There was a painting she stared at for hours every day. The colors seeping through the canvas was a blend of green and blue, the leaves, the placid river, the obligatory red-brown house by the water...A commonplace thing, an ordinary landscape, so perfect it was sickening.
Every piece of creation has a soul - at least that's what she believed. A painting is more than the sum of its components. A single brushstroke tells multiple stories - from the depth, the slur, the light , the color, and the spaces. A sentence is more than the sum of its words. All works of art reveal facets of the person who created them.
But this painting was soulless, faceless. She tried to see it through others' eyes, to understand what they saw in it. And realized from their superficial admiration of the skill and technique that they too saw nothing. Like the clean lines of machine-cut wood, that boasts the power of well-handled power tools but showing no signs of fatigue and sweat. Antiseptic.
It was the silence of the painting that she couldn't take. A picture that did not fight but allowed itself to be trapped within the edges of low-grade paper to be stared at by pathetic people with no taste. So she stole it.
Paintings are supposed to be mirrors. And you need a mirror to see whether the picture you painted is true to what you've desired. Maybe that's why people who stare too long will finally go insane looking at infinite reflections for a glimpse of their soul or lack thereof. Mirrors after all deceive through amplification, illusion and distortion. And some lose lustre, become toxic or corrode.
So she had to steal it. Hide it from view. Perhaps she will bury it, crush it or do a Dorian Gray on it. Maybe then the veils will fall and reveal the reason for the silence.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Thursday, March 01, 2012
Excerpt from the ONION March 1, 2012
"A report released Monday by the Federal Consumer Quality-Of-Life Control Board indicates that the cost of living now outstrips life's benefits for many Americans....
For the first time, we have statistical evidence of what we've suspected for the past 40 years: "Life really isn't worth living".
The studies indicate that "it is unwise to go on living."
Took them so long figure that out uh?
For the first time, we have statistical evidence of what we've suspected for the past 40 years: "Life really isn't worth living".
The studies indicate that "it is unwise to go on living."
Took them so long figure that out uh?
Monday, February 27, 2012
Managing Expectations
There is a threshold for how much we can endure. Some never reach it. Or more accurately, are unable to recognize it.
These same people do not know what certain feelings are supposed to be - love, disappointment, pain. Everything is just a varied numbness.
A benchmark or comparison is a necessity for these people. How else would they know what is acceptable? If everything is functioning the way it is supposed to. How would you know you're doing right without some form of an example?
You can ask for advice. That's all you can do. But at the end of the day, you know that the voice in your head is right, that the niggling feeling that something is wrong almost always means that it is. Even if you can't rate it on a scale. All you have to count on is in binary: 0 or 1.
Others don't understand this, this inability to articulate the wrongness you feel in exact terms. And often lose patience. What is more important - so have you. Lost patience with yourself.
It is then time to let things slide, and sweep the things you can't understand or face under the carpet. Trick is to never change the carpet, or look beneath it as you sweep more stuff under.
These same people do not know what certain feelings are supposed to be - love, disappointment, pain. Everything is just a varied numbness.
A benchmark or comparison is a necessity for these people. How else would they know what is acceptable? If everything is functioning the way it is supposed to. How would you know you're doing right without some form of an example?
You can ask for advice. That's all you can do. But at the end of the day, you know that the voice in your head is right, that the niggling feeling that something is wrong almost always means that it is. Even if you can't rate it on a scale. All you have to count on is in binary: 0 or 1.
Others don't understand this, this inability to articulate the wrongness you feel in exact terms. And often lose patience. What is more important - so have you. Lost patience with yourself.
It is then time to let things slide, and sweep the things you can't understand or face under the carpet. Trick is to never change the carpet, or look beneath it as you sweep more stuff under.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
here we go again...
There is no point in trying to change things to make it go your way. You still won't know what to do when it does.
And the things you want to stay the same, don't.
Screw it.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Guns N Roses - Feb 12
If you've survived a November Rain when you've been Estranged, been accused of a lack of Patience in your journey on a Nightrain to the Paradise City; remember it was all worth it, even Better than whatever you expected from this Street of Dreams...
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Futility
That day at the church, she knew. She'd never been to churches before, not the traditional ones anyway, the kind you see in the movies or read about in books; where something poignant, romantic, sad, happy thing, or some bloody strong feeling happens to people. But this morning was different.
Redemption and damnation after all are just results of desire.
Redemption and damnation after all are just results of desire.
Clarity. That's what happened, that's what usually happens when you're recovering from a drug high. Clarity like this make people take a gun and shoot themselves in the head. Or someone else. [No it's not just men who shoot, women do too. It's about accessibility, not gender that makes men shoot themselves, and women to take pills. We'd all like a little privacy for our private actions, so what are women left with at home when the men have taken the guns out to play?]
Anyway, about the epiphany in church. It was when the flowers were to be arranged on the pews for someone's wedding. She knew nothing about what was to be done. She'd never done it before you see. Never was good at things like this. Arranging flowers, sewing, making polite conversation. All the things that's supposed to come naturally to anyone with half a brain.
She didn't like flowers. Why anyone in their right mind would like things like flowers, things that are beautiful but stupid to get their heads chopped off and thrown into the bin was beyond her comprehension. But apparently, they make ugly permanent wooden pews look good for an hour of the service. Make a good photograph they do. A masquerade for an uncomfortable evening. Oh they're perfect for funerals. Dead heads on dead heads. That was apt.
But she tried. To be normal. Like her friends. To be with her friends. But then she started sweating. Again. Like when she has to talk to some stranger, or make up a story on the spur of the moment. Whatever she took to get her courage up wasn't working now. She was still nervous, shaking. Loud voices disturb her more than she lets on. She is so good that to the world she doesn't react at all like normal people to sudden sounds. But really her heart has stopped, she knows it. People think she's got a thick skin, but it's neither fight nor flight, just freeze. Then the sweating begins once her heart starts normal mode.
When heat is removed from a superheated gas, the temperature of the gas decreases as it is cooled until it reaches the saturation point. If enough heat is removed after it reaches the saturation, some of the gas will turn back into liquid.
Remove heat after saturation point. Become liquid. You've got to love physics, it explains everything, don't it?
She realizes there's no getting away from the truth. She leaves without a word to anyone, takes a bus, and 12 hours later is in another city. Just for a day. Meets him. Has lunch. Doesn't touch him. Or him her. He doesn't see her off, but she leaves. Again.
She realizes there's no getting away from the truth. She leaves without a word to anyone, takes a bus, and 12 hours later is in another city. Just for a day. Meets him. Has lunch. Doesn't touch him. Or him her. He doesn't see her off, but she leaves. Again.
She didn't want to... she knew it that day among friends, among strangers, in a small chapel that needed beautiful stupid flowers for some strangers' wedding.
She may not have stayed. But she didn't want to leave. That day. And he never knew.
He never will.
Word outside my place
"Whitney Houston's dead. Bobby Brown is still alive. HOW UNFAIR IS THAT??"
- screamed by some random guy out here on MacDougal...
I guess now she knows where broken hearts go... RIP
(Playing your greatest hits tonight...)
- screamed by some random guy out here on MacDougal...
I guess now she knows where broken hearts go... RIP
(Playing your greatest hits tonight...)
Friday, January 06, 2012
Separations
1. Medusa
She drifted in and out of consciousness. In the haze of dawn, she realizes the strangeness, an otherness. A curious thing to find a body next to her, sleeping like a child not afraid of monsters under the bed. She stared at him, remembering the intensity of his eyes a few hours earlier, and she rises, but his fingers are caught in her hair. She untangles. This memory she did not want.
