Hey gang, here's something that, in my humble opinion, is well worth the price of admission:
After chatting for ages about all things musical, my dear friend, Shadowmusic, recently invited me to join him in his quest to create a spot on the web where people could download free and legal mp3's. It's an idea that I thought was fantastic from the onset, but now *I* get to be a part of collecting some great *ahem* [i]music for the masses.[/i] (That's right... I've got the keys to the car and I'm not afraid to use 'em).
Check out my first contribution [url=http://shadowmusic.tblog.com]here[/url] . So far... we have about twenty free links, but if I know Shadowmusic, this is only the beginning.
Ok. What are you still doing here? [url=http://shadowmusic.tblog.com/...]Click![/url] And be sure to let us know what you think. : )
I love to travel. I love packing my little suitcase full of all the necessities for the road. I love making special music mixes that seem appropriate for specific trips. I like pulling out the map and planning my route, but in the end, I love looking out into the openness of it all and letting the road pull me where it will.
As some of you know, I recently returned from a weeklong trek across America’s mid-Atlantic region. This is an annual excursion for me, but I saw some truly wondrous things this go around: I spent long moments staring at the black and white stills of Andre Kertesz at The National Gallery in Washington DC. I wandered through the winding paths lined with cherry blossoms at Arlington National Cemetery, I sent and received text messages from across the ocean while standing beside JFK’s grave, (yes, I know… hell awaits me). I bought a Ganesh finger puppet -pictured - (Note: originally, I thought it was Vishnu, apparently I don’t know my Hindu gods as well as I thought) at the Philadelphia Museum of Art and I saw the world’s largest colon at the famous Mutter Museum (also in Philadelphia).
But I think the highlight of my trip this time around might have been my time spent on the big-carpeted bus that carried me from spot to spot. When you take a lengthy trip by road, such as this, the bus becomes your home. Even more so than the various hotels, which become little more than places to sleep, shower and make mid-breakfast phone calls, the bus becomes the safe spot where you can immerse yourself, ever so briefly, in your own stuff while the world goes by at a relatively safe distance. This year, I found myself loving the lengthy bus rides where I could press my ear up close to the phone and attempt to retell stories from the road amidst the din the engine and the sound of foreign horns beeping in the background or, more frequently, simply put on my headphones and lose myself in the task of writing note after note, in horrific (“bus-ruined”) penmanship, to those who I wished were occupying the seat next to me. It seems strange when I consider that the things I will remember most from this trip aren’t the actual destinations themselves, (although the giant colon was really quite something) but rather the time spent sharing those places with far away people who seem to appreciate the way I see the world.
I once read a story about a group of friends who planned a summer trek across America in a compact car with no air conditioning and a stereo whose radio did not work properly but whose cassette player functioned fine. However, between them, the clan only had one cassette single: "Roam" by The B-52's. The story went on to talk about how they listened to that song for the duration of their trip… at first thinking that they would soon make a stop to buy more music, but then coming to think of it as the soundtrack to their journey – at moments continuing to listen to it if for no other reason than to prove that they could endure it. I think of this story every time I prepare for a journey of my own and find myself thankful that while I often find myself lost in the company of a single song for days at a time, that it's never been that particular song. This year, as always, music played an important role in my trip. And this year, as always, I packed my little CD case full of the music I thought I would want to listen to: Nick Drake, Beck, Rufus Wainwright, Trespassers William, The Innocence Mission, Depeche Mode, The Von Trapps and even a Barenaked Ladies compilation that I made many moons ago. Instead, however, I found myself listening entirely to The Crash Test Dummies and The Beloved. (I was amused to find that CTD had made the “one hit wonder” list that was created in my absence). I always find it fascinating to consider the music that I choose when on any sort of journey. Sometimes, I know it’s just a matter of my mood or the season dictating the music that accompanies me along the way. Other times, I pick the songs that help me fill a void left by the people and things that I cannot pack neatly alongside the necessities of the journey ~ the people and things whose mere presence make any place, (even the tight confines of a single seat on a brightly carpeted motor coach) feel a little more like home.
Anyway, thanks to the people (ok, person) who filled in for me during my absence. Please, feel free to wash the last remaining remnants of me from your fingertips.
