before.
My first show on the station was on our AM sister station, sort of a training grounds before people moved up to FM. I got there early that day, and I wandered around the station a bit to acquaint myself with the new surroundings. I gazed through thousands upon thousands of albums, looking for anything that sounded familiar. While flipping through albums in our newly added shelf (which we call rotation), I happened across this album that said it guested Dave Grohl on drums. I thought "why not? I like the Foo Fighters. This couldn't be much different, right?"
Yeah. Right.
I started off the show safely, with a Verve Pipe track. Nervously, I took the microphone from time to time to tell everyone what it was they'd just heard (if anyone was even listening). About 20 minutes into the show, I remembered that album, what was it again? Killing Joke. Ha, that sounds intense. Well, I'd never really considered Dave Grohl's affinity for the harder stuff before. I popped it into CD2, cued the track up, and faded in. Within the first few seconds of "Ja-jug ja-jug-jug" crunchy guitars, I knew I was finding something new for myself. This was what I came to this station for! This is what independent music was all about! Something I hadn't heard before. Something... edgy.
From there on out, I was always in that rotation section, looking for what was new and would turn my ears just the right way. I found a lot of good music on that shelf - Laguardia, Apollo Sunshine, Wesafari, Danielson, Anathallo, Sufjan Stevens... honestly the list could go on and on. Very few things ever packed quite the same punch as that one Killing Joke track that I stumbled upon one day.
And it would come back around again, from time to time. Several years later, just a few weeks ago now, I was hanging out with the WUVT staff (of which I'm now a part) in our office, and we decided that it was time to forcefully remove a piece of furniture from the studio. There was a couch there, one that had been there since long before any of us had started, and its time had definitely come. Who knew what kinds of things had happened on that couch, or the things that could be growing inside it. It needed to go. And it just so happened, as we grabbed saws and started kicking at armrests, that the song came over the airwaves. I had pre-recorded a show with the station's music director, and we had tossed The Death and Resurrection Show in the middle somewhere, just to turn it up a notch. And it couldn't have come up at a more fitting time, as we destroyed that decrepid old rack.
Removing it was also just another step in the rebirth of WUVT, something that's been going on all year. The station had stagnated some in previous years, and this year's staff was finally getting things done. We were scheduling regular concerts, gaining visibility in the community, there was a new promotions campaign... and then, over winter break, the station was struck with a major setback. Our transmitter started having problems, major problems, and our reach was crippled. Barely able to broadcast outside the town, we were unsure what to do. But something interesting happened - our staff worked twice, three times as hard as they had before (which was already a monumental effort) to get the word out about our situation.
And amazingly, people listened.
Something we hadn't really counted on was how well our cries would be heard by alumni, connections, friends of friends, and others. Our station's online stream was still getting the signal out. And it still is. As it stands now, we've made extraordinary progress in just a few short weeks. The road from here isn't going to get any easier, and we've still got a heck of way to go in rebuilding the station and our transmitter. But there's something about WUVT that just can't be held down, it seems - something edgy, something in the way the staff is always looking to try something new to get noticed. It's what independent radio is all about.
Talk about your resurrections.
Plug in, and turn it up...
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Friday, January 12, 2007
Cold Mornings and Colder Air
Eef Barzelay - Thanksgiving Waves
Something happened to me for the last few months, I guess. I got all wrapped up in work, and I went to Australia, and then to Illinois, and along the way I forgot to update. Or didn't have time to update, I'm not really sure. That's not to say I have tons of free time now either, but at least it's a start.
Work is what this recollection comes down to, anyway. It's a recent memory, only within the last year. But it's vivid and every time I listen to this track I can feel the bitter cold air of 5am as I walked down darkened streets, ones that I got to know too well. I would walk to work to open the store several days a week, since I didn't have a car yet and it was really close. And even though it was late spring and early summer, it was still rather brisk that early - probably the coldest time of day, as the earth had cooled down after hiding from the sun for enough hours.
The sparsity of the song really fit my walk well, and it usually came up on shuffle on the walk there. It's sparse, just guitar and voice, two more sounds than the nearly none I'd be hearing without them. Eef's haunting voice cracking in my ears and that crisp, clear acoustic guitar getting played to death as it builds to a crescendo........ then breaks and fades.
Waves.
Life really moves like the ocean, I think sometimes. A lot - a whole lot - has happened to me in the six months I've neglected this, the project I was once so rabid about. But then, how different is the me of now from the me of then? I'm busier. I have more responsibility at work. My keychain is bigger. I have a car to get me to my new store across town.
But every now and then, Eef Barzelay comes on during my drive in on 5am mornings, as the air outside is well below freezing and far colder than any I'd walked in that summer. And I have to wonder to myself if anything's really changed, if anything ever really changes. Or maybe in advancing, I just end up making the same steps again, just somewhere different.
One would only assume the tide is rising. But I can never really know for sure.
Plug in, and turn it up...
Something happened to me for the last few months, I guess. I got all wrapped up in work, and I went to Australia, and then to Illinois, and along the way I forgot to update. Or didn't have time to update, I'm not really sure. That's not to say I have tons of free time now either, but at least it's a start.
Work is what this recollection comes down to, anyway. It's a recent memory, only within the last year. But it's vivid and every time I listen to this track I can feel the bitter cold air of 5am as I walked down darkened streets, ones that I got to know too well. I would walk to work to open the store several days a week, since I didn't have a car yet and it was really close. And even though it was late spring and early summer, it was still rather brisk that early - probably the coldest time of day, as the earth had cooled down after hiding from the sun for enough hours.
