I just heard this for the first time. I was skeptical for the first 50 seconds or so, but then it hit.
It isn’t quite the original, but it doesn’t need to be.
Anyway, take a listen. Let me know what you think. Does it hold up?
Category Archives: music
Homecoming
I’ve been thinking about this blog a lot lately…
Feeling somewhat guilty because I don’t write as much as I’d like.
Feeling guilty because I don’t write as much as I’d intended to.
I spend a lot of time trying to figure out exactly what it is I should be writing about…
Because the truth is, I want to write about everything.
I feel like a blog should have somewhat of a focus, though.
And I know my writing tends to be better when I have a focus.
No matter what topics I consider when I reflect upon my writing, my interests, and my life in general,
I always end up coming back to the same thing.
Music.
There was a time in my life when I wanted to be a music journalist.
That passion, that desire played a huge part in dictating the events of my life thus far, and in shaping who I am.
From the time I was 15 on, it’s been about the music.
It seems so obvious, one would probably wonder why I didn’t just stick with that in the first place.
Well, I’m not going to get into that right now. Perhaps some other time.
I’d much rather tell you about my day…
From One Fangirl to Another
For months now, I’ve been staying up until around 4 or 5 in the morning. No particular reason, aside from the fact that I don’t seem to get tired at night, so I stay up working, or browsing the web, or hanging out with some nightowl friends.
Well, my best friend just started working overnights, so I’ve decided to sort of match that schedule, working from 10pm on rather than in the afternoons. Despite the fact that I’m used to staying up until sunrise, I find myself getting really tired around 3am (usually). Maybe it’s because I’m writing about taxes and HVAC systems instead of casually reading articles and chatting with friends. I don’t know. I usually stop working at around 4 or 4:30, and I climb into bed to watch a few episodes of How I Met Your Mother until I fall asleep, usually around 6am.
This, of course, means I’m waking up much later than most people. Today, I woke up sometime around 3. Without getting out of bed, I decided to check my messages. While scrolling through posts on Facebook, one in particular popped out to me.
A local acquaintance of mine had posted that she’s taking her daughter to see Coheed and Cambria when they come to town in September.
She wanted to know if anyone had any contacts…anyone who might be able to help her get something signed for her daughter.
I immediately shot another acquaintance a message, asking if it would be possible to make this happen. He said of course, we can figure something out the day of the show.
It took less than 3 minutes, but it absolutely made this 17-year-old girl’s day. Her mother sent me a message saying that she was screeching at the top of her lungs…lots of “OMG”, and “they’re my favorite band!”.
I can’t help but smile, thinking about it. I remember being that 17-year-old girl. It feels good, helping her out. But it’s a little more than that, I’ve got to admit. Over the last few years, I’ve lost a lot of my passion and enthusiasm for the music scene, both local and otherwise (but especially local). I won’t get into why right now (again, maybe later), but seeing this girl’s excitement reminded me of everything that I loved so much…and it helped to soothe the parts of me that have been feeling scarred and jaded lately. I started to feel good about it again.
In the Clearing Stands a Boxer
I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit that I haven’t been listening to music much lately. I just don’t dedicate the time to it anymore. I used to listen to the radio all the time in the car when I was driving, and that was often how I’d hear new songs. Well, it’s been a year and a half since I’ve had a car. I’m never all that interested in searching for the music I want to listen to online…I get annoyed with algorithms that try to predict what I *really* want when I search for “Dion – The Wanderer”, because the results never seem to be quite right. So I just haven’t really bothered.
Thankfully, my best friend listens to music constantly. No, “listens” isn’t the right word. He studies music…consumes it. And he thinks I’m lazy and super-lame for not doing the same thing. I make excuses, but I know he’s right. I’ve been neglecting an important part of myself.
Lately, he’s been listening to a lot of Simon and Garfunkle.
It’s interesting how you can know someone so well, for years, and still learn things about them.
Three years, and this is the first time I’ve noticed him listening to Simon and Garfunkle.