There is however, a moment of hesitation. 'What is this deep slumber, how does he surrender to the unknown?' This thought had crossed her mind earlier when they first met, then later, when they stumbled into each other... 'Does he not hear the seas raging in my head, is he not afraid of drowning? Isn't this too close for his comfort? My comfort? Is this all a dream?'
She liked him, maybe she loved him. But that was something she didn't think much about. So she let him be. Sleeping, but not stone. No more kisses. And no kiss goodbye. She slithered out of bed untangling her dark hair from his grasp.
2. Her Song
If only you would wake up
and see the distance between us
You'd close the space with rain on this desert
If only you would sleep
and dream about the ocean
You'd start a fire and blame me for the burn
Then maybe
you'd swim
and run
and run
to hide
here in New York
and find
If you follow the silence in the song
You just heard
All the words
I did not say
When I ran away.
3. And then...
Sometimes love is only a figment of your imagination. Sometimes love just is - something that can't be expressed, can't be fulfilled, can't be had - something that passes you by and settles on other people. All you have is the memory of the feeling that drifted by.
And then all you remember is the loss - how you let things slip out of your hands when you had the chance to hold on. The one who you let go. And who let you go.
She drifted in and out of consciousness. In the haze of dawn, she realizes the strangeness, an otherness. A curious thing to find a body next to her, sleeping like a child not afraid of monsters under the bed. She stared at him, remembering the intensity of his eyes a few hours earlier, and she rises, but his fingers are caught in her hair. She untangles. This memory she did not want.
There is however, a moment of hesitation. 'What is this deep slumber, how does he surrender to the unknown?' This thought had crossed her mind earlier when they first met, then later, when they stumbled into each other... 'Does he not hear the seas raging in my head, is he not afraid of drowning? Isn't this too close for his comfort? My comfort? Is this all a dream?'
She liked him, maybe she loved him. But that was something she didn't think much about. So she let him be. Sleeping, but not stone. No more kisses. And no kiss goodbye. She slithered out of bed untangling her dark hair from his grasp.
2. Her Song
If only you would wake up
and see the distance between us
You'd close the space with rain on this desert
If only you would sleep
and dream about the ocean
You'd start a fire and blame me for the burn
Then maybe
you'd swim
and run
and run
to hide
here in New York
and find
If you follow the silence in the song
You just heard
All the words
I did not say
When I ran away.
3. And then...
Sometimes love is only a figment of your imagination. Sometimes love just is - something that can't be expressed, can't be fulfilled, can't be had - something that passes you by and settles on other people. All you have is the memory of the feeling that drifted by.
And then all you remember is the loss - how you let things slip out of your hands when you had the chance to hold on. The one who you let go. And who let you go.
Wednesday, December 07, 2011
Life Lesson
There is only one reliable way to find out about a relationship: test it to destruction.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
The Black Hole
People think depression means a diminished capacity to feel. It is in fact a heightened sense of reality. A certain look, a word, the silence, everybloodything means something, it is a virtual flooding of the neural circuits - to the point of shorting the mains. And since your brains can't blow up completely, certain functions get affected, and it seems most of the time it is the motor function. Ever wonder why when you are depressed you get these amazing thoughts (ok depressive ones, but oh so expressive), but you just can't write them down?
It is a constant state of being... on. Something. Sleep is impossible with all that sensory information overload. Even emptiness (or what people confuse with an absence of feeling) is an actual abyss, with color (pitch black) and sound (silent). The apathy results from being overwhelmed, so you lie in bed all day and night. Or if it hits you while you were on your feet, you keep walking till you collapse. If you were working, you will keep at it. Nothing spectacular will happen, just a vague tiredness. Thoughts never translate to words, or actions. If you try, it's slurred speech, shuffling feet.
And sometimes this...
It is a constant state of being... on. Something. Sleep is impossible with all that sensory information overload. Even emptiness (or what people confuse with an absence of feeling) is an actual abyss, with color (pitch black) and sound (silent). The apathy results from being overwhelmed, so you lie in bed all day and night. Or if it hits you while you were on your feet, you keep walking till you collapse. If you were working, you will keep at it. Nothing spectacular will happen, just a vague tiredness. Thoughts never translate to words, or actions. If you try, it's slurred speech, shuffling feet.
And sometimes this...
The trick is to keep moving on that plane where there's a slight dip in the intensity, just enough so you don't lose the feeling, and you can pick up a pen and write (or whatever works) about it at the same time. The trickier part is to stay sane while embracing madness. But isn't madness just too much sanity?
Yes, confusions and bad judgements are some side-effects. Please talk to your doctor before deciding to stay in the hole.
Wednesday, November 02, 2011
Tripping
Being born on the wrong side of the 70s meant that you missed out on the golden era of rock 'n' roll and subversive movies, and grew up on 80s pop (and cheesy movies). Means you missed everything of consequence. More so if you grew up alone and your folks idea of music was limited to vinyl records of Boney M and Abba, and Ira Sankey hymns.
Still, it was the glory days of analog recorded magnetic cassette tapes... the TDKs and Maxwell tapes in C60, C90 formats. And being born in the 80s meant you had fingers small enough to untangle them when they got screwed up from repeated rewindings and forwards.
You're only hope for musical salvation was the radio, with dear old (!) Richard Coram on Dubai FM 92 playing the then golden pop hits - Feargal Sharkey with a Good Heart, A-Ha (Take On Me, Cry Wolf), Madonna (redemption came with Like a Prayer, understanding what/ why she was so peppy in Like a Virgin came much later). As it turns out, my musical education persists to continue in this reverse trend.
(In retrospect, I would now like to thank Mr. Coram for contributing to my musical sensibilities - after all he/ Dubai FM did provide slots for Kasey Kasim's American Top 40.)
So while George Michael pranced to Monkey, and Tiffany wondered if she were alone now (or then), and Belinda avowed that heaven is a place on earth (seriously?), a few gems crackled on the speakers with Queen's I Want it All being the (re)quest for the rest of my life. Of course, all this was not strictly linear, after all, at that age, you're bound by the fact that you had only two choices - FM 92, FM 93.5, and all music listening was limited to parental whims, sibling rivalry/ adoration, and whatever was offered by the DJ on shift. And the DJs, were they on drugs... Why else do you think they played Power of Love, Part-Time Lover, Would I Lie to You, Let's Make Lots of Money, I Should be So Lucky, Walk Like an Egyptian, and Help at 12am and then reverse the order at 3am? And I was deluded into believing this was MAGIC.
By the way, having an older sibling did not help much other than to tune the radio to the right channel. Georgie, Madonna, Kylie and Jason, BROS (what happened to them?), A-ha was all her, I just absorbed large quantities of da-da-da -da data by default.
But again, I would like to thank my sis for teaching me three chords and S&G's Boxer and Mrs Robinson. No thank you for the Carpenters. And I don't know whether gratefulness is required for Jefferson Starship's Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now.
And as much as most people relate the 80s with pop, there were awesome rock bands - Firehouse, Queensryche, Skid Row, Motley Crue, and the other bands with / without umlauts, and all with tremendous hairdos.
As the 80's synthesized its way into the 90s, the pop scene burst at the seams with the introduction of the boy band - New Kids on the Block. So shoot me, but I was 9 or 10ish when Right Stuff and Hangin' Tough were out... and this was something I discovered with no help. And I was young, and they were cute and young.. and though today it makes my skin crawl, it was one of those things. I did prefer Pet Shop Boys' music, but I don't think Neil Tennant stopped any girl's heart even when he sang about it. And to make this clear, I know all the lyrics to PSBs If and Actually albums, and not just NKOTB's 5 step program. And how can I forget UKs Take That and East 17. Or Chicago. Aah the 90s. Move over Richard Coram, MTV is here to take you on a joyride. And video did kill the radio star. (Apparently this was the first video aired on MTV in 1981, we in the Emirates got it in 89 I think. And it was the time when MTV actually played music).
