Nothing But Blue Skies. . .

I love them sweet blues.

I think the blues get a bum rap because they are associated only with sadness, with loss commonly reinforced by a repetitive 12-bar structure and the often equally repetitive call-and-response of the lyrics, or the four-line lyric structure where the first line is repeated three times and then resolved with the rhyming third line and that repetition can seem morose, like a form of wallowing in grief - But it is in that repetition that the subtly and beauty of the form - the joyousness of it - emerges.

There is joy in the blues. The suggestion of it resides deep inside its lament. Sure, sometimes it is more obvious than other, sometimes it can be noted in the humor of the blues, the hyperbole of sadness that bursts grief and blooms in the form of a smile or the spontaneous hiccup of laughter. (And sometimes the blues becomes a joke, which is okay in small doses, I guess - but too often the simplicity of its structure allows for severely unfunny untalented people to drive it into the ground. It is okay to makes the blues into a joke, but you have to respect it, too - whatever respecting it means). But leaving that aside, there is still joy in the blues. Every feeling has within it the suggestion and reminder of its opposite, and everything we grasp has the potential to be lost - so when we express that loss there is an implicit expression of what it was we had or want again. In a way to sing of loss, of grief, of hurt is to celebrate the feelings whose loss gives them meaning - give them a horizon of significance to be measured against.

I cannot listen to the blues without feeling that, and even longing for something you have never had - might never, probably will never have - is something that total lack is not - it is something that allows for song to emerge. Music makes even sadness beautiful.

I love them sweet blues.

The glissando of blues singing drips with that sweetness, and the cadence of the flattened third, or fifth or seventh brings delicious tension that is resolved with the turn-around from that 12th bar back to the first (though don't let me fool you into thinking that all blues are 12-bar blues, it is just the most common, the most familiar to most people - but blues in a minor key, for example, often is built around 16-bar progressions).

And I love that shuffling rhythm of blues, that feeling like you can just keep walking, like the rain doesn't touch you (it ain't called a walking bassline for nothing).

The blues make me hopeful. They make me say, "This is what life is" and enjoy it - and while that joy may be problematic politically (didn't think I could get through a post here without using that phrase, did you?) it is no less joyous, wonderful, beautiful in the feeling it.

5 Songs I'm Feeling

Here are 5 songs I been really feeling lately:

"Darling Nikki" (off of Purple Rain) is just such a great song. There is always a lot of emphasis on Prince's lyrics on this song, and rightly so. I mean, there are countless people of my generation that had whatever they were doing arrested at age 11, 12, 13, 14 by hearing "I met her in a hotel lobby masturbating to a magazine." And his groans and screams, the desperation in his voice and the unintelligible sections ("Nikki's love willakickayourbehind / Oh just show ya no mercy!") all make the song work and conveys everything the lyrics only suggest, but listening to the song lately I am struck by what the Revolution are doing in the background. They are riding this almost mechanistic self-arresting orgiastic groove. The drums are so fragmented throughout the song, just occasionally falling into an almost tic-toc two-feel, before stuttering on the cymbals. Really, it is Wendy and Lisa's guitar and keyboard work that carries the song, especially Wendy's little flair that serve to ornament Prince's singing. Then again, I am attributing this stuff to the band, but according to Purple Rain's liner notes, Prince played all the instruments on the recording.

It is really the stops that make this song work, the sexual tension they emulate, until the keyboards hit that hard coda over and over, like a relieving rush. The backwards singing at the end of the song over the sound rain is the calm of post-orgasm. The backwards recording is a play on the fears of satanic messages recorded backwards on rock records, except true to Prince's occasionally creepy Christianity, played forwards it says: "Hello, how are you? I'm fine, 'cause I know that the Lord is coming soon. Coming, coming soon."

"Love Dog" is off of TV on the Radio's Dear Science which I have been listening to with an obsession I have not had for a record since Radiohead's In Rainbows came out. More than any other song on the record (so far) "Love Dog" seems to hit it right both lyrically and musically, from the perfect "Ooooh ooh ooohs" to open the song, to the tight drum part, perfectly and crisply recorded. And the mellow electric piano sound that buoys the prayer-like delivery of the lyrics. The straining backing harmony that sometimes comes in also helps to convey the plaintive sadness of the song's subject. The whole song has a very subtle build as more and more elements join it, soft horns - filling out the sound, eventually joined by strings and whirring electronic sounds.

At one point they sing:

Nameless you above me
Come lay me low and love me
This lonely little love dog
That no one knows the name of

Curse me out in free verse
Wrap me up and reverse this
Patience is a virtue
Until it's silence burns you

. . . and it speaks to me in a way I cannot quite articulate.

Speaking of In Rainbows, "Nude" is a haunting song that never quite escapes me. "Haunting" is the perfect word, because the "ooohs" here do sound like ghost whispers, and there is a sense of disorientation from what sound like some kind backwards effect on the keyboard, maybe even the snare hits might be brushed with the effect. The bass is so stripped down and bouncing along perfect and dub-like when it comes in to carry Thome York's strained voice. "Don't get any / big ideas / they're not / gonna happen," he sings, holding back the syllables to create tension and build up the anticipation. All there is for that first verse is the bass and voice with some ghostly keyboard way back in the mix until a guitar comes in to echo the bass notes with some soft chords. "Nude" seems to capture the ineffiability of the ephemeral perfectly, "Now that you've found it it's gone / Now that you feel it you don't." All the musical elements come together perfectly with a subtle build similar to that I described in "Love Dog" - and that final accusatory "You'll go to hell / for what your / dirty mind / is thinking" the last syllable drawn out back to the "ooohs" that die down and then rise back up to something almost heavenly - a soul fleeing its mortal vestments and ascending in contrast to the sad pronouncement of the final lyrics.

I think the reason this song started hitting the nail on the head for me was because at the time that I started listening to the record I was going on a lot of first dates that were serving more to disappoint me than to give me hope of meeting someone that could burst my ambivalence.

"For You" is off of Greetings from Asbury Park, a record I have been listening to with some obsession (along with other early Springsteen) since the Super Bowl. I am so easily influenced when it comes to music getting into my heavy rotation - all it takes is one listen to a particular song or artist in a particular setting and something clicks in my mind and I won't be satisfied until I have gone back to plumbing their discography. "For You" is much more of a straight-up rock song, and as such I feel like I have little to say about its instrumentation. It just starts with the snap of drums and the little piano rhythm and the acoustinc strumming that accompanies Bruce's voice. Really, this song is all about Springsteen's crammed lyrics and his delivery. . . I remember the first time I heard this song it was the mid-90s, when I was standing out front of a bodega on Flatbush avenue waiting for the bassist of my band to come out with beer, and Zooey leaned over and began to sing it into my ear.