This may be my last post as Juniperflux. Hijacking is fun. Well, with permission anyway.
Any clues, anyone?
The last two posts really got me thinking about the music scene. It is so evident that I have slid out of the hot seat in the last few years. I am still open to new music, probably more so then most of my peers, but one thing has become obvious... somewhere along the way... I stepped away from the music scene and stayed put in the collection I already have.
I remember six or seven years ago vowing to never allow that to happen to me. I saw so many people begin to get stuck in their generation and I couldn't understand why. Well, I [i]could[/i] understand why, but was bound and determined to outrun it.
Now I look around and am making my peace with no longer being on the cutting edge. Without a driving passion to stay engaged, without a job that keeps you immersed in it... life brings you to different cross roads and the choices sometimes cause the course to veer off a little. I was a DJ at my last job... an event DJ for about six years. I was able to stay up on the [i]popular[/i] new music, but no longer with the scene I grew up with... all things alternative and obscure. My 'cutting edge' was more like 'pleasingly well-rounded.'
Today, I know little about new music. I rely on Juniperflux and Cmaze to keep me informed. I now hang out on my living room floor, happily leafing through my vinyl records, pulling out associations that fill me with joy, sorrow, longing and memories long past....
I find myself flipping back and forth between radio stations almost as a dare to see what I can find in this day and age of 'questionable' music... I flip between as many as 24 stations in a 30 second period. My mood chooses the theme of the songs I settle on, which becomes known to me when I land on a song...
I didn’t think it was possible to be in an erotic mood (driving home from work), but… there you go. Apparently, last night, I was. I stopped on the most obvious tune, ‘Erotica’ by Madonna. I like some of what Madonna does, and some I don’t. When this song first came out, I remember thinking, ‘Oh my, she has really gone over the top…’ and then I found myself thinking of a scenario where this song would fit in nicely... :o
My first encounter with the lovely Juniperflux was, funny enough, here in her blog over a post devoted to great make-out songs. Well, to her future chagrin, I have decided to take it a step further… I’m putting the ‘open’ into ‘Open Mic Wednesday’…. :twisted:
This list is entirely too short... Cherish & nbsp; &n bsp; Sade Uh ah ; & nbsp; Boys II Men Erotica & nbsp; &n bsp; Madonna Closer & nbsp; &n bsp; &nb sp; Nine Inch Nails
Surely there are more then four! Help! What songs have found you thinking less then pristine thoughts? Don't be shy... fess up...
*disclaimer: all music displayed throughout the course of the week of April 18th - 24th does not reflect the taste of the true owner of this blog and said owner is not to be held accountable for the bad taste and obvious lack of propriety shown by this particular ghost writer. ;)
I was in a store last night, wandering through DVDs and my eyes rested upon [url=http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0...]Flashdance[/url]… yes, [url=http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0...]Flashdance[/url] (I realize I am dating myself) and I began to hum the theme song, ‘What a feeling’… a one hit wonder, one of many from a mostly forgotten block buster soundtrack. I thought of all the one hit wonders I’d heard in my life and was astonished at the number of songs that came immediately back to the forefront. I imagine it is debatable as to whether these artists are true one-hit wonders as some of them have gone on to do other things in the music industry, such as hits in countries outside the US, duets that became hits, penning hits other artists sing, etc. But I measure a one-hit wonder in simple terms… name another tune the artist sang… one that everybody else knows too (Hits from the UK don’t count!). Here are the ones I remember off the top of my head…
What a feeling – Irene Cara Bette Davis eyes – Kim Carnes 99 red balloons - Nena Heart and Soul – T’Pau Black Velvet – Alannah Myles I’m too sexy – Right Said Fred Cars – Gary Numan My Sharona – The Knack Play that funky music – Black Cherry Obsession – Animotion Knock on wood – Amii Stewart In a big country – Big Country Take on me – Aha Hot hot hot – Buster Poindexter Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm – Crash Test Dummies Breakfast at Tiffany’s – Deep Blue Something I want candy – Bow wow wow Brandy (you’re a fine girl) – Looking Glass Funky town – Psuedo Echo Rock n Roll pt. 2 – Gary Glitter Ring my bell – Anita Ward Turn the beat around – Vickie Sue Robinson (had to look her up) I love the night life - Alicia Bridges More more more – Andrea True I know what boys like – The Waitresses Electric slide Macarena
I know I am missing many. Can you think of some I didn’t? And bonus points to the person ([url=http://shadowmusic.tblog.com]Shadowmusic[/url]) who can come up with how Kim Carnes and Irene Cara are connected with their one-hit wonders…
(though I am now realizing a very obvious hit by Irene Cara that might eliminate her from this prestigeous list after all...hmmmm)
In what has become an anual tradition, tomorrow I depart for a week long trek across the mid-atlantic. There are parts of this trip that I always really enjoy: long hours on the bus lost in music and the fine art of writing post-cards, (that's 107 to be exact), afternoons in the [url=http://seewashingtondc.net/na...]National Gallery[/url] and the [url=http://www.utexas.edu/courses...]Philadelphia Museum of Art[/url] explaining cubism to budding artists and marveling at the power of [url=http://www.utexas.edu/courses...]Prometheus Bound[/url] and, of course, the cherry blossoms.