All this very belated arrival of media contributed to late exposure to everything that is great - and time came when Roxette tapes were moved to make way for Def Leppard, Dire Straits, Bon Jovi, and many jagged little pills. CDs were still expensive, though the cassettes now had fancy hardcovers to prevent heat damage and that insidious whitish substance that grew on the tapes.
It is a rite of passage, taking apart the tape, spraying ear buds in your mom's Chanel #5, or dad's Old Spice, and carefully clean the tapes, then wind them correctly, and put it all back together... parents, note - this is a form of discipline all 10 year olds should be subjected to, cleaning tapes, tape deck heads - what better way to teach patience, diligence, motor coordination and other stellar qualities to a hyperactive kid, no?
Why all this useless meandering you don't ask? Don't.
But there is a pecking order. And it goes like this the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift.... there should be a moratorium on all versions of that song (excluding Jeff Buckley's). Never mind. So a lame attempt at a correlation graph - song / album release year versus my knowledge of it's existence. Of course this trend would hold true for those born after 1971. I say 71, cuz that I believe was the golden year of music - after all Stairway to Heaven was released then - it's the 40th anniversary on November 8th. 1971 was charmed - consider the songs released that year:
Stairway to Heaven - Led Zeppelin
Imagine - John Lennon
LA Woman - The Doors
Behind Blue Eyes - The Who
A Horse With No Name - America
You've Got a Friend - James Taylor
Aqualung - Jethro Tull
Me and Bobby McGee - Janis Joplin
American Pie - Don McLean
I Feel The Earth Move - Carole King
Morning Has Broken - (Artist formerly known as) Cat Stevens (I just had to include this for the paranthesis)
Must I go on? Yes. I have been told that I have approval need issues. Whatever. Just check out the movies of 1971.
A Clockwork Orange
The French Connection
Dirty Harry
Love Story
Fiddler on the Roof
Panic in Needle Park
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
All this from the top of my head, no googling, god promise.
And you see I have a pretty eclectic taste in things, no biasing between rock and ballad, chase movies, musicals and chocolate drownings. See, no judging. So proud.
See what I mean about the 70s? And this was the beginning of the bang that sang the end. To think I was not even a possibility at that time is so... upsetting.
Dude, where is my graph? Okay, let me describe it to you. x-axis: Year/Band, y- axis: Year/Heard. Ok, this is not working. I am still upsetting about skipping a generation, living it 10 years too late, including all that free love and drugs, not so free but well-wrapped, textured, and whatever now. And despite this being the great digital age, because this is the digital age, I miss not having my tape deck, and really upset about not needing a modernistic shelf for records, cassettes, even CDs. So bloody upset. UPSET. And bored. Of Beiber on my radio, and other 2 second inane songs they seem to churn out by the minute these days.
Off.
Still, it was the glory days of analog recorded magnetic cassette tapes... the TDKs and Maxwell tapes in C60, C90 formats. And being born in the 80s meant you had fingers small enough to untangle them when they got screwed up from repeated rewindings and forwards.
You're only hope for musical salvation was the radio, with dear old (!) Richard Coram on Dubai FM 92 playing the then golden pop hits - Feargal Sharkey with a Good Heart, A-Ha (Take On Me, Cry Wolf), Madonna (redemption came with Like a Prayer, understanding what/ why she was so peppy in Like a Virgin came much later). As it turns out, my musical education persists to continue in this reverse trend.
(In retrospect, I would now like to thank Mr. Coram for contributing to my musical sensibilities - after all he/ Dubai FM did provide slots for Kasey Kasim's American Top 40.)
So while George Michael pranced to Monkey, and Tiffany wondered if she were alone now (or then), and Belinda avowed that heaven is a place on earth (seriously?), a few gems crackled on the speakers with Queen's I Want it All being the (re)quest for the rest of my life. Of course, all this was not strictly linear, after all, at that age, you're bound by the fact that you had only two choices - FM 92, FM 93.5, and all music listening was limited to parental whims, sibling rivalry/ adoration, and whatever was offered by the DJ on shift. And the DJs, were they on drugs... Why else do you think they played Power of Love, Part-Time Lover, Would I Lie to You, Let's Make Lots of Money, I Should be So Lucky, Walk Like an Egyptian, and Help at 12am and then reverse the order at 3am? And I was deluded into believing this was MAGIC.
By the way, having an older sibling did not help much other than to tune the radio to the right channel. Georgie, Madonna, Kylie and Jason, BROS (what happened to them?), A-ha was all her, I just absorbed large quantities of da-da-da -da data by default.
But again, I would like to thank my sis for teaching me three chords and S&G's Boxer and Mrs Robinson. No thank you for the Carpenters. And I don't know whether gratefulness is required for Jefferson Starship's Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now.
And as much as most people relate the 80s with pop, there were awesome rock bands - Firehouse, Queensryche, Skid Row, Motley Crue, and the other bands with / without umlauts, and all with tremendous hairdos.
As the 80's synthesized its way into the 90s, the pop scene burst at the seams with the introduction of the boy band - New Kids on the Block. So shoot me, but I was 9 or 10ish when Right Stuff and Hangin' Tough were out... and this was something I discovered with no help. And I was young, and they were cute and young.. and though today it makes my skin crawl, it was one of those things. I did prefer Pet Shop Boys' music, but I don't think Neil Tennant stopped any girl's heart even when he sang about it. And to make this clear, I know all the lyrics to PSBs If and Actually albums, and not just NKOTB's 5 step program. And how can I forget UKs Take That and East 17. Or Chicago. Aah the 90s. Move over Richard Coram, MTV is here to take you on a joyride. And video did kill the radio star. (Apparently this was the first video aired on MTV in 1981, we in the Emirates got it in 89 I think. And it was the time when MTV actually played music).
All this very belated arrival of media contributed to late exposure to everything that is great - and time came when Roxette tapes were moved to make way for Def Leppard, Dire Straits, Bon Jovi, and many jagged little pills. CDs were still expensive, though the cassettes now had fancy hardcovers to prevent heat damage and that insidious whitish substance that grew on the tapes.
It is a rite of passage, taking apart the tape, spraying ear buds in your mom's Chanel #5, or dad's Old Spice, and carefully clean the tapes, then wind them correctly, and put it all back together... parents, note - this is a form of discipline all 10 year olds should be subjected to, cleaning tapes, tape deck heads - what better way to teach patience, diligence, motor coordination and other stellar qualities to a hyperactive kid, no?
Why all this useless meandering you don't ask? Don't.
But there is a pecking order. And it goes like this the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift.... there should be a moratorium on all versions of that song (excluding Jeff Buckley's). Never mind. So a lame attempt at a correlation graph - song / album release year versus my knowledge of it's existence. Of course this trend would hold true for those born after 1971. I say 71, cuz that I believe was the golden year of music - after all Stairway to Heaven was released then - it's the 40th anniversary on November 8th. 1971 was charmed - consider the songs released that year:
Stairway to Heaven - Led Zeppelin
Imagine - John Lennon
LA Woman - The Doors
Behind Blue Eyes - The Who
A Horse With No Name - America
You've Got a Friend - James Taylor
Aqualung - Jethro Tull
Me and Bobby McGee - Janis Joplin
American Pie - Don McLean
I Feel The Earth Move - Carole King
Morning Has Broken - (Artist formerly known as) Cat Stevens (I just had to include this for the paranthesis)
Must I go on? Yes. I have been told that I have approval need issues. Whatever. Just check out the movies of 1971.