To me the song speaks of the impossibility of "saving" someone no matter how you might desire it - and how it martyrs the savior as they absorb the abuse of it "like some soldier undaunted." The strongest part of the song is the refrain which is savored by the fact that it is only sung twice, as after the second verse instead of returning to it the song builds out the anticipation as if it were to come and instead has a brief acoustic guitar break and then a bridge with descending chords. Bruce sings then screams, "And your strength is devastating in the face of all these odds / Remember how I kept you waiting when it was my turn to be the god?" But what I was talking about was the refrain that is arrived at by means of the music moving to feel as if the band were trying to put on the brakes but somehow the momentum will not be restrained, until the drums tap and the Boss sings, "I came for you, for you, I came for you, / but you did not need my urgency / I came for you, for you, I came for you, / but your life was one long emergency / and your cloud line urges me, and my electric surges free." I am not even sure what "my electric surges free" is supposed to mean. The "cloud line urges me" makes sense because of that urge to rescue, to cast aside the storm clouds of someone else's life.

There may also be a suggestion here that the "you" in the song doesn't want to be saved, "you did not need my urgency," which makes sense when your life is one long emergency, since the very idea of what an emergency is loses its meaning when stretched out indefinitely as timeliness is part and parcel of its definition. A little bit of organ ends the song. . . Ultimately, it is the very unneeded urgency of how the song is delivered that makes it work and that gives the sense that perhaps the speaker is the one who feeling an urgent desire to be saved. I mean, it is the "you" in the song that is compared to Superman: "Didn't you think I knew that you were born with the power of a locomotive / able to leap tall buildings in a single bound?" I don't know. I just feel it.

"Sometimes I Forget," by Loudon Wainwright III (of off History) is another song that is more about the feeling and lyrics than any particular musical achievement. Written for his father that passed, whenever this song comes on I cannot help but think of both my nephew and mi abuela who died in 2007 and 2008 respectively. The song is just Loudon singing accompanied by nothing but his guitar, and explaining how a person's absence is most strongly felt in those moments when we forget that the person is "gone and not coming back."

It's as if all you've done is go out of town
You'll be back soon, that's just how it looks
But your suitcase is empty, it's right here in the hall
That's not even the strangest thing
Why would you leave your wallet behind?
Your glasses, your wristwatch and ring?

The song is just sparse and sad and raw - and when I hear, "And there was something I wanted to tell you so bad / Something I knew that you'd want to know" I am overwhelmed by the thought of all things I would have liked to tell my nephew and never got a chance to. And when I hear "Momentos, memories, tell me what good are they?" I think of all the things mi abuela left behind and the process of going through to clear out what wasn't needed, what could be donated, what could be thrown away and what we would each keep to remember her by. And while the song ends with a hopeful note, "Sometimes I forget that you've gone / Sometimes it feels like you're right here / Right now it feels like you're right here," ultimately, the feeling the song leaves me with is irrecoverable loss.

what was yours is everyone’s from now on

Welcome to the Future.

I have been writing with some irregularity about music on my personal blog for some years now, and since I am trying to do it more regularly, I figured I would start a blog that was for nothing but these posts about music - mostly "classic" albums I will always love and particular songs I am particularly feeling at particular times. When I say I am "feeling" a song, I just mean something about its sound and/or lyrical content is resonating with my general mood, and since I am obsessed with articulating why I like the things I like (and don't like the things I don't like) usually my writing about music emerges from the strength of this "feeling."

I wanted to date this entry way into the future (my 40th birthday, so I guess not that far - but this explains my opening line here, "Welcome to the future".) so it would always be the first one (at least until that date when maybe I will set it ahead to my 45th birthday), but I cannot figure out how to do that and have it appear before that date. . . So, when I transfer over some of my music posts from my older blog I am going to try to backdate them - so some of the dates are going to range back four or five years - try not to get confused.

Recently, I began a little project where I try to write about one of my favorite albums each month. So far, I have January (Prince's 1999) and February (The Police's Regatta de Blanc) 2009, and I will definitely be transferring those over and the rest of them will go on here from now on. I have not decided if I will cross-post, but it is likely.

The name for this blog comes the Wilco song "What Light" from Sky Blue Sky, in which Jeff Tweedy sings, "And if the whole world’s singing your songs / And all of your paintings have been hung / Just remember what was yours is everyone’s from now on." This captures my feelings perfectly on all art forms - once it is created and put out there it doesn't belong to the artist anymore and they really have nothing to do with it. I am also a strong believer in music being free, so while I myself have not illegally downloaded music in many years, it is only because the sound quality of those Mp3s do not satisfy me and my obsessive need to collect requires album art (even if it is a lost art) and liner notes. I need to own the physical object. I don't trust computers to hold onto that info indefinitely. It has nothing to do with the dubious (im)morality of doing so.

Comments and questions are welcome.

Just a Castaway. . .

I started writing this month's essay on one of my favorite albums - Ben Folds Five's Whatever and Ever Amen, but the close-listening just confirmed what I had been considering for a while, which is that the record does not do it for me the way it once did. Perhaps I have "outgrown it," or perhaps I am just not in that same bitter recently broken up moving through a weird relationship mode like I was when I first became enamoured of it. And while I wrote more than half of it and at first I was going to just muddle through and finish examining it, this morning I put Regatta de Blanc by The Police on my iPod and it struck me that this is a classic album that my appreciation for has deepened in the 20+ years I have been listening to it. This was the album I should write about.

I started listening to this record at the end of my freshman year in high school, so 1986, seven years after it had been released. My Police obsession had penetrated my bubble of hip-hop, soul and R&B that I lived in then when Synchronicity came out while I was in 7th grade, but it would not be for a couple of years before I began to explore the rest of their records. For a good part of my high school years if you asked me what my favorite bands were I would have replied, "The Police, Prince and Pink Floyd," and true to teen-aged obsession with obscure meaning, I used to try to figure out what it was about the letter 'P' that made me like the bands - or maybe I was just high. . .

When I first started listening to the Police it was probably the lyrics and the reggae feel that drew me in ("Regatta de Blanc" is supposedly some bastardized French for "White Reggae"), but like any good band as time went on different aspects of the music appealed to me. For a long time it was (and to some degree still is) Steward Copeland's phenomenal drumming, but more recently I have come to feel that Andy Summers' guitar-playing is underrated and is just as phenomenal. I mean, it is so understated and perfect as to blend in and be almost forgotten, but when you train your ear to break the parts up and really listen you can hear both the intricacy of the progressions and the deceiving simplicity of the rhythms he plays. He is not a shreddy lead-guitar kind of guitar player (though he can do that), but rather his rhythmic flares keeps things moving over Sting's journeyman basslines and Stewart's expressive drumming.