This year, though, I've decided to do things a little differently. Instead of just taking the week off, I've opted to offer the reigns of this, my own tiny corner of the web, to several stealthy bloggers in the hopes that they'll take care of things while I'm gone. As I told one of them, this is bound to be either great fun or a miserable failure. I suppose there's only one way to find out.
Hopefully half the fun will be figuring out who my ghost writers are. I expect they'll be calling me with daily updates. That said, you kids play nice....
A few years ago, (dare I say it?? 5+ years ago???) I found myself heavily embroiled in a battle of epic proportions. You see... I had just discovered eBay and to someone like me, (who finds such great joy in the relatively unknown and obscure), eBay was like a gift from heaven. There I could find other people who, at the very mininum, hated -- but owned -- some of the music l loved and who -- more importantly -- would be willing to sell it to me at a greatly reduced price. I was like a kid in a candy store, bidding on and buying all sorts of music that would have previously been unavailable to me or at least been very difficult for me to find.
But then... something horrifying happened.
I began to find myself being outbid on several items that were of great importance to me. It happened once. Ok. I was disappointed... but I moved on. Twice: I began to grow irritated. Thrice: This was war! Then I discovered, much to my dismay, that I was being outbid by the SAME person. This was particularly distressing because I had always considered myself to be something of a stealthy eBayer. Never one to inflate the cost by bidding early, I always waited until the final seconds to swoop in for the kill. But now it seemed as though someone else was out swooping me! How could this be??
Clearly, this would not do.
Being the truly stellar military strategist that I am, I did a little checking on my new found enemy. And was told by another self-described music geek, who did a bit of buying and selling and lurking within the halls of eBay, that I should be very wary of my new rival because he was "very dangerous." Naturally, after such a warning I found myself a bit distressed, but I refused to give up. And so... after a few more bitter bidding battles, (most of which I lost), I decided that the only thing to do was to contact my nemesis and at the very least, try to to woo him to my side by batting my virtual eyelashes (which I have since learned doesn't -- thankfully -- work very well). And so... in a moment of freakish bravery I sent him a note basically stating that I didn't know whether or not to congratulate him on having such fine taste in music or to hire someone to kill him.
Luckily, he saw this as something of a compliment (and either forgave or didn't notice the whole eyelash bit)... and thus began my long standing friendship with [url=http://shadowmusic.tblog.com/...]shadowmusic[/url] -- who many of you know through the smattering of insightful comments that he leaves here with me from time to time.
I bring all of this up because it would appear that recently my [url=http://shadowmusic.tblog.com/...]good friend [/url] has turned his attentions from crushing the hopes of inexperienced eBayers to a greater and, I think, far more enjoyable purpose: [url=http://shadowmusic.tblog.com/...]His blog.[/url] To be fair, shadowmusic has been at tblog for nearly as long as I have, but recently his blog has taken something of a turn and is slowly morphing into something that I think is absolutely fantastic!