The sparsity of the song really fit my walk well, and it usually came up on shuffle on the walk there. It's sparse, just guitar and voice, two more sounds than the nearly none I'd be hearing without them. Eef's haunting voice cracking in my ears and that crisp, clear acoustic guitar getting played to death as it builds to a crescendo........ then breaks and fades.
Waves.
Life really moves like the ocean, I think sometimes. A lot - a whole lot - has happened to me in the six months I've neglected this, the project I was once so rabid about. But then, how different is the me of now from the me of then? I'm busier. I have more responsibility at work. My keychain is bigger. I have a car to get me to my new store across town.
But every now and then, Eef Barzelay comes on during my drive in on 5am mornings, as the air outside is well below freezing and far colder than any I'd walked in that summer. And I have to wonder to myself if anything's really changed, if anything ever really changes. Or maybe in advancing, I just end up making the same steps again, just somewhere different.
One would only assume the tide is rising. But I can never really know for sure.
Plug in, and turn it up...
Thursday, June 29, 2006
How to be colorful
The Verve Pipe - Colorful
Hm, I didn't think I'd be repeating bands so soon. But so be it. Generally when I sit down on a Wednesday night to write in here, I try to think about what's been crossing my mind in the past few days. Sometimes, a song comes up on shuffle that sparks a memory. I also have a handful of saved notes of things to write about "eventually", but in the end it all comes down to the spur of the moment. And in all fairness, there's probably two or three more songs by The Verve Pipe that will end up in here eventually, as well as a number of Posies, Radiohead, Dada and any number of other bands I can't remember right now.
But enough with the stalling, let's get to the story.
The first year of college was in all fairness a rollercoaster mess for me. I lost touch with an ex-girlfriend and an ex-band, most of my friends went to a rival college, I was having a difficult time adjusting to dorm life, I actually failed a few classes, I was diagnosed with clinical depression (which I later decided to not take medication for), and oh, I was facing a serious crisis of "what the heck am I going to do with my life." And as messed up as I was for that first year, I absolutely loved the parts of it that were good. I had never actually experienced freedom like this to go anywhere or do (just about) anything. There was a whole town to explore, which was a stark contrast to how I felt about my hometown of downtown Fairfax.
There were a number of places I really liked to go when I wanted to explore, or to get away from my room. There was a bridge across an access road that I would stand on (not for too long, though, because it was a decently major walkway and people would give me weird looks). Another favorite was a ledge in the agriculture quad, a sort of outdoor stage and observation deck of the grassy area (this ledge has been something of a nemesis to me for the last five years, but again, that's another song). But one of my all-time favorite places, and a favorite of many people in the town, was the Duck Pond.
By itself, the duck pond was nothing too special... it was a small pond with water that wasn't exactly the cleanest around, it could be messy or crowded depending on the season, and there were an armful of ducks around asking for bread or small bits of food. But every now and then, the mood was just right and the duck pond was the place to go for reflection, or to picnic, or just to be with someone whose company you enjoyed. I remember one night in particular that the whole area was deserted save for myself and a close female friend of mine. I don't really remember why we went out there that night or how long we had been there, but we ended up wandering around the banks just enjoying the cool evening air. She turned to me, and the following conversation followed (dramatized by a romantic memory, as always):
Her: You should sing something.
Me: What? Why would I sing?
Her: Well, it's what you do, isn't it?
Me: Um... yeah, but that's in a band... with a guitar. It would feel funny just.... singing.
Her: Well why?
And I guess I couldn't come up with a good response to that. So I mulled it over for a while, gave it half a laugh or two, and left a pause in there just so it seemed as if I wouldn't do anything. And honestly, I didn't plan to, and I almost surprised myself when I let forth a whispered melody:
The show is over, close the story book...
And then I just kept on going. It was a strange sensation, singing just to myself, her, and the night's still air. I had always associated the song with her, even long before this one night, but singing it then and there seemed to give it validation, to make it more real. And when it was over, it didn't really seem as if anything had changed, it had just been stated. And that was all that ever passed between us, really, that song - even if it takes me a few years' reflection to really understand it. I made a wonderful friend that year in her, and I know she loves me no matter how neurotic I can be at times. And thank you, thank you for that. Maybe it's a lesson that I wasn't really ready to learn until recently, now that you've gone away from this town.
Now that I think about it, I haven't been down to the duck pond in a long time, possibly in years. Maybe some night when the air's just right, I'll wander down there and see what the colors are.
Plug in, and turn it up...
Hm, I didn't think I'd be repeating bands so soon. But so be it. Generally when I sit down on a Wednesday night to write in here, I try to think about what's been crossing my mind in the past few days. Sometimes, a song comes up on shuffle that sparks a memory. I also have a handful of saved notes of things to write about "eventually", but in the end it all comes down to the spur of the moment. And in all fairness, there's probably two or three more songs by The Verve Pipe that will end up in here eventually, as well as a number of Posies, Radiohead, Dada and any number of other bands I can't remember right now.
But enough with the stalling, let's get to the story.
The first year of college was in all fairness a rollercoaster mess for me. I lost touch with an ex-girlfriend and an ex-band, most of my friends went to a rival college, I was having a difficult time adjusting to dorm life, I actually failed a few classes, I was diagnosed with clinical depression (which I later decided to not take medication for), and oh, I was facing a serious crisis of "what the heck am I going to do with my life." And as messed up as I was for that first year, I absolutely loved the parts of it that were good. I had never actually experienced freedom like this to go anywhere or do (just about) anything. There was a whole town to explore, which was a stark contrast to how I felt about my hometown of downtown Fairfax.