The opening track is an example of a song that I might have just heard too many times in my life to still have the same effect on me. "Message in a Bottle" may just forever be one of those teenage songs to me, expressing the collective alienation I was beginning to sense at that age and that is so easy to wallow in at 15 or 16. If anything, it is definitely one of the most straightforward of their songs with the pounding snare and the driving descending progression, but Copeland's fills and his ever-excellent cymbal work fills it out nicely. Of course, I shouldn't discount Sting's ability to carry the song vocally. Sometimes I forget what he was once capable because of the intervening years of his mostly stinky solo records (with some exceptional tracks).

While the title track is nothing impressive lyrically with some fake "world music" nonsense words and sounds, the instruments themselves are excellent from Copeland's great rim-taps to Summers' airy slow appregiating of chords to open the song and just showing how much you can do with nothing but rhythm (even if the bass parts are rather simple and repetitive). "It's Alright For You" might be the weakest track on the record (perhaps second weakest depending on how you feel about "On Any Other Day") with its psuedo-punk approach and rapid-fire lyrics. It just has no depth and musically is not all that interesting - I guess the little "turn around" riff between the verse on the guitar is vaguely interesting, but I can't help but wonder what this song is really about. Hmm, take it back about being completely muscially uninteresting, I guess the guitar break a little more than halfway through the song shows some interesting effects on the guitar making it sound like two different instruments.

"Bring On the Night" would be my favorite song on the record if it weren't for the first song on the second side. I just love how it builds with the high-hat hits and the nearly helicopterish guitar that transforms into one of the most interesting chord progressions in any of their songs, almost behind the beat and finger-picked I can spend 4+ minutes of the track doing nothing but listening to that part alone, but when the chorus comes, the bass is that simple boucey feel that carries you through and perfectly expresses the relief of the night's arrival, aided by the reggae strumming that comes on the guitar. Copeland plays the highhat almost throughout and again, Sting's voice is perfect here, perfectly expressing both the desire and relief. According to wikipedia, the song is supposed to be about the execution of Gary Gilmore, but I never knew that until recently, and I don't know the source for that information. Seems irrelevant. "Deathwish" has no chorus. Just three verses sung amid what is mostly an instrumental. In fact, it is easy for me to forget there are lyrics at all. Like a lot of these songs it has a driving rhythm that is accented nicely by Andy Summers' guitar (great mix of struming, arrpegiating and use of echo). I like the lyrics.

Deathwish in the fading light
Headlight pointing through the night
Never thought I’d see the day
Playing with my life this way

Gotta keep my foot right down
If I had wings I’d leave the ground
Buning in the outside lane
People think that I’m insane

The day I take a bend too fast
Judgement that could be my last
I’ll be wiped right off the slate
Don’t wait up ’cause I’ll be late

Side Two begins with what is probably my favorite song by the Police, "Walking on the Moon." From the instantly recognizable bassline to the echoing guitar chords and jaunty reggae feel that imply some loss of gravity, the song's simplicity is its strength. Again, this song displays Stewart Copeland's excellent highhat work, but it is the feeling it more than adequately describes that is the best part of it. Or perhaps it is just me, the silly romantic that I can be - but the sensation: "Walking back from your house / Walking on the moon / Walking back from your house / Walking on the moon / Your feet they hardly touch the ground. . ." I know it so well, and I love it. It is a moment divorced from the future, just like you'd feel divorced from gravity making giant steps across the moonscape. The song ends with more of Copeland's great cymbal-work and the echoing "Keep it up" suggests not only a common call out in ska and reggae, but also the weightlessness itself. The song is just as close to perfect as you can get, if you ask me.

"On Any Other Day" was written by Stewart Copeland and he does most of the singing on it. It starts with him saying "The other ones are complete bullshit. . " which suggests not only that his other offerings are worse, but that they think this track is bullshit as well to some degree - and I cannot disagree. It just has a jokey sophmoric feel that just doesn't sit well with me and doesn't age well. I guess the horrible things listed in the song are happening on the protagonist's birthday. . . But really, I don't care. It isn't even very interesting musically and ultimately not all that funny.

"The Bed's Too Big Without You" on the other hand is another of my favorites off this album. A kind of reggae ballad that puts the guitar, bass and drum pieces together beautifully. The song fades in from the left channel and then comes in stereo (I have heard a mono version), and has the perfect tempo for Sting's languid lyrics.

"Contact" is a weird song with a droning bassline and obscure lyrics, though I like the chorus. "Have we got contact, you and me? Have we got touchtone? Can we be?" It not a very long song, and neither is the song that follows it that at one time I would have probably said was my favorite on the album, "Does Everyone Stare?" This song is unique in that it starts with piano and Stewart Copeland singing a kind of muffled lead that echoes the verses to come until the song really starts up and Sting takes over the lead vocals - just before he does there is a sample(? - can I call it a sample?) of a man's operatic voice further back in the mix, not sure what is up with that, but it works. Again, this is a song that I think my teenaged self related to because of the awkwardness it conveys (reinforced by the purposefully slightly off-time kind of marching drum that goes along with the the trotting piano chords). "I change my clothes ten times before I take you on a date / I get the heebie-jeebies and my panic makes me late / I break into a cold sweat reaching for the phone / I let it ring twice before / I chicken out and decide you're not at home." Of course, the very idea of staring at a woman reinforces the awkward creepiness of it.

The closing track is "The Other Way of Stopping" is a fast-paced frenetic song with some amazing drumming.

Overall, I find Regatta de Blanc to be the Police's best album, though I am leaving aside the problematic aspect of cultural appropriation that come along with the idea of "white reggae," mainstreaming it beyond even the broader popularity that Bob Marley gave it. Reading this over I also find that my enthusiasm for the record is lacking compared to what I wrote about 1999 last month. I think that might because of my recent discovery of TV on the Radio's Dear Science, and right now everything I am feeling about it is what Regatta de Blanc is not. It fills that bottom middle in a way that the sparseness of the Police's tunes do not, and while I love that sparseness, the negative aural space that it creates, right now I am appreciating that fullness contrasted with the falsetto voices and the frequent handclaps. I have also been kind of obsessively listening to some early Springsteen records and they too have a "full" sound laid over with that cramped lyricality with endless eternal rhyme that Bruce was into back then. I may have to write about Greetings from Asbury Park next month, that is, if I am not still so into Dear Science that I just have to write about it.