A Clockwork Orange
The French Connection
Dirty Harry
Love Story
Fiddler on the Roof
Panic in Needle Park
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
All this from the top of my head, no googling, god promise.
And you see I have a pretty eclectic taste in things, no biasing between rock and ballad, chase movies, musicals and chocolate drownings. See, no judging. So proud.
See what I mean about the 70s? And this was the beginning of the bang that sang the end. To think I was not even a possibility at that time is so... upsetting.
Dude, where is my graph? Okay, let me describe it to you. x-axis: Year/Band, y- axis: Year/Heard. Ok, this is not working. I am still upsetting about skipping a generation, living it 10 years too late, including all that free love and drugs, not so free but well-wrapped, textured, and whatever now. And despite this being the great digital age, because this is the digital age, I miss not having my tape deck, and really upset about not needing a modernistic shelf for records, cassettes, even CDs. So bloody upset. UPSET. And bored. Of Beiber on my radio, and other 2 second inane songs they seem to churn out by the minute these days.
Off.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Indigo Girls - Beacon Theater, Oct 13, 2011
Now I feel for those people who have to write a review on events the minute after they're done. For people who have those kind of writing jobs. I feel sorry for them and at the same time, am also in awe - that some of them do it real well, give an impartial feedback, and write a spade a spade. I am also amazed by people who know exactly what they feel and are able to write about it well. I know a couple of acquaintances who could write a 1000 word literary analysis in 20 minutes flat. These are the people who have fun the rest of the time and crank out a thesis paper in just one night and graduate magna cum laude. I for one can't even write a yelp review about what I ate last night at a new restaurant (which I didn't).
So this is quite an chore. But as part of my recent self-imposed self-disciplining, and month of doing things other than destruction, this is going to be it. Also, this is the first time ever I went to Beacon Theater, so now that's crossed off my bucket list. Should've instead gone to see Donald Fagen of Steely Dan, or Dream Theater the previous night, but meh, tix were beyond me after taxes. And I'm saving for the Evanescence concert. The sacrifices we make. Life sucks.
But a change nonetheless. (Always wanted to use 'nonetheless' in a sentence.) Ok, enough putting off the actual review part.
Hmm. Not bad for a couple of middle-aged, homely ladies. I got into Indigo (i.e., heard their songs) only a couple of years ago, when I realized I had no 'happy-ish' songs in my collection, songs you can have a good time playing on your stoop and have people stop by and sing along. (other than Plastic Jesus). And I don't like country music. Folksy ballads I can take for 2 hours at a stretch, which I did last night. But hey, it is pretty amazing how synchronized their guitar playing is. And how you can still sound real good minus drums. Perfect harmonies, great acoustics. Not the foot stomping kind of music, but melodies you can sit and listen to in those plush seats. No pressure to stand up all the time and wave your hands. Just sit and clap (though that reminds me of being in a Southern Baptist church). And sip a cocktail, while looking at the chord changes (yes I was right in front, orchestra center). That's the point. An evening of relaxation, which again, self-imposed, trying not to give in to the urge to keep moving. Sure I could've stayed home, kicked up my feet and listened to Velvet Underground all night, but then I do that everyday.
Now I liked the singing, the guitar playing, they sounded real good- just like on the record if you have a good sound system. And quite fun in a quiet way, without the raging, or death wish lyrics. Amy Ray's alto blends real well with Emily Salier's sweeter tone, but then we all know that. They played a couple of songs from their new album Beauty Queen Sister - a strange (boring) song about horses or whatever (Feed and Water the Horses I think), another about their neighbor John, and the title (eponymous) song. Maybe more. Oh one song I can't recall - they resolved it like 4 times, each time the audience clapping, and they started over - so when the song actually got done, people hesitated. What a riot! (in my head of course). You shouldn't make asses of people who pay hard-earned money to see your show, either be good at creating anticipation and the unexpected, but don't trick them. Anyway, their old hits drew people to their shuffling feet - Hammer and Nail, Get Out the Map (now that was good), Shame on You, and some more that I don't know the names of. And of course they ended the show with Closer To Fine. Tamaam, as my folks would say.
Overall, a good show which didn't drive me to do whatever I'm driven to do. As expected.
Now I see I didn't mention anything about the opening band Shadowboxers. Well... kind of pop-ish, but again good harmonizing. Nothing got stuck in my head, and the audience's response was...American. Tepid, correct, polite.
So that's it. About the show. About the theater itself, well, it's ornate and pretty. Excellent acoustics. Water costs 5 bucks. Martini was $19. Well, it's not everyday you go there.
So this is quite an chore. But as part of my recent self-imposed self-disciplining, and month of doing things other than destruction, this is going to be it. Also, this is the first time ever I went to Beacon Theater, so now that's crossed off my bucket list. Should've instead gone to see Donald Fagen of Steely Dan, or Dream Theater the previous night, but meh, tix were beyond me after taxes. And I'm saving for the Evanescence concert. The sacrifices we make. Life sucks.
But a change nonetheless. (Always wanted to use 'nonetheless' in a sentence.) Ok, enough putting off the actual review part.
Hmm. Not bad for a couple of middle-aged, homely ladies. I got into Indigo (i.e., heard their songs) only a couple of years ago, when I realized I had no 'happy-ish' songs in my collection, songs you can have a good time playing on your stoop and have people stop by and sing along. (other than Plastic Jesus). And I don't like country music. Folksy ballads I can take for 2 hours at a stretch, which I did last night. But hey, it is pretty amazing how synchronized their guitar playing is. And how you can still sound real good minus drums. Perfect harmonies, great acoustics. Not the foot stomping kind of music, but melodies you can sit and listen to in those plush seats. No pressure to stand up all the time and wave your hands. Just sit and clap (though that reminds me of being in a Southern Baptist church). And sip a cocktail, while looking at the chord changes (yes I was right in front, orchestra center). That's the point. An evening of relaxation, which again, self-imposed, trying not to give in to the urge to keep moving. Sure I could've stayed home, kicked up my feet and listened to Velvet Underground all night, but then I do that everyday.
Now I liked the singing, the guitar playing, they sounded real good- just like on the record if you have a good sound system. And quite fun in a quiet way, without the raging, or death wish lyrics. Amy Ray's alto blends real well with Emily Salier's sweeter tone, but then we all know that. They played a couple of songs from their new album Beauty Queen Sister - a strange (boring) song about horses or whatever (Feed and Water the Horses I think), another about their neighbor John, and the title (eponymous) song. Maybe more. Oh one song I can't recall - they resolved it like 4 times, each time the audience clapping, and they started over - so when the song actually got done, people hesitated. What a riot! (in my head of course). You shouldn't make asses of people who pay hard-earned money to see your show, either be good at creating anticipation and the unexpected, but don't trick them. Anyway, their old hits drew people to their shuffling feet - Hammer and Nail, Get Out the Map (now that was good), Shame on You, and some more that I don't know the names of. And of course they ended the show with Closer To Fine. Tamaam, as my folks would say.
Overall, a good show which didn't drive me to do whatever I'm driven to do. As expected.
Now I see I didn't mention anything about the opening band Shadowboxers. Well... kind of pop-ish, but again good harmonizing. Nothing got stuck in my head, and the audience's response was...American. Tepid, correct, polite.