There were a number of places I really liked to go when I wanted to explore, or to get away from my room. There was a bridge across an access road that I would stand on (not for too long, though, because it was a decently major walkway and people would give me weird looks). Another favorite was a ledge in the agriculture quad, a sort of outdoor stage and observation deck of the grassy area (this ledge has been something of a nemesis to me for the last five years, but again, that's another song). But one of my all-time favorite places, and a favorite of many people in the town, was the Duck Pond.
By itself, the duck pond was nothing too special... it was a small pond with water that wasn't exactly the cleanest around, it could be messy or crowded depending on the season, and there were an armful of ducks around asking for bread or small bits of food. But every now and then, the mood was just right and the duck pond was the place to go for reflection, or to picnic, or just to be with someone whose company you enjoyed. I remember one night in particular that the whole area was deserted save for myself and a close female friend of mine. I don't really remember why we went out there that night or how long we had been there, but we ended up wandering around the banks just enjoying the cool evening air. She turned to me, and the following conversation followed (dramatized by a romantic memory, as always):
Her: You should sing something.
Me: What? Why would I sing?
Her: Well, it's what you do, isn't it?
Me: Um... yeah, but that's in a band... with a guitar. It would feel funny just.... singing.
Her: Well why?
And I guess I couldn't come up with a good response to that. So I mulled it over for a while, gave it half a laugh or two, and left a pause in there just so it seemed as if I wouldn't do anything. And honestly, I didn't plan to, and I almost surprised myself when I let forth a whispered melody:
The show is over, close the story book...
And then I just kept on going. It was a strange sensation, singing just to myself, her, and the night's still air. I had always associated the song with her, even long before this one night, but singing it then and there seemed to give it validation, to make it more real. And when it was over, it didn't really seem as if anything had changed, it had just been stated. And that was all that ever passed between us, really, that song - even if it takes me a few years' reflection to really understand it. I made a wonderful friend that year in her, and I know she loves me no matter how neurotic I can be at times. And thank you, thank you for that. Maybe it's a lesson that I wasn't really ready to learn until recently, now that you've gone away from this town.
Now that I think about it, I haven't been down to the duck pond in a long time, possibly in years. Maybe some night when the air's just right, I'll wander down there and see what the colors are.
Plug in, and turn it up...
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Fuzzy Canada
Matthew Good Band - Load Me Up
I really owe a lot of my musical education to Canada, when I think back on it. Back in the later years of high school, we didn't have cable and my internet was exceedingly poor dial-up. Often, I'd stay up late on sunday nights to listen to the "new music" shows on the two local radio stations... which was pretty much the only place I knew I'd hear bands that weren't getting played every hour of the day. But then one day, after getting home from a new year's party, I found myself idly flipping through the UHF band channels on the TV... home shopping... infomercials... canadian music channel... indeterminate static...
Wait. What was that last one?
It was January 1st, 2000 when local public-service station WNVT started carrying MuchMusic programming. MuchMusic was basically a Canadian version of MTV, but being from our neighbors to the north, most of the bands were new and unfamiliar. I came across quite a few of my favorite bands there: Lamb, which I have become somewhat obsessed with; Our Lady Peace, which I had heard of but never really known much about; and Matthew Good Band, who I had never heard of but were apparently really popular up there.
One of the first videos I saw on MuchMusic that first day I came across it was for Matthew Good Band's "Load Me Up". I actually came in just a little bit before the middle of it, and found myself wondering why all these catholic school students were chasing the band, and also why I'd never heard of such a great rock band before. Eventually, I was lucky enough to catch the video in its entirety, and from there on out I started to watch MuchMusic for hours at a time, often simply on in the background when I was doing something else. I started taping videos when I was out, and then coming back later to watch them. I had been getting new music from my friends and through those late-night radio shows, but this was something different entirely. It was music without bias, or at least with less bias... instead of being given music to listen to, I started to pick and choose from video to video what I actually wanted to find out more about.
Sadly, WNVT only aired MuchMusic for about a year or two before they stopped carrying the programming, opting to go to a world-oriented channel with lots of programming in different languages. Thankfully, by the time that happened, I knew that there was a lot more out there, more music that was dying to be heard, and I was ready to move to College (capitalized for emphasis) where the internet and independent music beckoned like a hundred doors waiting to be opened.
Plug in, and turn it up...
I really owe a lot of my musical education to Canada, when I think back on it. Back in the later years of high school, we didn't have cable and my internet was exceedingly poor dial-up. Often, I'd stay up late on sunday nights to listen to the "new music" shows on the two local radio stations... which was pretty much the only place I knew I'd hear bands that weren't getting played every hour of the day. But then one day, after getting home from a new year's party, I found myself idly flipping through the UHF band channels on the TV... home shopping... infomercials... canadian music channel... indeterminate static...
Wait. What was that last one?
It was January 1st, 2000 when local public-service station WNVT started carrying MuchMusic programming. MuchMusic was basically a Canadian version of MTV, but being from our neighbors to the north, most of the bands were new and unfamiliar. I came across quite a few of my favorite bands there: Lamb, which I have become somewhat obsessed with; Our Lady Peace, which I had heard of but never really known much about; and Matthew Good Band, who I had never heard of but were apparently really popular up there.