Read Instructions Before Assembling

One of my favorite things in music are meta-instructions to the band in a song or descriptions of what the band is doing or about to do. . . Especially when it is on a studio recording and thus has to be a very self-conscious (and unnecessary) thing - as compared to a recording of a live performance where it might actually be serving to instruct/direct the band. I am talking about when the singer/bandleader just announces "bridge!" and the band breaks to the bridge (like James Brown might). Prince does this a lot (like on "Mountains" when he says, "Guitars and drums on the one," or "Superfunkycalifragisexy" when he says, "In seven measures I want somebody to scream," and then someone does. . . him), but I have written a lot about Prince lately so I won't focus on him.

Another common example is a lot of the older salsa I listen to (my taste in salsas and rhumbas ends in the 70s somewhere, basically the music my mom exposed me to growing up). There are a lot of call outs to particular instrumentalists in the recordings, giving them instructions or announcing their solos. This might be jazz influencing the music.

On Taj Mahal's song (or his version of it anyway) "Cluck Old Hen" he says, "And this is what the cluckin' sound like on the banjo. . ." And then he plays it. The whole song has the banjo sounding like a bunch of clucking chickens.

This reminds me that sometimes these instructions or explanations are for the audience, as he says later "Now listen to them hens!"

Dance songs of course are the most common example of instructions for the listeners, often describing the dance that goes along with the song. But still, that is not quite what I meant when I started writing this. Live recordings are also a very common example of this, with the band imploring the crowd to clap or sing along or to cheer out or scream. I remember many years ago a friend of mine admitting that he felt a little embarrassed when he heard recordings of crowds acting that way, but I scoffed. "They are at a concert. They are just really into it. . ." I guess I am empathetic since I can get that into it just listening to my ipod waiting for the train to go home from work. Once at a Flaming Lips show, Wayne Coyne implored us to pump our fists as they played "The Gash," saying "Yeah, I know it's cheesy, and you feel like just some follower - but that is what we come to concerts for. Forget yourself! Play along!" I appreciated that moment of awareness of audience participation and his jab at the too-school-for-school alt-rockers who would never be caught dead pumping their fists in time to the music along with everyone else.

I guess, the most common example of instructions or guides in a song is just counting off to begin a song, "1. . 2. . 3. . 4. ." Or I guess sometimes in the middle when there is about to be a change or some new instrumentation is about to come in.

Boogie Down Productions' song "Nervous" off of By All Means Necessary is a particular cool example. Hip-hop is full of self-reflective instructions/descriptions, but on this particular track KRS-ONE actually explains the things he is doing "on the 48-track board" while he doing it. For example, "There's two ways to do this, you see what I'm sayin? / If you feel the board, you feel around / We got tracks one to track 48 / We find track seven, and break it down!" And of course, the beat breaks down at the moment. . . This is an example of a song I used to not like and would skip, but over the years of listening to album that meta aspect began to appeal to me.

Another variation is when little snippets of instruction or conversation are kept on a cut and becomes just part of how you think of the song. For example, the version of "Revolution" on The Beatles (aka "The White Album") has a little flub at the beginning and Paul McCartney saying "Take two" with John's response "Okay!" And then there is the infamous "I'VE GOT BLISTERS ON MY FINGERS!" at the end of "Helter Skelter," a song that proves the Beatles could rock when they wanted to - though I guess there is plenty of evidence of that in their earlier stuff that is more influenced by early American rock n'roll music. . . But anyway, that lamentation is more of a tangential outburst referring to the playing/recording of the song, rather than the song itself or some detail about how it is played. Who knows how many takes it took? Those blisters probably really hurt! One of the things I liked about the Beatles Anthologies that came out in the 90s were the alternate takes with the flubs and mess ups which included a lot of those tidbits - like Paul chuckling through to the end of a fucked up version of "Rocky Racoon." ("Sminking of gin")

So, now I am giving you instructions for listening to music, listen for these instructions and try to decide what they add to the song, or perhaps you think they diminish the recording in some cases? What does it acommplish to make the seams of a song transparent?

I Only Want You To Have Some Fun. . .

1999. "Don't worry. I won't hurt you. I only want you to have some fun. . ."

So opens an underrated classic, underscoring the sense of menace that is so often present in Prince's music, but that can be easily overlooked. Even if you don't want to characterize it as menace, there was an underlying tone in those early Prince records of the forbidden, of the taboo - like you are saying or doing something that might get you hurt - and that is appealing to me.


It must have always been appealing, because as I wrote once before, I first heard "1999" when I was about 11 years old over the Christmas break, and I think it is for that reason I always associate it with winter and the new year. I guess the title track is playing on millennial fear, even if it was 18 years before the threat of Y2K appeared to make people stress out about apparently nothing.

(Note that throughout this essay when I refer to "1999" (in quotes) I mean the song by that name, and when I use 1999 (in italics) I mean the album as a whole).

1999 is a different kind of record and a culmination of some of the new-wavey keyboard and drum machine stuff Prince had been experimenting with on Dirty Mind and Controversy, and while Purple Rain (which followed 1999) still has some of that keyboard-y stuff, the live drums and guitar rock gives it a totally different feel. There is an interesting contradiction in this collection of songs because while he certainly has a pop sensibility to his use of these electronic elements (in some cases riffing off Kraftwerk and in others pre-figuring Timbaland) and there some hooky-ass hooktidity hooks ("Delirious," "Little Red Corvette"), at the same time the songs are long - while "Delirious" clocks in at exactly four minutes, most of the songs are six or more minutes long with "Automatic" passing the nine-minute mark. The thing is that these were also dance songs, so that explains the length - but Prince has always been an artist that is unafraid to be self-indulgent (with varying levels of success) - so he is willing to spend two minutes of a song softly cooing over the drumbeat, or just groaning and moaning and making those Prince sounds that he manages to make. The dance music aspect also explains the melange of styles, because popular dance music often alludes to and plays with different styles and makes allusions to fragments of melody of other songs. So "Delirious" swings a bit, and both "Little Red Corvette" and "Let's Pretend We're Married" have a blues-rock base - and live versions of these songs I have heard sometimes emphasize these influences. In fact, despite the heavy synths throughout the record, almost all of it (save perhaps on "Automatic" and "Something in the Water (Does Not Compute)" could easily be arranged for horns, and most of the live versions I have heard of these songs do exactly that.

The title track evokes a common Prince theme, the idea that the world is in bad shape and his only reaction to it is to experience as much pleasure as possible before he goes on to the next life. "War is all around us, my mind says prepare to fight / So if I gotta die I'm gonna listen to my body tonight". Simultaneously, however, it does seem to ask questions from a particular (perhaps pacifist) political point of view. I mean, when the song closes "Mommy? Why does everybody have a bomb?" with a vocal effect that makes Prince voice seem child-like, the ghost of war and reality of imminent self-destruction rises up out of a danceable party hit.