A quick glance reveals that [url=http://shadowmusic.tblog.com/...]shadowmusic [/url] is now using his blog and musical prowess to showcase the bevy of free and legal downloads available on the internet ~ with each post offering a new link to a new song that you can download and love for absolutely free and without the fear of the RIAA knocking on your door with a dead horse's head in one hand and a baseball bat aimed at your kneecaps in the other. I ask you: could anything be better? Apparently, yes. Additionally, my very dangerous friend has also opened up the floor for you to comment on each track, asking that you suggest other songs that you think might be similar.
It's all great fun, and I strongly suggest that you check him out. [url=http://shadowmusic.tblog.com/...]Now.[/url] Tell him I sent you... and maybe, every once in awhile, he'll let me win an auction or two. *wink*
~~~~~~~~
You know, I've always found music to be something of a binding agent. Like any other glue, it draws me to a person and holds them to me forever, no matter what paths our lives take down the road. As silly as it may seem, for me, music can be one of the most deeply personal things that I give to another person. Despite the overtly public stance I take on the subject here, I still consider the sharing of music to be one of the best ways for me to reveal some of the many foibles with which I am, (as someone recently told me), laden and -- in so many instances -- it's also the best way for me to get to know another person and the many nuances that make up who they are. To that end, these days, I've found myself quietly listening a plethora of troubled and powerful voices play in the background: Nick Drake, Beck, Damien Rice, Brad Roberts. And even though I've known these voices for a long, long time, suddenly they make such perfect sense.
Thursdays are quite possibly my favorite day of the week.
On Thursdays, I volunteer for an organization that provides food to people in my community who are living with both poverty and HIV/AIDS. On Thursdays, I load my car up with food and make deliveries.
On Monday, as my week begins to roll out and I am faced with the realities of all that I have to do, I dread Thursday and often find myself trying to think of ways to skirt my responsibility. I remind myself that “I do my fair share” and that "it’s no crime to prioritize." Luckily, I don’t make my deliveries alone. Rather, I take along a former student, who has been making these deliveries on Thursday with me for several years now, and he never cancels. Furthermore, he is much cooler and more popular than I am, so if he can budget time for it… certainly, I can too.
And then Thursday arrives. And come all kinds of weather we pack our bags and boxes based on the dietary needs of the people we will be visiting and load them in the car… often with little room left for us. Over the years, we’ve come to know the people we deliver to quite well. They call us by our first names and hug and kiss us when we arrive. Many times, they want us to sit and talk, offering what little they have to us in exchange for some company and kindness. We protest (weakly) but always end up staying, despite the lengthening shadows in the sky and the number of deliveries still left to make, because for so many, we are the only people they will talk to that day or even that week.
Moreover, eventually, a Thursday will come when one name is no longer on our list.
Those are the days that are the most difficult. They are also the ones that make me promise myself that I will never miss another Thursday again.
But...
This post isn't really about me. However, since I'm not one for preaching… I’ll make this brief:
We all could do more.
If you’d like to, here are some good places to start:
[url=http://www.idealist.org/]TheIdealist.org[/url] - matches you with a volunteer opportunity in your area. [url=http://www.makepovertyhistory...]MakePovertyHistory.Org [/url] - Change the world AND get a banner for your site. (Thank you, [url=http://filbert.tblog.com]Filbert[/url] ) [url=]WorldVision.org[/url] - Sponsor a child with HIV.
Also, if you'd like to add your charity to the list, please let me know.
~~~~~~~~~
[i]PS: I know, I know... it's not Wednesday and this is not music, and if you've come here in search of music, I apologize. Tonight, however, I feel like breaking some of the rules I've set up for myself. The truth is, I've been going out on a lot of limbs lately, and while many of my self-proclaimed acts of bravery would probably seem silly and small to most people, the personal risks have been great. Luckily, the rewards have been much greater. (Say around 59kb?) [/i]
There is a scene in John Steinbeck's [u]The Grapes of Wrath[/u] that breaks my heart. In it, the migrant workers, (who have been forced off their land at the hand of the great drought they cannot combat, the failure of a stock market they do not understand and a system of corporate ownership that values profits over humanity), must make choices about what things they will carry with them on their journey to a new life many thousands of miles away. Their plight is made even more desperate by the fact that the space to carry belongings on the journey is very limited, so often only the bare necessities can be gathered up... the rest are burned in a primitive ceremony that allows the simple people to pretend that they have control over at least one aspect of their fate.