One of the first videos I saw on MuchMusic that first day I came across it was for Matthew Good Band's "Load Me Up". I actually came in just a little bit before the middle of it, and found myself wondering why all these catholic school students were chasing the band, and also why I'd never heard of such a great rock band before. Eventually, I was lucky enough to catch the video in its entirety, and from there on out I started to watch MuchMusic for hours at a time, often simply on in the background when I was doing something else. I started taping videos when I was out, and then coming back later to watch them. I had been getting new music from my friends and through those late-night radio shows, but this was something different entirely. It was music without bias, or at least with less bias... instead of being given music to listen to, I started to pick and choose from video to video what I actually wanted to find out more about.
Sadly, WNVT only aired MuchMusic for about a year or two before they stopped carrying the programming, opting to go to a world-oriented channel with lots of programming in different languages. Thankfully, by the time that happened, I knew that there was a lot more out there, more music that was dying to be heard, and I was ready to move to College (capitalized for emphasis) where the internet and independent music beckoned like a hundred doors waiting to be opened.
Plug in, and turn it up...
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Standards of Measurement
Blur - Song 2
Back in the middle days of high school, me and my friends rode the bus to school every morning and took the same one back in the evening. Since we went to a county-wide magnet school, our bus ride would usually be well over half an hour, and even more than an hour on bad weather days. Being a group of sophomores, we needed something to entertain ourselves. I was smart enough to pick up a set of tiny speakers to go along with my discman, because the bus we were on didn't have a radio. I could do an entry alone about the speakers, as I went through no less than four sets in my sophomore and junior years, each one bigger, better, and requiring more batteries than the last. I won't, though, because I can't think of a good song to associate it all with.
As most groups of teenage boys are prone to do, we fixated on a lot of weird things and generally tried to make fools of ourselves as much as possible. One thing we would often do on the bus would repeatedly play a song, to see how long it took for the people in the front of the bus (freshmen and sophomores, underclassmen to us) to notice or to get irritated. And we developed our own set of standards and favorites, such that the Beastie Boys' "Intergalactic" or "Girls" would be played at least once a trip, or Fatboy Slim's "The Rockafella Skank" would never be allowed to play for its entire seven-plus minutes (it does kinda just keep going). And along the way, Blur's "Song 2" became our default number-one song of all time. It grew to such a mythological status for us that we started measuring distances and times in the number of repetitions of the track - since it was exactly two minutes long, it was very easy to tell time by. We knew what point on the road was one Song 2 away from the school, and I can think of several days on which we just put the song on loop for half an hour.
While all this was going on, generally we played cards. Playing cards on a bus was rarely easy - the seats were somewhat difficult to work around, the cards would slide a lot, and of course it was hard to really pay attention to what was going on. Every now and then, the bus would stop too fast and we'd all scramble to grab something before it clattered to the floor and slid up five or six rows. Despite all the irritations and messing around, we had a lot of fun on those bus rides. And I guess we owe a good bit of that to a little two minute rock song out of England.
Plug in, and turn it up...
Back in the middle days of high school, me and my friends rode the bus to school every morning and took the same one back in the evening. Since we went to a county-wide magnet school, our bus ride would usually be well over half an hour, and even more than an hour on bad weather days. Being a group of sophomores, we needed something to entertain ourselves. I was smart enough to pick up a set of tiny speakers to go along with my discman, because the bus we were on didn't have a radio. I could do an entry alone about the speakers, as I went through no less than four sets in my sophomore and junior years, each one bigger, better, and requiring more batteries than the last. I won't, though, because I can't think of a good song to associate it all with.
As most groups of teenage boys are prone to do, we fixated on a lot of weird things and generally tried to make fools of ourselves as much as possible. One thing we would often do on the bus would repeatedly play a song, to see how long it took for the people in the front of the bus (freshmen and sophomores, underclassmen to us) to notice or to get irritated. And we developed our own set of standards and favorites, such that the Beastie Boys' "Intergalactic" or "Girls" would be played at least once a trip, or Fatboy Slim's "The Rockafella Skank" would never be allowed to play for its entire seven-plus minutes (it does kinda just keep going). And along the way, Blur's "Song 2" became our default number-one song of all time. It grew to such a mythological status for us that we started measuring distances and times in the number of repetitions of the track - since it was exactly two minutes long, it was very easy to tell time by. We knew what point on the road was one Song 2 away from the school, and I can think of several days on which we just put the song on loop for half an hour.
While all this was going on, generally we played cards. Playing cards on a bus was rarely easy - the seats were somewhat difficult to work around, the cards would slide a lot, and of course it was hard to really pay attention to what was going on. Every now and then, the bus would stop too fast and we'd all scramble to grab something before it clattered to the floor and slid up five or six rows. Despite all the irritations and messing around, we had a lot of fun on those bus rides. And I guess we owe a good bit of that to a little two minute rock song out of England.
Plug in, and turn it up...
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Greyest of blue skies
Finger Eleven - Bones & Joints
This song has too many broken hearts associated with it.
When I set out to start this project, I knew there would be many, many difficult entries to write, and I knew I'd have to start writing them eventually. Not every story can be about childhood, or the happy parts of discovering something new about music; and I wouldn't want to pretend that everything is easy or that I've never regretted something I've done in my life. And that's what this project is about: telling the stories no matter how bad we might feel about them. Catharsis, maybe. But isn't that why all of us are so addicted to music, to certain songs, artists? Because of the memories, or the way they make us feel. And I'm not going to ignore a song just because of the way it makes me feel.