Lyrically, like a lot of Prince records, 1999 is uneven. Prince has never been what I consider a master lyricist, but as time went on he seemed to feel more comfortable being playful with language and using certain reversals and purposeful mispronunciation of words that really work. And sometimes his incredibly explicit lyrics are delivered with more success than others. But I have to admire someone who can sing "Girl's got an ass like I've never seen / And the ride. . . I said, the ride is so smooth, you must be a limousine!"

In "Let's Pretend We're Married" he displays total willingness to disrupt his own rhyme schemes and the meter of his lyrics to cram in what he wants, how he wants (something that will become a signature of his songs to those with more than a passing familiarity with them - in that sense I think the occasional Dylan comparisons I have heard are accurate, but only in that very specific sense). For example, one repeated lyric is "My girl's gone and she don't care at all / And if she did, so what? Come on baby let's ball. . ." But before that is even established, he doesn't sing it that way, instead of "let's ball" he says "let's fuck, aw!" pronouncing that "fuck" with three squeezed syllables that take some kind of verbal gymnastics to make work. In the same song he dares to say, "I'm not saying this just to be nasty / But I sincerely want to fuck the taste out of your mouth." I never thought of this before, but the opening lyric to this song is "Excuse me, but I need a mouth like yours / To help forget the girl just walked out my door." Maybe there is even more of an oral sex theme in this song than I thought (though not like Dirty Mind's "Head" - great fucking song).

"Let's Pretend We're Married" ends with a spoken tangent, which these long songs allow for, total drifting away from the song's theme. (Perhaps this is the "going astray" mentioned in the title track), and sometimes become really weird and kind of stream of consciousness. All of "All the Critics Love U In New York" is like this - just strange lyrics that make little sense over an electro-funk groove. "Look out all you hippies, you ain't as sharp as me / It ain't about the tripping, but the sexuality / Turn it up!"

Speaking of funk, "D.M.S.R" (which was omitted from the original CD release of 1999) has a great groove that is reminiscent of the afore-mentioned "Head." It is a total party funk song with call and response and with the bass, drums and shakers pumping along to the hooky refrain that you can imagine a packed dance floor calling back to. The backing vocals are brushed liberally with chorus in the mix to give that crowd feel. And like most funk songs, the lyrics don't have to be great, they just have to be fun. But don't get too comfortable, when he asks for "All the white people clap your hands on the four," he counts it out for them, mockingly. Also, the song ends with a distressed woman's voice begging, "Somebody call the police! Somebody help me please! Somebody help me!" There is that menace, that discomfort I was talking about.

As I mentioned before, Prince's guitar is not as present on this record as we would come to expect from his post-Purple Rain period. In fact, "Little Red Corvette" is the only song on the album that has any real guitar solo to speak of (though "Lady Cab Driver" does have a synth and guitar trading off a lead at one point). Rather, in most of these tunes the guitar is light and rhythmic with little funk flares and tinkling progressions. We also get the mechanistic groove of "Automatic" - another dark dance tune that goes on and on, allowing Prince to play with computer sounds (including what sounds like a sampled staccato airplane engine on take-off that punctuates the song's development towards the end) and for some murmured call and response between him and the girls (Wendy and Lisa) "I pray that when U dream / U dream of how we kiss / Not with our lips, but with our souls."

"Something in the Water (Does Not Compute)" takes up the mechanistic feel, but at a much more frenetic pace in a way (like I said) that seems to channel Kraftwerk by pre-figuring Timbaland. This is a tune I didn't feel as much back in the day. While some of the soundss and words of the other songs are discomforting, the jerking rhythm of this song is not exactly "pop" friendly - at least not for that time period. It is one of those bad lover songs. "Some people tell me I got great legs / Can't figure out why you make me beg."

One of the things I love about Prince is his (seemingly) casual use of gender-specific words or sayings. I mean, is it all that common to compliment a man on his legs? Saying someone has "great legs" is usually reserved for women, but in this case it doesn't matter (Similar to how on Parade's "Do You Lie?" he talks about lying awake in his "boudoir," he seems to not know or not care that by definition a boudoir is a lady's private bedroom or dressing room).

Anyway, "Something in the Water (Does Not Compute)" conveys a sense of frustration and desperation that really works for the song, and the computer-y synthesized sounds help the human frailty of the lyric stand out in stark contrast. Again, this is an example of lyrics that aren't that strong on their own "I'll buy you clothes / I'll buy you fancy cars / But you gotta tell me who the hell you think you are" - but Prince makes them work with the raw delivery and willingness to scream. It is the kind of thing he would perfect on Purple Rain's "The Beautiful Ones" and "Darling Nicki."

The weakest song on the album is the ballad "Free." I must admit to skipping past it most of the times I listen to the album these days (though I listened to it this morning on the way to work and again right now as I write this). The lyrics are definitely the weakest "Don't cry unless you're happy / Don't smile unless you're blue / Never let that lonely monster take control of you." Lonely monster? Ugh. Makes me a little nauseous with embarrassment just thinking about it (though interesting, some poor lyrics in "International Lover" don't have the same effect on me (see below). "Free" is an example of Prince's strangely conservative political side - or at least what comes off as superficial patriotism - something that shows up rarely and that changed later in his career - but songs like "Ronnie Talk to Russia" (off of Controversy - 1981) and "America" (off of Around the World in a Day - 1985) are also examples (by the time we get to "Family Name" off of 2001's The Rainbow Children he is veering more towards a dissenting view on race in America that basically pits all the racial minorities against white America in a powerful way). But "Free"? Again, ugh! The refrain "Be glad that you are free / Free to change your mind / Free to go most anywhere anytime / Be glad that you are free / There's many a man whose not / Be glad for what you have, for what you've got." The plodding ballad's monotonous melody and the "rousing" anthemic repetition of the chorus at the end of the song doesn't help either.

"Lady Cab Driver" is another funky mid-tempo one. It is marked by a bridge that features the orgasmic moaning of woman in response to Prince saying "This one's [for this], this one's [for that]" and those "this" and "thats" range wildly and some make no sense as far as I can tell - "This one's for Yosemite Sam and the tourists that didn't land"? What the heck does that mean? My favorite one is "This is for how I wasn't born / like my brother handsome and tall" - I think I can just relate. Interestingly, only one of these orgasms he is "giving" the lady cab driver in question is for her. Again, there is that weird sense of menace - as if orgasms were being inflicted upon her, rather than some loving shared experience. He is venting some aggression sexually "This is for politicians who were born to believe in war," or "This one's for discrimination and egotistic things supreme / This one is for whoever taught you how to kiss in designer jeans."