So that's it. About the show. About the theater itself, well, it's ornate and pretty. Excellent acoustics. Water costs 5 bucks. Martini was $19. Well, it's not everyday you go there.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
the door's open, but the ride it ain't free...
I promised myself a post on the Boss. Or rather a song of his that every one in their right and wrong minds should know the lyrics to: the classic Thunder Road.
The thing about thetruly greatest songs (or any other work of art for that matter) is that they draw us in and place us right in the middle of all the action, make us a part of it, we are in it, we are it. In Thunder Road, Springsteen is not just singing about his dreams, his love, or imploring his friend, it is our promises, and hopes that he is vocalizing.
The Born to Run album is definitive Springsteen - a masterpiece, and for all its heartache, it is so full of hope, unlike his later introspective and working-class-themed albums. Guess it is the youthfulness of it all. Happiness after all is just being with a girl/boy, having a car, and an open road. Let later albums (and growing older) question the direction of it all...but there's no need to think about that now,... right?
Thunder Road is the classic anthem for the dreamer, lover, and escapist in all of us. It is the opening song of the album, and is kind of like its vision statement. It asks of us a simple, yet crucial question 'Are you willing to take a chance?', and carries a hope, and sometimes urges, that we hold on to the dream -
'Well the night's bustin' open, these two lanes will take us anywhere
We got one last chance to make it real
To trade in these wings on some wheels'
This is a restless song, this is the yearning of youth, on the borderline of adulthood, wanting to grow up and escape, but still holding on to youthful aspirations - taking only the guitar, the car, and his girl on the journey. Yes, the only things that matter.
(So, what is in your backpack?)
And only Springsteen can make you see how simple and how incredibly hard it is to take that chance - in his phrasing of just a word:
'And my car's out back if you're ready to take that lo- -onng walk
From your front porch to my front seat
The door's open but the ride it ain't free...'
The lyrics are devastating, romantic, and encapsulate you in its redemption, the dream of a promised land that's at the end of this road. And all the fears that come with it, 'so you're scared, and you're thinkin' maybe we ain't young anymore'. Oh yeah...
For without risks, there are no rewards. And there is that promise of a better tomorrow, but no time to waste:
'You can hide 'neath your covers and study your pain
Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain
Waste your summer praying in vain for a savior to rise from these streets'
'All the redemption I can offer, girl, is beneath this dirty hood
With a chance to make it good somehow...'
Everyone knows what it's like to have these dreams, whose hearts we break to get there, the desperation of knowing, and not knowing. There are layers within the words that you get to glimpse with every listen, it's a fluid storyline, what you see depends on where you are on this journey. The lack of specificity in these beautiful lyrics makes this song not just Springsteen's, this is your song.
There were ghosts in the eyes of all the boys you sent away
They haunt this dusty beach road in the skeleton frames of burned-out Chevrolets
They scream your name at night in the street
Your graduation gown lies in rags at their feet
And in the lonely cool before dawn
You hear their engines roaring on
But when you get to the porch they're gone on the wind,
So Mary climb in
It's a town full of losers, I'm pulling out of here to win
If that's not poetry, I don't know what is.
The thing about the
The Born to Run album is definitive Springsteen - a masterpiece, and for all its heartache, it is so full of hope, unlike his later introspective and working-class-themed albums. Guess it is the youthfulness of it all. Happiness after all is just being with a girl/boy, having a car, and an open road. Let later albums (and growing older) question the direction of it all...but there's no need to think about that now,... right?
Thunder Road is the classic anthem for the dreamer, lover, and escapist in all of us. It is the opening song of the album, and is kind of like its vision statement. It asks of us a simple, yet crucial question 'Are you willing to take a chance?', and carries a hope, and sometimes urges, that we hold on to the dream -
'Well the night's bustin' open, these two lanes will take us anywhere
We got one last chance to make it real
To trade in these wings on some wheels'
This is a restless song, this is the yearning of youth, on the borderline of adulthood, wanting to grow up and escape, but still holding on to youthful aspirations - taking only the guitar, the car, and his girl on the journey. Yes, the only things that matter.
(So, what is in your backpack?)
And only Springsteen can make you see how simple and how incredibly hard it is to take that chance - in his phrasing of just a word:
'And my car's out back if you're ready to take that lo- -onng walk
From your front porch to my front seat
The door's open but the ride it ain't free...'
The lyrics are devastating, romantic, and encapsulate you in its redemption, the dream of a promised land that's at the end of this road. And all the fears that come with it, 'so you're scared, and you're thinkin' maybe we ain't young anymore'. Oh yeah...
For without risks, there are no rewards. And there is that promise of a better tomorrow, but no time to waste:
'You can hide 'neath your covers and study your pain
Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain
Waste your summer praying in vain for a savior to rise from these streets'
'All the redemption I can offer, girl, is beneath this dirty hood
With a chance to make it good somehow...'
Everyone knows what it's like to have these dreams, whose hearts we break to get there, the desperation of knowing, and not knowing. There are layers within the words that you get to glimpse with every listen, it's a fluid storyline, what you see depends on where you are on this journey. The lack of specificity in these beautiful lyrics makes this song not just Springsteen's, this is your song.
There were ghosts in the eyes of all the boys you sent away
They haunt this dusty beach road in the skeleton frames of burned-out Chevrolets
They scream your name at night in the street
Your graduation gown lies in rags at their feet
And in the lonely cool before dawn
You hear their engines roaring on
But when you get to the porch they're gone on the wind,
So Mary climb in
It's a town full of losers, I'm pulling out of here to win
If that's not poetry, I don't know what is.
Sunday, October 09, 2011
The road to recovery...
...is hardly paved, so when you fall, you break a lot of bones. And lose heart. Just don't take it out on your guitar. Use it to pave the way with songs. Bring along the songs, and let them carry you when you feel like you can't go on.
So here's the companion list for the long walk on this dust road. These songs make me stop thinking about everything else, and just listen...there's a newness in every listening. It's all about the beat, the melody, the riffs, the voices, emotions, and of course the words... So over to the Recovery List:
1. Bang Bang - Cher
Now this is a kick ass song though most people know the more mellow, yet ethereal cover by Nancy Sinatra used in the Kill Bill soundtrack. Cher gives this song a wildness, a wounded tiger quality.
2. Because the Night - 10,000 Maniacs
I like this version of Springsteen's / Patti Smith's original, Natalie Merchant conveys frustration, longing even, and some form of victory...something I can't define. Springsteen deserves a separate post. And yeah, the song's sexy.
3. Bittersweet Symphony - The Verve
Though I should be listening to "The Drugs Don't Work".
4. Rolling in the Deep - Adele
Wow,...this song makes me want to dance. Or throw things around. Strange song to dance to? For me dancing is foot stomping with a bit of head bobbing. So there.
5. As Tears Go By - The Rolling Stones
Simple melody, beautiful string arrangement, just lovely. A ballad that is kind of unexpected by the Stones.
6. Fallen - Sarah McLachlan
You'd be better off not listening to this one. But it reminds you of why you are here in the first place. This song is addictive, and may (or for sure) make you slip. So if you give in, it should be immediately followed by something more upbeat. Like Bruno Mars' Lazy Song for instance. Even if it's not your style.
So now I've to categorize the songs based on: 1. Must listen 2. Songs to avoid 3. To learn. Hmm..
#1 and #3 will take up a good 4 hours of your time everyday. These are the same 4 hours you would be under intense craving for substances. And now that the days are getting shorter, it is crucial to make this a habit before the dead of winter hits you.