The most chilling part of the scene for me is when the children are told they must choose two things to take with them.... and the rest will burn. Two things.
As the farmers gather around the fire they ask themselves "How can we live without our lives? How will we know it's us without our past?" As beautiful as Steinbeck's novel is, these questions are never really answered.
Reading over this scene, I cannot help but ask myself, what two things would I take? How would I draw the line between what is important and what is essential? I don't consider myself a very materialistic person, and yet these are the kinds of choices that people write novels, and dare I say poetry, about.
What would I take? What would you?
In truth, the answer to this question changes frequently. Sometimes, the practical me steps forward and my list includes things like my mother's bible complete with an entire family lineage and an envelope with documents that in a situation defined by a lack of control, suddenly seem very rigid and steadfast. But it's only a few moments later that I find my thoughts wandering to the stuffed lamb that my father bought the day I was born... or the black and white photo of my mother playing guitar with Paul Stoogey when she was only 17... or even the extaordinarily large black cowboy hat stolen from a biology lab during a fit of madness that now sits atop my computer monitor... and I know I'd never be able to part with any of them.
Tonight, however, the items in my satchel, should I ever be faced with such a choice, seem less important than the destination itself. Deep down I know it's not the *things* that are important to me, but the meaning that swirls around them and the things they represent. And when I really think about it, it's the people that I love who define the magic that sparkles around those items... it's the smiles that flash across their faces, the big round tears that leak through their fingers or the quiet laugh that lingers long after the phone has been hung up that really makes up the fabric of who I am... not the items I've collected over the course of my relatively small life.
That said... just in case, I think I'll take that tattered white lamb and black and white photo, along with a couple of other key items, and hide them in the bowl of that extra large hat, should I ever find that I need them in a hurry. And when I show up on your porch (in the pouring rain and prepared to stay forever), with my loot, we can blame it on Steinbeck.
In the meantime, (even though it's technically no longer Wednesday), perhaps it's not too late to draw your own line in the sand between what only seems important and what is truly essential.
In what seems like an obvious transition from yesterday's (re)post, this morning I find myself thinking about how easily I can find myself completely consumed by certain songs. Despite [url=http://lindy.tblog.com]certain people's[/url] attempts to plant absolutely [url=http://www.musicmatic.de/M/Mi...]horrifying tunes in [/url]my head, for the last twenty-four hours or so, I have to confess that I have been completely obsessed by a [url=http://www.seeklyrics.com/lyr...]certain song[/url] by The Cure. It's old and dated, perhaps, and for the young ones out there, I'm sure it makes me look even more elderly than I already am, (is that even possible?) but today it's perfect and I plan to swim it until I emerge drenched and with pruny fingers.
I absolutely despise blog posts in which people post [url=http://www.seeklyrics.com/lyr...]song lyrics[/url], so I won't burden you with that, but please feel free to share the music in which you are currently swimming.
Oddly enough, in the last few hours I've had occasion to discuss with two different people my tendency to focus on the minutia of things rather than on the big picture. While this is certainly true of music, it's not limited to that topic by any stretch of the imagination. I get lost entirely in brief snippets of conversation or find myself swimming in the sound of a single word. Some people find this greatly annoying. Others tolerate it gently... and to them I am grateful.
To that end, my good friend [url=http://lindy.tblog.com]Lindy[/url] reminded me of a post from *almost* a year ago when I found myself intensley focused on such minutia. We had a good time laughing about it and making fun of my eccentricity (note: not the same as wacky/wacko) and she suggested I post it again.
So... here goes nothing.
Originally titled:
A True Story [i]The following is the transcript of a conversation about music that I witnessed earlier this afternoon.
----------
When I walked into the student lounge she was the only one there. It was impossible not to notice her; she was sitting at a table in the middle of the room, writing in a spiral notebook and singing. Not singing in the way that one normally does in a public place ~ barely discernable and so far under the breath that it sounds almost like praying. No. this was singing in the way that one does when they forget that they are not alone: not quite loud enough to be an obvious performance, but sufficiently loud to indicate that she was completely unaware that anyone could hear her.