After the long and bizarre "All the Critics Love U in New York" (which segues from "Lady Cab Driver" nicely with traffic noise that alludes to New York City), we get that classic Prince lover-man ballad "International Lover" - which is ridiculous and awesome as you'd expect. There is a great tradition in soul music of taking gospel songs and influences and making them into love songs. "International Lover" takes that one step beyond and (in classic Prince style) makes it into nasty playful rave-up that plays up the whole dramatic presentation and winks all the way through with an airplane ride metaphor that was alluded to in "Automatic" and as does the smooth "limousine" ride of "Little Red Corvette." For some people, Controversy's "Do Me, Baby" is the classic song of this type, but for my money "International Lover" is better because it seems to have a little more awareness of its own absurdity, and is winking all along.

Sure this song suffers from some poor lyrics, like Prince's penchant to rhyme "girl" with "diamonds and pearls" (something he would do as the title track of the 1991 album of the same name, e.g. "Diamond & Pearls) - but as I've said before, sometimes Prince can more than make up for a weak lyric with the pliability of his voice. Just listen to the way he sings "Baby" halfway through the second verse, or the way he pauses knowingly after the word "come" when asking "Don't you want to come. . . inside."

But really to me, where this closing track shines most is in the spoken part that is in the guise of a airline pilot, but delivered like a pastor half-singing his sermon while the choir bolsters him with their voices (all of which sound like Prince overdubs). "Good evening. This is your pilot Prince speaking / You are flying aboard the Seduction 747 / and this plane is fully equipped with anything your body desires." And then it goes into these amazing faux-instructions like those a flight attendant gives before take-off.

For any reason there is a loss in cabin pressure
I will automatically drop down to apply more
To activate the flow of excitement
Extinguish all clothing materials
And pull my body close to yours,
put your lips upon my mouth and kiss, kiss
In the event there is over-excitement
your seat cushion can be used as a floatation device.

And later, as the song reaches its climax, he announces, "We are now making our final approach to satisfaction / Please bring your lips, your arms, your hips to the up and locked position / for landing." And particularly wink-wink at the end, "Please remain awake until the aircraft has come to a complete stop."


As someone who believes in the power of having music playing when you make love (and it is for that reason alone that I own a 5-disc CD changer), 1999 ranks up there are one of the best for that purpose. Overall the flow of the record is condusive to getting your groove on (sometimes slow, sometimes fast, grooving, crooning, jerking, shaking, hollering. .. ) - and maybe that is another reason why I think of this as a winter-time album (in addition to when I discovered it and the millenial nature of the title track that suggests New Year's Eve), it makes me want to stay in all day with a lover, listening and getting it on - staying warm and safe while playing dangerously - while the world outside freezes over.

Still I Remain Tied to the Mast. . .

I am always looking for the language with which to explain what it is about particular music that I like. I understand that for many (most?) people music is a purely visceral experience – they either like it or they don’t, get used to it or not – but I like to think about why certain music appeals to me or doesn’t appeal to me, and sometimes in that thinking songs I once despised grow worthy of some kind of eccentric love, or songs I once loved unequivocally take on a tarnish that in time I work through and love because of the tarnish, not despite it.

Steely Dan is one of those bands people seem to have strong feelings about one way or another, but for me Steely Dan was one of those bands I grew to love as I learned to listen to it. Yes, it can seem like that breezy vapid bougie pseudo-jazz, and if you ever hear it as background music at a party then that is exactly what it is – It can serve that purpose. Easy. But I think any band that names itself after a dildo from Naked Lunch deserves an open-minded listen, and Aja is one of the finest albums ever produced. Period. It is just fine layered music with a kind of aplomb darkness at the center of that breeziness. The title track is just fun to listen to.

I love how each verse has its little airy intro, almost tricking the ear into thinking the whole verse will be like that, but then picking up the tempo to finish the verse and go on to the refrain “Aja / when all my dime dancing is through / I run to you” and then the whole thing kind of dissolves back into that very tenuous melody of the intro section of the next verse. What I really love about the chorus is how the piano is doubling the vocal melody using rich chords, and the tom-toms on the drum-kit are tuned to them adding the perfect rhythmic harmonic weight to the words.

The bridge, a long instrumental section after the second verse, has this perfect and simple two-chord progression that starts out on the guitar which uses repetition to upset aural expectation. A lead guitar plays over it with almost banal excellence, but it is those two chords that do it for me. It is just so languid, lazy, just barely keeping time. There is tension there, and the whole thing builds on that tension until the piano and those tuned toms I mentioned before are all hitting those two chords back and forth, forth and back, while the sax cuts in improvising over the top of it. The whole thing almost completely dissolves, again it threatens to become so fractured melodically it might disappear, but then little intro section of the third verse and back to the that picked-up tempo – but this time instead of dissolving again, the chorus takes up the two-chord refrain from the bridge in recapitulation, building on it more and more as the song fades out.

But Aja is potent stuff. It is not an album I can listen to too often or too much. It is an album that demands attention, and as its slides into the background it almost becomes obnoxious. I mean, Michael McDonald’s harmonies on 'Peg' can be nauseating, and I mean that in a good way – I just have no other way of explaining it. Like yogurt, curdled and delicious… Perhaps it is schizophrenic music, and that is the reason for the strong reactions to it. Because if I am honest about it, as much as I love it in this moment of listening, I know there have been times I have had it come on one time too many in a given time frame and have felt sick of it, disgusted with its baroque pretensions – but again, in those moments I still know how good it is. Maybe it is too good…

Heavy Rotation, Discerning Ear

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Listening. . . Remembering

I love waking up on a Saturday morning fixing some coffee, and just putting on albums. Album after album, running through my collection of CDs and LPs, sometimes going by artist, feeling like listening to nothing but Prince - a sampling of his records from the self-titled one with "I Wanna Be Your Lover" on it (I really detest his first album "For You") all the way up through "The Rainbow Children" or "Musicology". Other times it is just albums I feel I haven't listened to in a long time. Ben Folds Five's "Whatever and ever, Amen" or Taj Mahal's "Giant Step/Old Folks in De Home". When was the last time I listened to Fishbone's self-titled first record? Or how about Boogie Down Productions' 'Criminal-Minded' or Public Enemy's 'It takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back'? (How can you not love that title?) Those records just pop out to my eyes as I scan the titles, so I load up the 5 disc changer and let it rip - just laying on my sofa with my eyes closed, listening closely - sometimes sitting up and singing along, sometimes standing and dancing and singing along - sometimes my mind wanders and the next thing I know more than half the song that was on has passed - sometimes I back that shit up and listening again from the beginning - sometimes I let slide.