Now I can't claim to be able to remember clearly everything that happened in my senior year of high school. But as it was with probably most of us back then, there was drama and melodrama and crumpled notes and brown-bag lunches. Senior year for me was really punctuated by two major breakups, and both of them seemed to revolve around this song. I should've known it would be trouble by the way I latched onto it from the first time I heard Finger Eleven's second album (and arguably their best). The album as a whole really resonated strongly with me, and perhaps it was just that it hit me during that period when being angsty was cool for our subculture.
So the story... yeah, there's a story in here. Near the tail end of my senior year I was in one of those high school relationships that never should have happened; it was my own personal version of "Say Anything". I was the slacker with a heart of gold (or at least one that tried to be that) and she was the brilliant quirky girl. Maybe it was just my persistence, but something came of it and we became a "thing." It wasn't perfect (as few things are), and the week leading up to prom was a complete mess. The event itself was generally good, I got to wear a tuxedo and looked good in it, and she was beautiful as always. After prom, our group went back to her house and stayed up most of the night watching movies. It would have been fine, if not for the fact that we were all participating in the Race for the Cure walk the next morning. So we did the walk on practically no sleep, tensions were high and nerves were frayed as they would naturally be in a situation like that. And still, we got through the whole event without much trouble, and I made it to the tuxedo rental place to return my suit and managed to get home in time to pass out for exhaustion.
Things continued to get rocky from thereon out. I really don't remember a lot of the specifics of how things went down, but I know I was growing concerned about her summer trip to Europe with a school group. I've always had abandonment issues; if I had to psychoanalyze myself I'd probably call it a result of being an only child and generally a latch-key one at that during my highschool years. Her going away for a few weeks combined with a similar issue that turned sour the summer before made me grow alternatingly bitter or needy, which in turn irritated her and the whole situation grew messy. The climax and the thing I most regret about those few weeks was when I wrote the words of this song on a note and left it in her locker. I went and sat outside on a bench, and after class let out and she had found it, she came and joined me. The dramatic movie lover in me remembers the exchange that followed in words that are probably much different than what really happened:
Her: So what's this all about?
Me: I... I don't know.
Her: I guess we had this coming, after the last few weeks.
Me: I guess so too.
There was a slow, dramatic pause; something cinematic.
Me: I just don't really know what I'm doing anymore.
Her: I guess it's for the best, then.
And then, she got up and walked away. At least, that's how I remember it playing out. I'm sure there was a lot more bumbling and poor word choices from me, and the whole thing probably lasted more than five sentences. But if I were to sum it all up, then that's how it would have to be. Over the next few weeks we tried our best to stay apart, while being friends if possible. It was tough in high school, since we suffered the fate of having a number of classes together. Eventually, during exam week, we worked things out and decided to give it a try again, and the rest of the summer was great, as good as it could be with the impending weight of going to different colleges hovering over our necks. That summer was probably one of the happiest of my life, as working things out can really serve to deepen a relationship. But then came August 23rd, 2001, when I went off to college and left her behind, and like a fool I let it all slip away like so much sand.
The more and more I think about it, that whole June of 2001 was really one of the definitive periods in my life so far. It was a really tough time, and I made a lot of stupid decisions. I saw her for the first time in years last summer, or at least I think I did - me and two friends had been in a rear-ending car accident on I-495. While we were standing on the median waiting for the tow truck, I definitely saw her pass by. I don't know if she recognized me. I tried to get in touch with her, but I never heard back. I can't say I'm too surprised, I know I handled things poorly after the summer ended and we went to college. I guess I was hoping that a few years not talking could have healed some things, but at the same time, I guess I'm not too surprised. She was one of the most important people in my life, someone that I loved dearly, and someone that I probably hurt more times than I even really knew. I hope someday that she forgives me, and knows how much I regret the bad decisions I made back in those days.
And that's what this project is about, in its barest elements. This project, the audiobiography, it's a way to release the sad as well as the happy memories. To see them all lined up in this jumble of random recollections, it's refreshing - just to know that every down point had ups as well, as well as the reverse. And starting at one of the down points of this story might make writing about the high points easier, in time. There's hundreds more songs that I have yet to write about, and a story like this proves to myself that I can actually write these things out.
Plug in, and turn it up...
This song has too many broken hearts associated with it.
When I set out to start this project, I knew there would be many, many difficult entries to write, and I knew I'd have to start writing them eventually. Not every story can be about childhood, or the happy parts of discovering something new about music; and I wouldn't want to pretend that everything is easy or that I've never regretted something I've done in my life. And that's what this project is about: telling the stories no matter how bad we might feel about them. Catharsis, maybe. But isn't that why all of us are so addicted to music, to certain songs, artists? Because of the memories, or the way they make us feel. And I'm not going to ignore a song just because of the way it makes me feel.
Now I can't claim to be able to remember clearly everything that happened in my senior year of high school. But as it was with probably most of us back then, there was drama and melodrama and crumpled notes and brown-bag lunches. Senior year for me was really punctuated by two major breakups, and both of them seemed to revolve around this song. I should've known it would be trouble by the way I latched onto it from the first time I heard Finger Eleven's second album (and arguably their best). The album as a whole really resonated strongly with me, and perhaps it was just that it hit me during that period when being angsty was cool for our subculture.