Why does this matter?
Well, we’ll have to go back in time a bit.
When I was a kid, my parents had a lot of records. I mean hundreds of records…LPs, EPs, 45s.
When I was in high school, my favorite record was Simon and Garfunkle’s Bridge Over Troubled Water.
I don’t really remember my parents ever putting the record on and listening to it from beginning to end. I don’t even know who the record actually belonged to. It wasn’t like the Elvis records, which I knew were my mom’s, or the Johnny Cash records, which were clearly my dad’s.
Bridge Over Troubled Water became mine.
I’d wait until no one else was home, and I’d take the record out, setting it delicately on the spindle.
My favorite track was The Boxer. Years later, I still remember it was the sixth track on the record…the first track on side two.
I’d set the needle down…listen to the pop, crackle, and hiss…
and then…the haunting echo of the vocals…the gritty bass harmonica…the heartwrenching narrative, building up to that chorus that sounds like a broken, yet determined heart crying out. And then that percussion, sharp as a whip crack.
Sometimes, I’d listen to the song and cry, feeling the loneliness that was conveyed. Other times, I’d read through the lyrics on the album sleeve, imagining this boy walking the streets of New York City. No matter what else I did, though, I listened. I put myself into the song, listening to every single part until I could find my way around it the same way I knew my home.
Over a decade later, I’m still finding new appreciation for the song. Thanks to my friend, I now know a little bit about harmonica and fingerstyle guitar, both which feature prominently on the track. I’ve seen the way songs are recorded now, so the idea of using two 8-track recorders to capture the multiple tracks, and the fact that there are 100 hours of recordings packed into this song which comes in at just over five minutes long absolutely blows my mind.
The song was recorded around 1968…that’s 44 years ago…yet the techniques remain incredibly innovative. Listen to that percussive note in the chorus. That “whip crack” that I mentioned earlier. Have you ever heard anything quite like that? Any idea what makes a sound like that?
I couldn’t recognize it, so I looked it up. Well, it turn out they’re just drums. So what makes them sound so unique? Well, they set the drums up in front of an elevator shaft. Brilliant.
I can’t say enough about this song, so I’ll stop for now and just let you listen. Just a warning, though…the versions online don’t often do it justice. Do yourself a favor and pick up the album. Find yourself a record player and a good set of headphones, and then take it in.
To Try to Change the World I will Plot and Scheme
For the moment, at least, I’m giving up on writing in any coherent, ordered manner. My mind has been racing, darting all over the place, first in one direction, for just long enough to trick you into thinking it’s going to remain linear, before veering off somewhere altogether different. I feel like I’m chasing after it, struggling to keep up. I’m bent over, hands on my thighs, huffing and puffing.
Perhaps this is the result of pushing myself to the limit. The last few days have contained minimal sleep…Two consecutive days that I pulled all-nighters, both times finishing work long after sunrise, stumbling to bed when my eyes started to burn and I could no longer hold a thought in my head; falling asleep only to wake around the same time I normally would, had I retired at a semi-decent hour.
Last night, I slept on the floor at a friend’s apartment. He passed out on the couch long before I did, and I was neither in the mood to wake him nor go home, so I pulled out a comforter and channel-surfed until 3 or 4am. What sleep I managed to get was broken. Something that remains unclear had triggered an intestinal condition, and I was severely bloated and in pain. It took a long time to find a laying position that was comfortable. As soon as I did, and managed to doze, one of the neighbors would go out and slam the front door, or there’d be hooting and hollering at the bar down the road to wake me. Early this morning, my friend tapped me on the shoulder to tell me I was “ridiculous” for “sleeping on the floor like a beggar woman”. I half-mumbled a response before turning over and going back to sleep.
It was 3pm when I finally woke again. My skin felt sticky from the oppressive humidity, so I got up and changed into the shorts and t-shirt I’d left draped over the kitchen chair. I drank some coffee and browsed the internet for news before leaving to go home and shower.