As I took a seat a few tables away, and set my lunch down in front of me, I expected her to look up in embarrassment, silenced by the appearance of another person. But she didn’t. In fact, she didn’t look up at all. Rather, she continued to write, and more notably, to sing. Her head down, she seemed equally intent on the words flowing from the ends of her fingers as she did on those leaving her lips. I scanned for headphones, but found none. Cleared my throat. No reaction. Hmmm… I thought, and mentally shrugged as I opened a book and began to eat before ‘clocking in’ for work.
A few moments later a young blonde girl walked in, scanned the vending machine and said “doesn’t that honey bun look delicious?” Her question didn’t seem aimed at anyone in particular, but the singer looked up, silenced herself and tugged awkwardly at her pink t-shirt which read in bold black letters: [i][b]ASPEN. [/b][/i] And then just below it: [i][b]Better In Powder.[/b][/i]
Then she turned to the blonde and said: “Have you noticed how everything is emo this year? I mean, I’ve been emo since I was fucking 12 years old. Seriously, I was fucking hardcore.”
The blonde looked intimidated, shifting on her feet. She said, “I know. It’s lame.”
“No, I’m serious” the singer shot back. By this time, she was on the edge of her seat. “First it was metal heads. Then it was goth.”
“And now it’s emo” said the blonde with kind of pride that comes from having guessed the punchline to a joke moments before its delivery.
[i]“No…” [/i]the singer said seriously, “[i]then[/i] it was punk. Now it’s emo.”
All the blonde could do was giggle.
“It’s so gay,” the singer went on, closing her notebook with a long sigh, deep with resentment. “They’re all just preps in other clothes.”
Silence.
“And you know what it’s going to be next year?” she asked.
“No” the blonde replied sincerely, as though her answer really mattered.
“It’s going to be fucking hardcore,” she said shaking her head. “It’s going to be fucking hardcore. And then… then I’m going to slit my fucking wrists.”
And with that, she gathered her pen and her notebook and walked out of the room with the blonde tagging along behind. And I was left there, in silence, without so much as the honey bun for consolation.[/i]
To be honest, one of the best parts of this post had to be some of the comments I received in response. They were classic. You can check some of them out [url=http://www.tblog.com/template...]here[/url] .
Thanks again [url=http://lindy.tblog.com]Lindy[/url] for suggesting it. This is quite possibly the ultimate indulgence.
Each year around this time, I go into mourning. As someone who spends as few hours of the day as possible sleeping, I tend to have issues with Daylight Savings Time. In addition to simply feeling ripped off by the fact that, suddenly, I now have one less hour in what already feel like exceptionally short days, I also just don't much like the idea of forces beyond my control conspiring to rip things away from me.
This year, my malaise was confounded by the realization that the US does not, (for reasons I do not want nor pretend to understand), change time at the same point as other parts of the world. For example, apparently, folks in Great Britain jumped yet [i]another[/i] hour ahead of their yank counterparts over a week ago.
Clearly, this simply will not do.
And so this morning, when the clocks jumped ahead and another hour was lost to me forever, (or at least until next fall), in a move that flies against everything in my nature, I found myself gladly giving it up. It feels nice to be back in sync with the rest of the universe, not to mention one hour closer to my favorite non-Liverpudlian.
That said, in honor of [b]daylight savings time[/b], I thought we'd play another little game of Name That Tune. This time around, all the songs have two things in common.
a.) The word 'time' is either in the title of the song or the lyrics pertain to that theme. b.) All the artists are British.
I love to travel. I love packing my little suitcase full of all the necessities for the road. I love making special music mixes that seem appropriate for specific trips. I like pulling out the map and planning my route, but in the end, I love looking out into the openness of it all and letting the road pull me where it will. 
There is a scene in John Steinbeck's [u]The Grapes of Wrath[/u] that breaks my heart. In it, the migrant workers, (who have been forced off their land at the hand of the great drought they cannot combat, the failure of a stock market they do not understand and a system of corporate ownership that values profits over humanity), must make choices about what things they will carry with them on their journey to a new life many thousands of miles away. Their plight is made even more desperate by the fact that the space to carry belongings on the journey is very limited, so often only the bare necessities can be gathered up... the rest are burned in a primitive ceremony that allows the simple people to pretend that they have control over at least one aspect of their fate.