I have now started listening to 'epic' songs - long drawn out music that tells a story either through the lyrics or creates one in your head - a kind of sonic image theater. There are also rules on how to listen to concept albums and such. First make a pot of coffee, black. Pour coffee into favorite mug.Turn on the music system or iPod, set to maximum volume. Lie down, wrap yourself in a warm blanket. Play song, slowly sip coffee, close your eyes (now this could cause some spillage now and then if you're a beginner). But close your eyes and soak in the music. This can also be done in the bathtub (without the blanket of course) if you have a bathtub. I don't. Coffee drinking in the bath is possible if you can make yourself a cap-coffee dispenser.
Anyway, In the Court of the Crimson King is an album by the King Crimson that needs to be listened to, in the closed eyes, coffee'ing way. Released sometime in 1969, this album is considered to be one of the best progressive rock albums, mixing jazz and classical elements into the standard rock/blues themes. Don't ask me what the songs are about, I haven't made sense of it yet, and actually don't want to. There are a lot of colors though, yellow jesters, purple piper, gray mornings, black queen, and 'Crimson King' of course... Well-worth your time. And someone who likes this, would obviously like Pink Floyd. And even if Meddle and Ummagumma is not everyone's cup of tea, it still shows a band's willingness to go down (or up) a musical curve. Even if they are experiments in sound with common household objects. After all, it led to The Dark Side of the Moon. So why complain?
Oh and need I say anything about David Bowie? And yes, the Yes. Queen. Guns 'N' Roses.
Another album I've been listening to is Scheherezade and Other Stories. Again progressive rock, 1975, by the band Renaissance (Annie Haslam). You really don't know when one song ends and the next one begins, so there is a bit of confusion regarding the parts. Listen to Trip to the Fair (10.5min), and Ocean Gypsy (also covered by Blackmore's Night).
For lyrical stories about the working class, Springsteen is the man, and his E Street band. His Born to Run album is the best ever in my opinion. Thunder Road, Jungleland just resonate... ok I've been listening to Thunder Road on repeat for the past week (and am right now). The live version with Melissa Etheridge (another great singer) is simply awesome - the harmonies are just perfect, their voices blend so well. Only Springsteen can sing in a higher key to accommodate Etheridge's range and still sound great. I was going to dedicate another post on this song... the lyrics, the music. I still might.
Another album to listen in its entirety is the Beatles Abbey Road - their last album, and the best in terms of structure, with the classic 16 minute Medley - I think there's about 18 measures of guitar solo, the first two bars by McCartney, followed by Harrison, then Lennon, then the sequence repeated twice. Very distinctive styles of playing ending with the memorable line... 'and in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.' This is also the album that Alan Parsons worked on as the sound engineer, before he moved on to Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon and his own work. About DSOM, what's to say that's not been said?
On further thought, this list needs to be further classified into Albums, Singles, Bands and so on, and I still wouldn't be able to compile everything. Gives me reason to keep writing about it as and when I listen to stuff, and oh learn to play some of the favorites on my guitar.
And no Sting, I haven't forgotten you.
So here's the companion list for the long walk on this dust road. These songs make me stop thinking about everything else, and just listen...there's a newness in every listening. It's all about the beat, the melody, the riffs, the voices, emotions, and of course the words... So over to the Recovery List:
1. Bang Bang - Cher
Now this is a kick ass song though most people know the more mellow, yet ethereal cover by Nancy Sinatra used in the Kill Bill soundtrack. Cher gives this song a wildness, a wounded tiger quality.
2. Because the Night - 10,000 Maniacs
I like this version of Springsteen's / Patti Smith's original, Natalie Merchant conveys frustration, longing even, and some form of victory...something I can't define. Springsteen deserves a separate post. And yeah, the song's sexy.
3. Bittersweet Symphony - The Verve
Though I should be listening to "The Drugs Don't Work".
4. Rolling in the Deep - Adele
Wow,...this song makes me want to dance. Or throw things around. Strange song to dance to? For me dancing is foot stomping with a bit of head bobbing. So there.
5. As Tears Go By - The Rolling Stones
Simple melody, beautiful string arrangement, just lovely. A ballad that is kind of unexpected by the Stones.
6. Fallen - Sarah McLachlan
You'd be better off not listening to this one. But it reminds you of why you are here in the first place. This song is addictive, and may (or for sure) make you slip. So if you give in, it should be immediately followed by something more upbeat. Like Bruno Mars' Lazy Song for instance. Even if it's not your style.
So now I've to categorize the songs based on: 1. Must listen 2. Songs to avoid 3. To learn. Hmm..
#1 and #3 will take up a good 4 hours of your time everyday. These are the same 4 hours you would be under intense craving for substances. And now that the days are getting shorter, it is crucial to make this a habit before the dead of winter hits you.
I have now started listening to 'epic' songs - long drawn out music that tells a story either through the lyrics or creates one in your head - a kind of sonic image theater. There are also rules on how to listen to concept albums and such. First make a pot of coffee, black. Pour coffee into favorite mug.Turn on the music system or iPod, set to maximum volume. Lie down, wrap yourself in a warm blanket. Play song, slowly sip coffee, close your eyes (now this could cause some spillage now and then if you're a beginner). But close your eyes and soak in the music. This can also be done in the bathtub (without the blanket of course) if you have a bathtub. I don't. Coffee drinking in the bath is possible if you can make yourself a cap-coffee dispenser.
Anyway, In the Court of the Crimson King is an album by the King Crimson that needs to be listened to, in the closed eyes, coffee'ing way. Released sometime in 1969, this album is considered to be one of the best progressive rock albums, mixing jazz and classical elements into the standard rock/blues themes. Don't ask me what the songs are about, I haven't made sense of it yet, and actually don't want to. There are a lot of colors though, yellow jesters, purple piper, gray mornings, black queen, and 'Crimson King' of course... Well-worth your time. And someone who likes this, would obviously like Pink Floyd. And even if Meddle and Ummagumma is not everyone's cup of tea, it still shows a band's willingness to go down (or up) a musical curve. Even if they are experiments in sound with common household objects. After all, it led to The Dark Side of the Moon. So why complain?
Oh and need I say anything about David Bowie? And yes, the Yes. Queen. Guns 'N' Roses.
Another album I've been listening to is Scheherezade and Other Stories. Again progressive rock, 1975, by the band Renaissance (Annie Haslam). You really don't know when one song ends and the next one begins, so there is a bit of confusion regarding the parts. Listen to Trip to the Fair (10.5min), and Ocean Gypsy (also covered by Blackmore's Night).
For lyrical stories about the working class, Springsteen is the man, and his E Street band. His Born to Run album is the best ever in my opinion. Thunder Road, Jungleland just resonate... ok I've been listening to Thunder Road on repeat for the past week (and am right now). The live version with Melissa Etheridge (another great singer) is simply awesome - the harmonies are just perfect, their voices blend so well. Only Springsteen can sing in a higher key to accommodate Etheridge's range and still sound great. I was going to dedicate another post on this song... the lyrics, the music. I still might.
Another album to listen in its entirety is the Beatles Abbey Road - their last album, and the best in terms of structure, with the classic 16 minute Medley - I think there's about 18 measures of guitar solo, the first two bars by McCartney, followed by Harrison, then Lennon, then the sequence repeated twice. Very distinctive styles of playing ending with the memorable line... 'and in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.' This is also the album that Alan Parsons worked on as the sound engineer, before he moved on to Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon and his own work. About DSOM, what's to say that's not been said?
On further thought, this list needs to be further classified into Albums, Singles, Bands and so on, and I still wouldn't be able to compile everything. Gives me reason to keep writing about it as and when I listen to stuff, and oh learn to play some of the favorites on my guitar.