I’d intended on doing some work this afternoon, but wound up researching waste removal options for my sister, instead. I put in a utility payment, and my roommate asked if I was hungry. I spent what seemed like forever looking at menus from the various neighborhood restaurants, looking for something remotely gluten-free before deciding to walk over to MINT to see what their specials were.
I ordered a crabcake and a salad with grilled chicken, only to find I couldn’t eat because my intestines had apparently decided to revolt against me. I had this odd combination of inflammation and nausea, occasionally accompanied by the discomfort of a sharp contraction. All of a sudden, the only food I could tolerate even being near was something incredibly bland. (You’d think the salad would have been safe, considering, but the balsamic reduction on it was just too much). I sucked down a couple of pepsis, had the waitress box everything up, and came back home.
At this point, I’ll admit that there are details I’m intentionally leaving out. Some are irrelevant. Some are just gross. Others are things I just don’t feel like talking about at the moment. Maybe later, but not right now. It will have to suffice for me to say that I was in a somewhat delicate state, both physically and emotionally.
I continued to procrastinate work by browsing Facebook, and a single post by a friend-of-a-friend quoting lyrics from “Intergalactic” had me reduced to tears. I honestly loved Adam Yauch, but for whatever reason, he was never a character in the forefront of my life. I’d had a crush on him at some point early in high school, but not with the same adolescent fervor with which I crushed on Chris Joannou or Trent Reznor. My feelings were more subdued, and perhaps, as a result, more steady and lasting. MCA had been the reason I learned about the Free Tibet movement. He’d been one of the reasons I started looking into Buddhism. I did these things partially because of his influence, but not in some superficial attempt to be “cool” or “trendy”. It’s hard for me to explain, but I guess I saw something in Adam Yauch that I admired. Something that struck me as valuable, and so I sought that out.
I didn’t follow the Beastie Boys closely, though I admired their work (and continue to do so). I suppose in a sense, I took it for granted that their influence would always be there. To say that I took Adam Yauch’s passing hard would be an understatement. The fact that it was from cancer (something that has taken countless friends and family members from me) only adds insult to injury. Upon receiving the news, I walked briskly to my friend’s house around the corner, threw myself on the arm of the couch and announced shrilly, and out of breath: ”Adam Yauch from the Beastie Boys just died”, followed by a staunch “FUCK cancer”.
Despite the tears I’d had in my eyes, I haven’t actively cried. I haven’t gone on some Beastie-Boys-listening-marathon. In fact, I’ve made an attempt not to seek out their music or videos, because thinking about the loss makes my heart ache. But reading this Rolling Stone interview with Adam Horovitz was enough to break my heart entirely. I didn’t know Yauch, but this pretty much confirms everything I’d thought about him…that he was smart, and passionate. Headstrong, and innovative.I keep coming to the word “genuine” over and over again. The world could do with more like him.
So now, here I am. It’s almost 11:30pm, and I still haven’t written a single word of copy for work. Hell, I haven’t even printed the documents I need to start my assignment yet. I’ve spent the past hour or two thinking, and writing this. Reminiscing with a friend about another friend of ours who passed too soon. Feeling sad, but also more resolved than ever to live as honestly as possible, and to be the best possible version of myself that I can be.
Lana Del Rey and Indie Authenticity
I used to pride myself on my broad, in-depth knowledge of pop culture. You play any song, and I could name the artist, title, album, and approximate release date. I’ll name that tune in two notes, George.
In the last couple of years, though, it’s become painfully clear to me just how out of touch I’ve fallen. Part of the problem (for me) is that people just don’t get music the same way anymore. I acquired much of my musical knowledge from watching epic countdowns on VH1, MTV, MuchMusic and Fuse back in the day. Shows like Alternative Nation and 120 Minutes helped to keep me clued in, and PopUp Video and Behind the Music gave me all of the behind-the-scene details I needed.
My friends exchanged mix tapes and cds. Do people do that anymore? Or do they just link to playlists on Spotify and Rdio?