It is such a lovely way to spend a Saturday morning/afternoon. Experiencing the music in the moment of listening and occasionally letting yourself slip away into the nostalgia of some of those albums. I will never be able to listen to This Mortal Coil's 'Filigree & Shadow' without thinking of lying in the dark in my loft bed in my freshman college dorm room with girlfriend at the time, awkwardly fumbling to undo the buttons of her blouse to reveal those forbidden breasts. I remember having my smooth moment foiled by the size of them. You see, I got great practice unsnapping bras when I was growing up.

My mother would come home exhausted from her job and call me into the bedroom and she'd be standing there, back to me, her blouse hiked up in the back, so I could unsnap her bra, too tired to reach back and do it herself. When I was very young I never thought of it as weird, but when I was little older I always did it reluctantly - but one does not refuse my mother lightly - anyway, at around 11 my older brother told me that I should start practicing doing it one handed as the skill might come in handy one day. I became an expert. I could undo those two snaps with a quick flick of three fingers. And after I got good at doing it right-handed, I started doing it left-handed.

But that two-snap bra was the only kind of bra I had any experience with. I just assumed they were all like that, so that first night as a freshman, as I drew off her blouse and reached to the back of the bra, I did my deft flick and undid two snaps. . . But there were three! I even said, all confused, "There are three?" And suddenly shy again, she folded her arms about her breasts and looked down as This Mortal Coil's version of Judy Collins' 'Ohio' came on. It is emblazoned in my memory.

Don't worry we overcame the awkward moment and I got to behold her in all her double-D glory.

I am never going to be able to listen to Big Black's 'Hammer Party' without thinking those blue-dot blotters I took with my roommate later that same school year. Damn, I used to gobble that stuff up like it was nothing. I was used to it, but it was his first time and I was called away to deal with a 'girlfriend situation'. There I was arguing with her about tripping while I was tripping in a study lounge in her dorm. I trying to alleviate the situation and told her it was no big deal (she was a small town girl. She didn't have experience with this kind of thing - Oh, and I am talking about a different girl here) and succeeding, and even getting her to laugh and fool around a little when her roommate comes to knock on the door of the study lounge. My roommate had called their room. He was listening to Big Black and freaking out. I begged off and ran back to my dorm to rescue him from the mental horrors he was inflicting on himself, lying balled up in one corner of the futon mumbling, "I'm a steel worker. I kill what I eat." He was okay. I just needed to come back and remind him to have fun. The funny thing is I have never really liked Big Black before that - but from that moment on I was a fan, and still am. I think none of the music that it spawned of various industrial modes ever surpasses it for pure snide unfocused expression of anger and dissatisfaction with everything. We are talking 1989-90 here folks. I had a lot of that. Come to think of it, I still do.

It is hard to come up with more recent examples. I mean, music was so much a part of my development as a person, especially in my teens and early twenties, when an album could mean so much. I will never be able to listen to Kraftwerk's 'Trans-Europe Express' without thinking about being about 7 years old and sneaking my older brother's records when he wasn't home and trying to mix two copies of them. I really think that track was the perfect introduction to electronic music and those kinds of beats for a kid because it was about a train, and what seven year old boy doesn't love trains? And how many times did I listen to Pink Floyd's 'the Wall' at age 15 lying in my bunk bed feeling sorry for myself and thinking myself an eternal outsider? It is for that reason it is hard for me to listen to that record these days without associating it with that self-obsessed melodrama that would be embarrassing if it wasn't excused by the fact that I was only 15 years old.

But I hope that that is not the end of such experiences and memories regarding albums. And, now that I think of it, I know it won't be - because I just remembered the repeated listening of the Flaming Lips' 'Soft Bulletin' when I was sick with the flu in early 2003, and becoming overwhelmed by the sounds of it, and the yearning in Wayne Coyne's voice that echoes my own (yearning, that is - not my voice). And those repeated listenings of those albums that come to mean so much and have such strong associations also reveal new aspects to the music every so often, some track or trick of production, some other voice or sound deep in the mix that I had never noticed before.

Ah, the Taj Mahal record just ended. . . I love that I've forgotten what comes on next. . . Oh! 'Yankee Hotel Foxtrot'. I love it.

Do You Realize?

Crossing Manhattan Bridge this morning on the D-train, listening to the Flaming Lips on my mp3 player, listening to the echoing words "the sun eclipsed behind the clouds", I admired the awkward off-balance perch of brown-haired nerdy girl with her hair in a bun and her black glasses close to her eyes, looking like an emaciated turtle in her blackish-green ribbed high-necked sweater, as she leaned against the door crammed into place by me and the rest of the commuting crowd. I admired the high clouds, puffy and distant, as if spying on the weather on the far-away land of the Bronx. I watched the cars skate up and down the FDR and was filled with one of the strongest feelings of being monkey-man-me that I have felt in a long time. Thinking that everyone of those driving apes has his own banana tree to worry about, or maybe some don't have one and that is their worry, but here is one thing that is true: Most of them have forgotten, maybe never known, that it is all just bananas.

Just friggin' bananas.

The Flaming Lips ask "Do you realize that everyone you know someday will die?" And for a second I do, and then consider all the ape-people that have come and gone and are now forgotten. How many generations does it take for the average person to be completely forgotten? I mean, it must vary from person to person and how close they were with their families, how close and/or large their circle of friends was - but still it cannot be very long. I would think three would be a lot for most people. But how many spinster aunts and bachelor uncles, crotchety old grandfathers and weird loner guys that lived in the basement apartment that everyone called "Slosky", even though it said "Rodgers" on his mailbox are never thought of again by any living person, unless it might be wondering who they are when their photo is come across in an old shoebox when your own parents die. There you are at age 6 making a funny face for the posed pictures beside the Christmas tree in 1977 with your brother and sister and this strange person. . . There is no one left to ask.

I once heard mi abuela bemoaning the fact that her large collection of family photos will likely be thrown away when she dies because no one else cares, and even if they did no one knows who all those people are anymore; no one but her. But I want those photos. It is strange how I have little desire to meet most of my extended family, but I don't want to lose the tenuous connections themselves - the relations. . . I want to go through all those albums with mi abuela and tape little index cards beneath each photo listing who is in the photo and their relation to each other and to my immediate family.

But it is really hard to sit down and do something with your grandma that is for when she dies - even if the fact that she will die eventually and probably (even hopefully) sooner than the rest of the family is undeniable. She has lore, but sometimes it is difficult to harvest. She gets tired, and even I find the process of the telling of stories and the answering of my questions emotionally draining. So much of it comes down to how fucked up people can be to each other, and how people coped when fucked up shit happened. Murder, rape, child abuse, spouse abuse, rumor, innuendo, infidelity, poverty, alcoholism - those are the stories my grandma has to tell. And yet, there is still something beautiful about them - like the spiraled sparkles in a shattered window glass.