So the story... yeah, there's a story in here. Near the tail end of my senior year I was in one of those high school relationships that never should have happened; it was my own personal version of "Say Anything". I was the slacker with a heart of gold (or at least one that tried to be that) and she was the brilliant quirky girl. Maybe it was just my persistence, but something came of it and we became a "thing." It wasn't perfect (as few things are), and the week leading up to prom was a complete mess. The event itself was generally good, I got to wear a tuxedo and looked good in it, and she was beautiful as always. After prom, our group went back to her house and stayed up most of the night watching movies. It would have been fine, if not for the fact that we were all participating in the Race for the Cure walk the next morning. So we did the walk on practically no sleep, tensions were high and nerves were frayed as they would naturally be in a situation like that. And still, we got through the whole event without much trouble, and I made it to the tuxedo rental place to return my suit and managed to get home in time to pass out for exhaustion.
Things continued to get rocky from thereon out. I really don't remember a lot of the specifics of how things went down, but I know I was growing concerned about her summer trip to Europe with a school group. I've always had abandonment issues; if I had to psychoanalyze myself I'd probably call it a result of being an only child and generally a latch-key one at that during my highschool years. Her going away for a few weeks combined with a similar issue that turned sour the summer before made me grow alternatingly bitter or needy, which in turn irritated her and the whole situation grew messy. The climax and the thing I most regret about those few weeks was when I wrote the words of this song on a note and left it in her locker. I went and sat outside on a bench, and after class let out and she had found it, she came and joined me. The dramatic movie lover in me remembers the exchange that followed in words that are probably much different than what really happened:
Her: So what's this all about?
Me: I... I don't know.
Her: I guess we had this coming, after the last few weeks.
Me: I guess so too.
There was a slow, dramatic pause; something cinematic.
Me: I just don't really know what I'm doing anymore.
Her: I guess it's for the best, then.
And then, she got up and walked away. At least, that's how I remember it playing out. I'm sure there was a lot more bumbling and poor word choices from me, and the whole thing probably lasted more than five sentences. But if I were to sum it all up, then that's how it would have to be. Over the next few weeks we tried our best to stay apart, while being friends if possible. It was tough in high school, since we suffered the fate of having a number of classes together. Eventually, during exam week, we worked things out and decided to give it a try again, and the rest of the summer was great, as good as it could be with the impending weight of going to different colleges hovering over our necks. That summer was probably one of the happiest of my life, as working things out can really serve to deepen a relationship. But then came August 23rd, 2001, when I went off to college and left her behind, and like a fool I let it all slip away like so much sand.
The more and more I think about it, that whole June of 2001 was really one of the definitive periods in my life so far. It was a really tough time, and I made a lot of stupid decisions. I saw her for the first time in years last summer, or at least I think I did - me and two friends had been in a rear-ending car accident on I-495. While we were standing on the median waiting for the tow truck, I definitely saw her pass by. I don't know if she recognized me. I tried to get in touch with her, but I never heard back. I can't say I'm too surprised, I know I handled things poorly after the summer ended and we went to college. I guess I was hoping that a few years not talking could have healed some things, but at the same time, I guess I'm not too surprised. She was one of the most important people in my life, someone that I loved dearly, and someone that I probably hurt more times than I even really knew. I hope someday that she forgives me, and knows how much I regret the bad decisions I made back in those days.
And that's what this project is about, in its barest elements. This project, the audiobiography, it's a way to release the sad as well as the happy memories. To see them all lined up in this jumble of random recollections, it's refreshing - just to know that every down point had ups as well, as well as the reverse. And starting at one of the down points of this story might make writing about the high points easier, in time. There's hundreds more songs that I have yet to write about, and a story like this proves to myself that I can actually write these things out.
Plug in, and turn it up...
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
We're in stereo
The Verve Pipe - Villains
I think the first time I listened to The Verve Pipe's Villains was when I realized how truly awesome a power music had over me. For christmas in 1997, my grandparents got me my first discman (as well as a handful of CDs, this one included). The day was just like pretty much any other family holiday... lots of talking and children screaming, running around. I was 14, an only child, and had two or three cousins by that time. They were much younger than me, of course, so I was stuck in the uncomfortable middle - not being young enough to play with them, but too young to really be with the adults. So for a good portion of whatever holiday it was, I'd probably be off by myself, reading a book or watching television, or whatever I could find until it was time for dinner.
Well, this Christmas, I had something new to occupy my attention. I took my cd player and went off to a quiet room away from all the holiday chaos, and carefully opened the discman and every cd. I didn't really know much about The Verve Pipe except that they did that one song that everyone was loving that year, I dunno, something about being a freshman. But I put it in and started skipping around tracks until I found one that had a good intro, and it turned out to be the album's title track, Villains. Now, the song starts out with a clean electric riff in the left ear, and it goes on for a little while, enough for me to relax and get into the sound of it. Then, Brian Vander Ark whispers in my right ear (I turned the volume up this morning) and I shoot up out of my chair, startled that someone had snuck up behind me. It took me a little while to figure out what had happened, but when I did, I had to look at that little black cd player a bit differently. Afterwards, I sat back down and listened carefully to every second of that album, excited as to what a pair of headphones could bring to my ears. It was such a different kind of sound than what I heard from a desktop boombox, or even my dad's big stereo. Somehow, I had never really noticed until now that there was a lot more to music than just the song - the instrumentation, the mixing, production - all these things that I'd never really noticed before. And even though I was only 14 and barely knew what any of those words really meant, I knew that there was something going on that I was only scratching the surface of.
Plug in, and turn it up...