Despite being relatively clueless about the current state of pop music, there have been a few acts I haven’t been able to escape:
- Justin Bieber
- Nikki Minaj
- Mumford and Sons
- Florence and the Machine
And then the name that’s been just about everywhere lately: Lana Del Rey. What struck me as particularly odd about Lana Del Rey, however, is that I wasn’t ever hearing her music. And no one was talking about her music. It was always about how much everyone hates Lana Del Rey.
After about two weeks of hearing one story after another about how “controversial” Lana is, and how “everyone” despises her, I couldn’t help but wonder, what the hell did this girl do? So I did what any curious person with internet access would do: I googled “Why does everyone hate Lana Del Rey?”
This article from Good Culture does an alright job of breaking the issue down. It isn’t “everyone” who hates Lana Del Rey. It’s indie music that can’t stand her. And apparently, indie music hates her because she’s “inauthentic”.
Ohhh man. Just reading that sentence sent me into a fit of laughter. “Inauthentic”. “Indie music”. Hahahahahahaha. But wait. It gets better. The Good Culture piece links to this gem on Hipster Runoff (“Hipster Runoff”??! Hahahahaha. Seriously?). Now, even if I were to look beyond the author’s apparent opposition to vowel usage (“LANA DEL REY: EXPOSED. B4 she was alt, she was a failed mnstrm artist without fake lips”), this piece would kill me. All at once, the author asserts:
In a world where Best Coast is celebrated for being ‘pro-women’ and ‘empowering’, Lana Del Rey is a massive step back for the anti-cyberbullying feminist movement within indie rock. Her career works against the indie ideals that if you are ‘talented enough’, u can make it. She repackaged herself as a brunette with collagen filled lips packaged as a lofi diy broad.
and then:
Lana Del Rey will be the most divisive indie artist in years, and she will put the blogosphere thru many of our biggest challenges. Who will choose to ‘cover’ her? What blogs will be ‘simple’ enough to hype her manufactured indie pop sugar? Who will ‘pan’ LanaBB? Who will be a coward and say “It doesn’t matter where she comes from and what she looks like. She makes good music, and that’s all that matters”?
(emphasis mine)
And the author says this without the slightest hint of irony. So, lemme get this straight. Lana Del Rey is a horrible, shallow human being because she changed her appearance and was “rebranded” in order to be successful…so we should punish her by focusing on her appearance, regardless of whether she makes good music or not?
You know, it was funny the first time I read it, but now I just have a headache. I get that Lana Del Rey has had given some questionable performances. She’s been lambasted for her lukewarm performances on SNL last month:
It’s not like anyone else has given an atrocious performance on SNL, though, right?
For comparison, here’s a song recorded by Lizzy Grant (pre-makeover):
and here’s Lana Del Rey:
Jake Kroeger pretty much nailed the anti-Lana phenomenon with this article over on Nerdist:
Unfortunately, Del Rey represents a delicate balance in pop culture that is absolutely necessary, especially to those who need something to blog about. She’s not Top 40 and yet not Pitchfork-approved either, which, instead of developing a crossover appeal from hipsters and non-hipsters alike, has translated instead to intense bickering between, basically, people who have too much time on their hands and people who have way too much time on their hands (a/k/a “Internet trolls”).
Personally, I’m liking her sound, regardless of her haircolor or how big her lips are. I think it’s idiotic at best to hold an artist accountable for any potential shallowness of the listeners. After all, it isn’t Lana’s sound that has changed. If people weren’t interested in her music before, because she didn’t look “indie” enough, but now they’re all about her because she’s “hot”, that’s on them, not her. Apparently “authenticity” has nothing to do with the music. :sigh: So what do you guys think? Is Lana Del Rey the most divisive artist to hit the airwaves in quite some time? Or is it these indie bloggers who are being divisive? Leave me a comment and let me know your thoughts.
Edit: If you’re looking to criticize Lana Del Rey, this is the way it’s done.