---

My mind wandered back to when I first started listening to Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. I remember liking the first three or four songs, but thinking the rest of the album kind of all blended together. It took a while before I discovered the gems of that second half of the record - realizing the texture and layered depth of sound they had - the obvious almost cheesy almost cliche almost simple lyrics - that somehow cuts through all those things to just be earnest and raw.

And it struck me that that time it took to discover that second half was the unintended consequence of unintended consequences.

I am an album listener. Rarely am I in the mood for a single song - and I never use the random feature on a playlist on iTunes or whatever - I like hearing a record from beginning to end - and when I hear a song taken out of the context of its album I automatically begin to hear the next song on the album as the song ends - as if it were to start up - I anticipate it.

Because of this, most often when I do not have time to hear an entire album in a short time, the next time, I listen to it from the beginning again - with CDs and records this is no problem - but I grew up in the era of the tape - of rewind and fast-forward and flipping. Because of the pain in the ass of that - back in the days, it was more likely to hear a single side of an album at a time and when you came back to it - listen to the other side. Album sides had themes and feels of their own - think about how overrated side one of Led Zeppelin IV is compared to side two . . . This flip requirement had the unintended consequence of making me listen to songs on a second side more often - or even prefer a second side - so the unintended consequence of the tape cassette machine - the laziness or impatience of not wanting to wait for a tape to rewind led to one thing - and then the loss of that with the advent of CDs led to another.

It seems to me that so much of life is like that - handling an inconvenience in one way which leads to something potentially positive - but when the inconvenience is eliminated that is lost and you miss the coping mechanism. Heh, in some cases that leads to addiction.

We stumbled out of the D train on Broadway-Lafayette and I climbed the steep steps two at a time as I always do weaving in and out of lines of one step-at-a-timers and I could not help but laugh out loud momentarily filled with joy for this personal moment of awareness of the finite nature of my life, my memory, my ability to take in information of all kinds of a day to day basis. The thought and the moment felt better than any moment I could wait for or even imagine.

Somehow, the almost unbearable, almost crushing, almost soul-numbing, often enraging aspects were cut right through by being.

You Can Feel It All Over

I love music.

I mean, as much as I love sex, and anyone that knows me knows how much I love that ridiculous mix of humping, submission, domination and hilarity, I would still have to rank music just above it. I mean, music is great because the emotional and intellectual components are equally valid in the appreciation of it.

When I am listening to a song I love I just want the world to stop. I want nothing to interrupt it. It might be the only quality of mine that has remained constant from my teen years. I remember more than one argument with my mom stemming from her coming into my room while I was listening to music and talking to me. I'd always say, "Can't you wait for the album to be over? Or at least wait for the gap between songs?"

It always annoyed me that people might be hesitant to interrupt you if you are watching a movie, and wait for a commercial if you are watching TV, and might even apologize for the interruption if you are in the middle of reading a book, but listening to music? It seems to be rated very low in importance to people. It is often viewed as a background kind of thing. . . but not for me. I am boggled by people I see on the subway reading while they listen to their iPods. How can you concentrate on the music? Oh yeah, I forgot, most popular music these days does not have much depth to it musically or lyrically, and when it does it is easily ignored. We search for similarities and the replaying of patterns in all things, not for the uniqueness of it.

The thing with music for me is that I have this desperate need to try to share the experience that I cannot understand. When I listen to a particular song and I get a particular feeling or set of feelings from it, and when I can appreciate some musical aspect of it, or some set of aspects that intertwine in such a way to instigate that chemical rush of joy in my brain, I want someone else to listen to it and get that exact same feeling. In other words, I want an impossibility.

Example: One of my favorite songs lately has been David Byrne's "Glass, Concrete and Stone". When he sings, "So I'm puttin' on aftershave / nothin' is out of place / gonna be on my way / Try to pretend, it's not only / Glass and concrete and stone. . ." There is just something that resonates with me and how I see the world, or how I try to see the world when it does not overwhelm me. I feel like everyday I must force myself to pretend that this is not all just glass and concrete and stone, that the stuff people make has meaning and matters. And there is something about the timbre of his voice when he sings it, something plaintive and real that shakes me down deep inside with echoes of both joy and sadness.

And then there are songs that so tightly parallel my own mind that I can only feel envy that I did not write it myself. "Civilization", also from David Byrne's "Grown Backwards" album is an example of this. I mean, a song that questions what it means to be human/civilized and the rituals and customs we take for granted and examines them from a point of view that is both detached and intimately involved in terms of the "story" of the song (The narrator of the song is on a date at a restaurant) is not an easy thing to make work, and he makes it work so well, I cannot help but admire it, even as it melts me and steels me to the world at the same time. When he sings, "Part of me wants to jump and shout / Part of me wants to tear it down" I always smile, because I think the same thing about society every friggin' day.

But is not just about lyrics and singing. I can listen to a production of Beethoven's 6th Symphony, the Pastoral (my favorite) and the awe I feel is never diminished by the number of times I have listened. For me, the key to appreciating music on intellectual/technical level is being able to break apart a piece of music into its component elements mentally as you are listening to it and then slowly have your ear bring the individual parts together seeing how they fit, setting mood and theme, by means of becoming more than the sum of its parts. This is a skill I trained myself to have when I began listening to jazz in my late teens, and when I figured out that I could apply it to all kinds of music it was like a whole new world was opened up to me. I remember Zooey and I used to play this game where we'd be listening to music and challenge each other, "Listen to the bass line", or "Listen to the high hat", or "Just high hat and bass drum". The best part about doing this was discovering sounds seemly hidden in the melange of instruments. "What is that?" Or, "Wow. That third harmony sounds like was recorded down a long hallway. I wonder what made him record it that way?"

And yet, these experiences and feelings of music (I guess, like all experiences and feelings) are unique to me and not really conveyable. In a way, it is a lot like a feeling I get in "serious" romantic relationships, an inability to feel like I can truly convey the depth of my feelings - a sense that expressions of feelings do not so much echo as they are swallowed into the abyss of human solitude never to return. And of course, I am an abyss as well. But that doesn't really matter much anymore as I feel all but a complete inability to love - so if that feeling ever returns I should be happy just to have it.

Just like I should just be happy to have songs and pieces of music that speak to me so profoundly, and not worry about how it makes anyone else feel.

But I guess we all want something or someone to legitimize our feelings. . .