I think the first time I listened to The Verve Pipe's Villains was when I realized how truly awesome a power music had over me. For christmas in 1997, my grandparents got me my first discman (as well as a handful of CDs, this one included). The day was just like pretty much any other family holiday... lots of talking and children screaming, running around. I was 14, an only child, and had two or three cousins by that time. They were much younger than me, of course, so I was stuck in the uncomfortable middle - not being young enough to play with them, but too young to really be with the adults. So for a good portion of whatever holiday it was, I'd probably be off by myself, reading a book or watching television, or whatever I could find until it was time for dinner.
Well, this Christmas, I had something new to occupy my attention. I took my cd player and went off to a quiet room away from all the holiday chaos, and carefully opened the discman and every cd. I didn't really know much about The Verve Pipe except that they did that one song that everyone was loving that year, I dunno, something about being a freshman. But I put it in and started skipping around tracks until I found one that had a good intro, and it turned out to be the album's title track, Villains. Now, the song starts out with a clean electric riff in the left ear, and it goes on for a little while, enough for me to relax and get into the sound of it. Then, Brian Vander Ark whispers in my right ear (I turned the volume up this morning) and I shoot up out of my chair, startled that someone had snuck up behind me. It took me a little while to figure out what had happened, but when I did, I had to look at that little black cd player a bit differently. Afterwards, I sat back down and listened carefully to every second of that album, excited as to what a pair of headphones could bring to my ears. It was such a different kind of sound than what I heard from a desktop boombox, or even my dad's big stereo. Somehow, I had never really noticed until now that there was a lot more to music than just the song - the instrumentation, the mixing, production - all these things that I'd never really noticed before. And even though I was only 14 and barely knew what any of those words really meant, I knew that there was something going on that I was only scratching the surface of.
Plug in, and turn it up...
Monday, June 05, 2006
The pop revolution
The Posies - Dream All Day / Flavor of the Month
Dada - Dizz Knee Land
I'd have to say my father's two favorite bands during my early adolecence were The Posies and Dada. Day in and day out, we were listening to one or the other, two of the greatest pop-rock bands of the mid-1990's. My father is an avid bike rider, both street and off-road, bicycle and dirt bike. Pretty much any afternoon in the summer, me and him would be in the garage, with the doors open, and one of the two bands would be playing on our little boombox (we had two of the same model in the house, and I never really could figure out why). Thinking about the two Posies songs I've singled out always brings back memories of building treehouses, playing with waterguns, and generally enjoying that child-like need of summer and sunlight. My dad had two albums by The Posies, but this was the only one we ever really listened to. I think we never really put on "Amazing Disgrace" because it had a lot more swear words in it than "Frosting on the Beater", and I was definitely young enough at the time that my dad wanted to keep me away from that as much as possible. I always remember listening to "Dizz Knee Land" driving somewhere in our pickup truck. Whenever the like "kicked my ass out of school" came up, one of us would instinctively say "ouch" as clearly, getting kicked in the ass hurt. I could probably give a tiny anecdote about two or three dozen Dada songs (and I probably will at some point), but this song, and the two Posies tracks will always be the one linked with spending time with my dad on sunny afternoons, when there wasn't a whole lot else we had to do.
Plug in, and turn it up...
Dada - Dizz Knee Land
I'd have to say my father's two favorite bands during my early adolecence were The Posies and Dada. Day in and day out, we were listening to one or the other, two of the greatest pop-rock bands of the mid-1990's. My father is an avid bike rider, both street and off-road, bicycle and dirt bike. Pretty much any afternoon in the summer, me and him would be in the garage, with the doors open, and one of the two bands would be playing on our little boombox (we had two of the same model in the house, and I never really could figure out why). Thinking about the two Posies songs I've singled out always brings back memories of building treehouses, playing with waterguns, and generally enjoying that child-like need of summer and sunlight. My dad had two albums by The Posies, but this was the only one we ever really listened to. I think we never really put on "Amazing Disgrace" because it had a lot more swear words in it than "Frosting on the Beater", and I was definitely young enough at the time that my dad wanted to keep me away from that as much as possible. I always remember listening to "Dizz Knee Land" driving somewhere in our pickup truck. Whenever the like "kicked my ass out of school" came up, one of us would instinctively say "ouch" as clearly, getting kicked in the ass hurt. I could probably give a tiny anecdote about two or three dozen Dada songs (and I probably will at some point), but this song, and the two Posies tracks will always be the one linked with spending time with my dad on sunny afternoons, when there wasn't a whole lot else we had to do.
Plug in, and turn it up...
Imagination and puzzles.
Phish - Rift, Maze.
Probably the most difficult step of this whole project was choosing what song to go first, which one just "had to be" the first track, the first memory I went into. There were probably ten or twenty good choices, but in the end I settled on this one track, the opening track on the album of the same name. It's also pretty much the only Phish album I've ever listened to. My dad had this one in his collection, I never really found out where he got it from or why he did, as it wasn't like the rest of the records he owned. But this album came out when I was ten, and he must have got it not long after, as I definitely remember being a kid and listening to this album. I would put it on in my room on boring afternoons, and drive my toy cars around in time to the music, filming my own music videos in my head (this was a very recurrent theme throughout my childhood). The album, and this song in particular, just grabbed me from the moment I heard it and never let go. It was one of the first albums that I learned the words to, and as I must have been no older than twelve I consider that a decent accomplishment.
And to a lesser extent, I think the track "Maze" inspired one of my favorite hobbies of those years as well... puzzles and mazes. I would draw mazes, really, absurdly complicated ones, like video games on paper. I always got a kick out of making puzzles and then solving them, or creating things that had rules, patterns, or plans. Eventually, it led to me creating a board game in elementary school for some book report project... except that it was a three-story house made of foamboard, with stairs, secret passages, and a removable cellar. It was a big hit and we spent quite a few lunch periods playing it until eventually it got damaged (as happens to most things in a sixth-grade classroom).