And no Sting, I haven't forgotten you.
Fighting for sanity
Anybody under the influence knows how difficult it gets to quit something that makes you feel good. But there comes a time when that feeling passes and progresses to something quite sinister. A question that has no right answer is whether Hyde is the true nature of Jekyll or the other way round. Both or neither? Is someone's nature in-built, or carefully cultivated, or something that can be razed to the ground and rebuilt over and over?
Why do people use drugs or alcohol as a litmus test to pass judgement on someone's behavior? Is it fair to use these substances as the casting vote for a character test when it's a fact that they have a detrimental effect on a person?
Guess if you are a kinder, better person when you are high. Though the possibility of that is slim if such a possibility exists at all.
I believe the worst drug there is is alcohol. Because it is legitimate, socially acceptable, and it actually kills brain cells. In addition to ruining relationships. Which leads to further indulgence to forget the complete lack of companionship. It also makes you forget the things you enjoy. Like writing, playing music. The dying of hand eye coordination.
To fight this abuse, you need support. In its absence, you need tremendous control, and hold on to the memory of loss; the loss of friends, money, pleasure in music or sunrises. Your losses are what started all this mess, your losses are why you now want to stop. And you would need a lot of distractions to fill the time, to stop obsessing about not having a drink every minute. The fallout of trying to quit is the clarity of nightmares... which makes it so hard. Especially if the reason for drinking is to have a dreamless sleep (or the feeling of it).
The idea is to take it one hour at a time. For distractions, I now have a new playlist. Songs are analyzed, lyrics are memorized, and practiced.
Once there was a way to get back homeward
Once there was a way to get back home
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby...
Boy, you're gonna carry that weight,
Carry that weight a long time...
Forever, most probably. But it is time to start fighting for things that matter.
Why do people use drugs or alcohol as a litmus test to pass judgement on someone's behavior? Is it fair to use these substances as the casting vote for a character test when it's a fact that they have a detrimental effect on a person?
Guess if you are a kinder, better person when you are high. Though the possibility of that is slim if such a possibility exists at all.
I believe the worst drug there is is alcohol. Because it is legitimate, socially acceptable, and it actually kills brain cells. In addition to ruining relationships. Which leads to further indulgence to forget the complete lack of companionship. It also makes you forget the things you enjoy. Like writing, playing music. The dying of hand eye coordination.
To fight this abuse, you need support. In its absence, you need tremendous control, and hold on to the memory of loss; the loss of friends, money, pleasure in music or sunrises. Your losses are what started all this mess, your losses are why you now want to stop. And you would need a lot of distractions to fill the time, to stop obsessing about not having a drink every minute. The fallout of trying to quit is the clarity of nightmares... which makes it so hard. Especially if the reason for drinking is to have a dreamless sleep (or the feeling of it).
The idea is to take it one hour at a time. For distractions, I now have a new playlist. Songs are analyzed, lyrics are memorized, and practiced.
Once there was a way to get back homeward
Once there was a way to get back home
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby...
Boy, you're gonna carry that weight,
Carry that weight a long time...
Forever, most probably. But it is time to start fighting for things that matter.
Friday, October 07, 2011
mind games
The mind is a funny thing. The more we crave for change, the more our heads resist, resorting to conjuring images and sounds of the past, stuff we want to put behind us. Memories are surprising, it jumps at you when you least expect it. An 'onslaught'. Now that's a word that feels just right. From the Dutch 'aanslag', to slay. Memories do that. They do that. Always violent, even the good ones bring you to tears. Especially the good ones. Deceptive shape-shifters too, they erase, modify parts and bring up a whole new thing you think are yours. They are and aren't all at the same time.
Why do walks down the pier bring to mind bright orange-fire sunsets on the Corniche? I've never seen sunsets like that before or since.
And why do memories of sunsets lead to memories of long drives through the desert to Ruwais or Al Liwa and you wonder if you were seeing things - were those sand dunes or a brown river?
Why does early fall in New York remind you of specific December mornings in Bangalore, sipping a filter coffee under a jacaranda tree?
Why does staring at an aisle full of Pepperidge white, whole wheat, challah breads, and the umpteen other brands and types create a longing for a time when buying bread was simple? All you had to do was tag along with mom as she threw a Modern Bakery's white sandwich bread, and Lupark Danish butter. Not the million varieties of Landolakes - salted, unsalted, sticks, cubes, quarts, spreadable (spreadable?? sounds like a STD) etc..And what's with that american indian mascot on the package? (I first thought it was a picture of Nataraj. Now I remember to wear my glasses when I go shopping).
See what violence memories induced by grocery shopping cause to the gut?
Anyway, tonight seems to be the night for memories, memories that a few glasses of whiskey awakens, and a bottle of vodka hopes to put to rest. But don't discount the music. Just compound the memories as the night grows older.
Brain Damage, Coming Back To Life, Fallen, Ordinary World, No More I Love Yous, Nothin' Else Matters, the list seems endless, and the images... i should stop. dammit I still have demons in my room at night... and they're feeding on my resistance.
It's going to be a really long night.
Why do walks down the pier bring to mind bright orange-fire sunsets on the Corniche? I've never seen sunsets like that before or since.
And why do memories of sunsets lead to memories of long drives through the desert to Ruwais or Al Liwa and you wonder if you were seeing things - were those sand dunes or a brown river?
Why does early fall in New York remind you of specific December mornings in Bangalore, sipping a filter coffee under a jacaranda tree?
Why does staring at an aisle full of Pepperidge white, whole wheat, challah breads, and the umpteen other brands and types create a longing for a time when buying bread was simple? All you had to do was tag along with mom as she threw a Modern Bakery's white sandwich bread, and Lupark Danish butter. Not the million varieties of Landolakes - salted, unsalted, sticks, cubes, quarts, spreadable (spreadable?? sounds like a STD) etc..And what's with that american indian mascot on the package? (I first thought it was a picture of Nataraj. Now I remember to wear my glasses when I go shopping).
See what violence memories induced by grocery shopping cause to the gut?
Anyway, tonight seems to be the night for memories, memories that a few glasses of whiskey awakens, and a bottle of vodka hopes to put to rest. But don't discount the music. Just compound the memories as the night grows older.
Brain Damage, Coming Back To Life, Fallen, Ordinary World, No More I Love Yous, Nothin' Else Matters, the list seems endless, and the images... i should stop. dammit I still have demons in my room at night... and they're feeding on my resistance.
It's going to be a really long night.
Sunday, October 02, 2011
What happened last night
Funny how we choose to ignore what happens right in front of us. Like at 4am, all the cops came in and paramedics, whole lotta people screaming outside my door, and I was like 'aah it's saturday night again...' and just peeked outside (stubbed my nose and toes cuz the medics are big guys and the hallway is narrow).
Anyway, this chick (the ex gov's stepdaughter) - smashed a bottle on her guy's head. Man, blood on the floor, etc etc, and a couple of reporters, cops, the works. Apparently they had a major row, and he tried to strangle her, so she hit him with the bottle. Good.
Since I'm so short on my entertainment budget, I'd take anything right now. See here for what that news guy (nice friendly Canadian - is that redundant?) reported about it:
http://www.nydailynews.com/ny_local/2011/10/02/2011-10-02_daves_stepkid_in_bloody_battle.html
Times like this, I don't want to leave MacDougal St. Hey 'Marie C.", you got a mention :-)
Anyway, this chick (the ex gov's stepdaughter) - smashed a bottle on her guy's head. Man, blood on the floor, etc etc, and a couple of reporters, cops, the works. Apparently they had a major row, and he tried to strangle her, so she hit him with the bottle. Good.