I think a lot of things about this album simply remind me of childhood. With "The Wedge", I have a mental association with that feeling when you get out of the pool and your legs still feel the water pushing you around. "It's Ice" reminds me of holding the album booklet up to the bathroom mirror to read all the lyrics. And even though there are some dark lyrical elements to the album ("my friend, my friend, he's got a knife"), listening to this album will always feel like that carefree time between the years of eleven and fourteen, when you're old enough to know what's going on around you, but not old enough to be having typical teenager issues.
Plug in, and turn it up...
Probably the most difficult step of this whole project was choosing what song to go first, which one just "had to be" the first track, the first memory I went into. There were probably ten or twenty good choices, but in the end I settled on this one track, the opening track on the album of the same name. It's also pretty much the only Phish album I've ever listened to. My dad had this one in his collection, I never really found out where he got it from or why he did, as it wasn't like the rest of the records he owned. But this album came out when I was ten, and he must have got it not long after, as I definitely remember being a kid and listening to this album. I would put it on in my room on boring afternoons, and drive my toy cars around in time to the music, filming my own music videos in my head (this was a very recurrent theme throughout my childhood). The album, and this song in particular, just grabbed me from the moment I heard it and never let go. It was one of the first albums that I learned the words to, and as I must have been no older than twelve I consider that a decent accomplishment.
And to a lesser extent, I think the track "Maze" inspired one of my favorite hobbies of those years as well... puzzles and mazes. I would draw mazes, really, absurdly complicated ones, like video games on paper. I always got a kick out of making puzzles and then solving them, or creating things that had rules, patterns, or plans. Eventually, it led to me creating a board game in elementary school for some book report project... except that it was a three-story house made of foamboard, with stairs, secret passages, and a removable cellar. It was a big hit and we spent quite a few lunch periods playing it until eventually it got damaged (as happens to most things in a sixth-grade classroom).
I think a lot of things about this album simply remind me of childhood. With "The Wedge", I have a mental association with that feeling when you get out of the pool and your legs still feel the water pushing you around. "It's Ice" reminds me of holding the album booklet up to the bathroom mirror to read all the lyrics. And even though there are some dark lyrical elements to the album ("my friend, my friend, he's got a knife"), listening to this album will always feel like that carefree time between the years of eleven and fourteen, when you're old enough to know what's going on around you, but not old enough to be having typical teenager issues.
Plug in, and turn it up...
First track.
The Audiobiography: it's a project I've been mulling over for quite some time now. I've been making mix cds for nearly 10 years now, since I was in my early teens and writeable CDs were something new and exciting. Back in my first real relationship, I made a few mix cds of "our songs", and did my best to tell a story through the 70 or so minutes I could fit on one disc. Like any other angst-filled teenager, I picked all the classic "lonely" songs and the modern "love" songs that would tie it together with a flow that would make Rob Gordon proud (High Fidelity by Nick Hornby, you should read or watch it). Of course, that's what I thought at the time, anyway. While there was some good in there, they weren't the world's greatest mixes. But you can't stop a kid from trying, right?
Anyway, I think it's safe to say that I think about music more than the average person. Both my parents were (and are still) musically oriented, my mother a piano teacher since she was 18 and avid fan of "off the beaten path" artists such as The The or Tom Waits, and my father a bass and guitar player in bands since he was young, and a fan of modern 90's pop rock bands like The Posies, Material Issue, or Teenage Fanclub. So from the moment I started paying attention to what my ears were hearing, there was new, old, and exciting music all around me. Even these days, I find I turn on the radio or listen to some old vinyl at the radio station I DJ at, and floods of memories come in from songs that I don't even consciously know.
So this blog, then, was only a natural extension of twenty-plus years of musical input. It's not for music reviews, I'm not going to be trading gossip or the latest tour news. This blog will be a very personal and hopefully extensive record of the memories and feelings I've associated with songs, every song I can think of, every song that's ever meant something to me. I'll try to be as honest as I possibly can, but I can't promise that things I remember won't be colored by a decade of time or the latest mood swings. If you know me, then maybe this could serve as a way to know me better. And if you don't, maybe it'll serve to kill the time with some decent reading.
Plug in, and turn it up...
Anyway, I think it's safe to say that I think about music more than the average person. Both my parents were (and are still) musically oriented, my mother a piano teacher since she was 18 and avid fan of "off the beaten path" artists such as The The or Tom Waits, and my father a bass and guitar player in bands since he was young, and a fan of modern 90's pop rock bands like The Posies, Material Issue, or Teenage Fanclub. So from the moment I started paying attention to what my ears were hearing, there was new, old, and exciting music all around me. Even these days, I find I turn on the radio or listen to some old vinyl at the radio station I DJ at, and floods of memories come in from songs that I don't even consciously know.
So this blog, then, was only a natural extension of twenty-plus years of musical input. It's not for music reviews, I'm not going to be trading gossip or the latest tour news. This blog will be a very personal and hopefully extensive record of the memories and feelings I've associated with songs, every song I can think of, every song that's ever meant something to me. I'll try to be as honest as I possibly can, but I can't promise that things I remember won't be colored by a decade of time or the latest mood swings. If you know me, then maybe this could serve as a way to know me better. And if you don't, maybe it'll serve to kill the time with some decent reading.
Plug in, and turn it up...
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