Since I'm so short on my entertainment budget, I'd take anything right now. See here for what that news guy (nice friendly Canadian - is that redundant?) reported about it:
http://www.nydailynews.com/ny_local/2011/10/02/2011-10-02_daves_stepkid_in_bloody_battle.html
Times like this, I don't want to leave MacDougal St. Hey 'Marie C.", you got a mention :-)
On music making, song writing delusions
Anybody can play the guitar. On second thoughts, maybe not. If I were to apply that optimism to everything, then I'd have to believe that my old man can sing not just in B flat. (Maybe he'd do better at rap...). Or an eagle would have to consider the possibility that a sparrow could fly at ten thousand feet. Whatever. Not interested in discussing the infinite wonders of the human mind and what that means to the species in general.
So, starting over, not everyone can play the guitar, or whatever instrument of choice. But over time, anyone who does, can get better at it. Or worse. Like anything else, practice makes perfect. Point is, this 'perfection' is subjective. There is the question of style and sound. And the fact that no two guitars are the same in tone and depth even if they both belong to the same series of Martins or Taylors or the same tree.
At the same time, you can't blame a passable guitar for bad musicianship. But a good guitar can make you sound a smidgen better. Ramble ramble ramble.
There is one song that any aspiring guitarist worth his salt should know how to play. That is Stairway to Heaven. Now I know that is cliche, it is a song most of us learn in our teens to get into someone's pants. Or to show off at Guitar Center. But ever heard anyone play the entire song start to finish in any case? (Apart from the pros). Seriously, it is one cracking tune. And bloody hard to get right. And once you're past the doing things to get done stage, (note, I didn't include getting over the peacock stage - a slight narcissism and exhibitionism is a prerequisite to playing any instrument, it is why people play); it's time to really learn the song. Quite a lot of tricks in that tune, and a couple of basics of grunge rock. The chord progression is the standard that's in 90% of rock songs (Am - G- F), played different ways - you use the bar chords as well as the regular; you learn finger-picking (that arpeggiated intro), strumming, double-timing, how to slide and bend (the strings the strings) and a lot more... what an awesome solo too. Quite the workout for your fingers, hands, and feet. Quite technical. Quite emotional when you get it right...sniff..pass me the plectrum.
In the great Page's words on playing the ultimate rock anthem: "... the one thing you didn't do was speed up, because if you sped up you wouldn't be seen again. Everything had to be right on the meter all the way through. And I really wanted to write something which did speed up, and took the emotion and the adrenaline with it, and would reach a sort of crescendo. And that was the idea of it. That's why it was a bit tricky to get together in stages."
It is all about timing. Always was and always will be. And you have to keep at it no matter how long it takes to master all of it. If at all.
Still keeping at it. 1 year, 2months and counting.
Note: Two songs should never be played outside on your stoop. This is one. American Pie is the other.
So, starting over, not everyone can play the guitar, or whatever instrument of choice. But over time, anyone who does, can get better at it. Or worse. Like anything else, practice makes perfect. Point is, this 'perfection' is subjective. There is the question of style and sound. And the fact that no two guitars are the same in tone and depth even if they both belong to the same series of Martins or Taylors or the same tree.
At the same time, you can't blame a passable guitar for bad musicianship. But a good guitar can make you sound a smidgen better. Ramble ramble ramble.
There is one song that any aspiring guitarist worth his salt should know how to play. That is Stairway to Heaven. Now I know that is cliche, it is a song most of us learn in our teens to get into someone's pants. Or to show off at Guitar Center. But ever heard anyone play the entire song start to finish in any case? (Apart from the pros). Seriously, it is one cracking tune. And bloody hard to get right. And once you're past the doing things to get done stage, (note, I didn't include getting over the peacock stage - a slight narcissism and exhibitionism is a prerequisite to playing any instrument, it is why people play); it's time to really learn the song. Quite a lot of tricks in that tune, and a couple of basics of grunge rock. The chord progression is the standard that's in 90% of rock songs (Am - G- F), played different ways - you use the bar chords as well as the regular; you learn finger-picking (that arpeggiated intro), strumming, double-timing, how to slide and bend (the strings the strings) and a lot more... what an awesome solo too. Quite the workout for your fingers, hands, and feet. Quite technical. Quite emotional when you get it right...sniff..pass me the plectrum.
In the great Page's words on playing the ultimate rock anthem: "... the one thing you didn't do was speed up, because if you sped up you wouldn't be seen again. Everything had to be right on the meter all the way through. And I really wanted to write something which did speed up, and took the emotion and the adrenaline with it, and would reach a sort of crescendo. And that was the idea of it. That's why it was a bit tricky to get together in stages."
It is all about timing. Always was and always will be. And you have to keep at it no matter how long it takes to master all of it. If at all.
Still keeping at it. 1 year, 2months and counting.
Note: Two songs should never be played outside on your stoop. This is one. American Pie is the other.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Chasing Lights
There is no right way to deal with darkness, except to look for a sliver of light that escapes through the cracks. But sometimes there is none. In times like these, a short circuit happens, neurons misfire, airways get obstructed, and destruction ensues. Injuries are inflicted, towards the self and outside, and memories get erased, though all the wrong ones.
Things that worked earlier have no effect. The night light gives way to regular ones, the walks become longer, lying down to rest just hides the inability to get up. And just when you think it couldn't get worse, the gloom deepens. Because the part of the brain that thinks too much just informed you there is no reason for it, and the same part can't remember the last time you really laughed.
Not being able to recall moments of joy, or be happy for things accomplished becomes a problem. Doubting that you've ever achieved anything, or believing the pointlessness of it all is a problem. Sleep is dangerous in these times. It's worse than the memory erasure, cuz all that space gets replaced with high def images, and those stay. But it is still worth a try to change these or fill the emptiness with arcane facts, useless bits of data, like it takes 47 minutes at 6 miles an hour to walk twice across Christopher St Pier up to Horatio St, and take a circuitous route to Carmine St. As if that really matters. Because all that resounds for those 47 minutes is You lock the door/ And throw away the key/ There's someone in my head but it's not me. Not Hit Me Baby One More Time. Thank you old man in the sky. Sorry Brit. (Though I imagine it would help from oding on self-pity).
So now it's back to 'Let's waste time/ chasing cars/ around our head'. Talk about this little light of mine hiding inside shadows.
Things that worked earlier have no effect. The night light gives way to regular ones, the walks become longer, lying down to rest just hides the inability to get up. And just when you think it couldn't get worse, the gloom deepens. Because the part of the brain that thinks too much just informed you there is no reason for it, and the same part can't remember the last time you really laughed.
Not being able to recall moments of joy, or be happy for things accomplished becomes a problem. Doubting that you've ever achieved anything, or believing the pointlessness of it all is a problem. Sleep is dangerous in these times. It's worse than the memory erasure, cuz all that space gets replaced with high def images, and those stay. But it is still worth a try to change these or fill the emptiness with arcane facts, useless bits of data, like it takes 47 minutes at 6 miles an hour to walk twice across Christopher St Pier up to Horatio St, and take a circuitous route to Carmine St. As if that really matters. Because all that resounds for those 47 minutes is You lock the door/ And throw away the key/ There's someone in my head but it's not me. Not Hit Me Baby One More Time. Thank you old man in the sky. Sorry Brit. (Though I imagine it would help from oding on self-pity).
So now it's back to 'Let's waste time/ chasing cars/ around our head'. Talk about this little light of mine hiding inside shadows.
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