Throwback Thursday: Do You Want to Build a Snowman?

We'll be back with the top 3 albums of 2015 next week. I have to figure out the order and it's not easy at this point. Good stuff. For now, this was originally posted on my Tumblr on December 2, 2013.

Shayera and Zoey read my blog and judge me.

Do You Want to Build a Snowman?

As much as I love music, I normally hate musicals, except for Disney animated musicals. Beauty and The Beast might be my favorite one, and I have no problem saying that. Recently, I think the music from Tangled really captured the old Disney magic. I’ve Got a Dream fits right in with any of the classics, as far as I’m concerned. This weekend we took our oldest daughter to see Frozen and while all the music wasn’t as strong as Tangled’s, there was one song that I can’t get out of my head because it connected on a level that I don’t remember any other song from any Disney musical ever doing with me. It’s definitely a case of right timing, but still.

The whole movie can really be seen as metaphor for siblings dealing with the older one’s growing into puberty and the distance that results from that ordeal. But I won’t dissect the movie on those terms. I’m really more interested in talking about this one song.

As an only child, I’ve never really understood what a sibling relationship can be like. I say “can be” not “is” because I know full well it’s not always ideal. Nothing is. None the less, people would always point out that I didn’t know and while some would say I was lucky not to, I always felt I was missing something. Very quickly, over the past 10 months of my second daughter being with us, I have seen a bond form almost instantly, that seems like magic between my girls. Just last night, the 4 year old was crying in one room because she was tired and didn’t want us to change her wet bed sheets (she’s working on it) and the 10 month old woke up crying as well and looking for her sister. She didn’t calm down until she saw her and was sure she was ok. Meanwhile, this 40 year old father was getting choked up watching this unfold. Similar scenes have played out at our house recently.

So watching that scene in the movie and then listening to it constantly at the 4 year old’s demand, I imagine my little Zoey, in several years, at her big sister, Shayera’s door, wanting to build a snowman while Shayera is inside the room, inside herself. And I get it. Hopefully, knowing this, having this new tool, we can manage that time when it comes. In the meantime, I’m just overwhelmed by their bond to the point that it chokes me up at times to see it or just think about it. Yet another lesson that my kids teach me. 

Throwback Thursday - Two of Us

This was originally posted exactly 3 years ago on my Tumbr on July 30th, 2012. It's now been 15 years and it's now Four of Us, but the journey continues. 

The Fab Four

Two Of Us - The Journey

Is there anything The Beatles can’t teach us? I could literally pick any random song of theirs and write a post on it that would be long and meaningful, both musically and emotionally. But when I first started the music blog, over a year ago, I knew I’d be writing this post. I was just waiting for the right time and, honestly, the courage to let my guard down enough to write it and put it out there.

I’m currently sitting in a hospital with my mom. I won’t get into details, she’s doing much better. I mention this for context only, because around 10 pm last night, while I was sitting here with my mom, alone, hating being an only child, my wife texted me “oh shit, Happy Anniversary.” We both forgot that 12 years ago yesterday was the day we got married. We’re not the type to make a thing out of it. Anyway, that made me think it was time for this post, which I guess is the biggest deal I’ve ever made out of our anniversary. 

The Beatles’ "Two Of Us" could be about a marriage beginning (Paul and Linda) or a divorce (Paul and John), but to me, it’s much more specifically about me and my wife and our travels through the world, through our lives, through time itself. I first realized this a few years back, the first time I had to travel for work alone. It was the first time we would be apart for any period of time, and one day, while driving, I heard the song and got all choked up. We had traveled a lot in the time we’d been together, and regardless of where we went, it has always been our time. This trip wouldn’t be the two of us, Sunday driving. It would just be me, missing the harmony that makes the song so beautiful.

The fact that the song is a metaphorical travelogue of past adventures, makes it easy for this to make one nostalgic. The specifics of those journeys in the song don’t matter. For me, it’s about making those memories that are longer than the road that stretches out ahead, and while that line might imply an ending, it also implies a depth and a bond that is stronger than anything you might encounter going forward. To me, it’s about how my wife and I, through the good and bad we’ve been through together, will always be on our way home, together. And now that there’s three of us and soon to be four, we include our children in that journey, but at the core, it’ll always be the two of us, partners, co-conspirators, burning matches and lifting latches, and always going home.

It’s easy, funny, and often true to complain and joke about our wives, our marriages, but in the end, at least for me, our compatibility, our love, our sense of humor, our shared joys and pains, our constantly deepening bond, is exactly what this song makes me think of, appreciate and get emotional about. I don’t always, or ever, say any of these things, because I think living it is more important than saying it, but now its here written down, for the world to see. Happy!!?

Throwback Thursday: Perfect Songs - Vehicle

This was originally posted on my tumblr on September 5, 2012. And there's a Starsky and Hutch reference.

Perfect Songs - Vehicle

Any talk about rock music eventually leads to discussion of a song that is either overtly or covertly creepy. In many cases, the riffs are so overpowering, you don’t even realize how totally disturbing the song is until one day, you’re singing along in your car and that one lyric suddenly becomes clear and that “What the fuck did I just sing!?” moment happens. None the less, the song remains and you can’t help but just play it louder anyway. In this case, it’s perfect. And it’s Vehicle by Ides of March.

This song screams 70’s muscle car power, black leather jacket, shades and facial hair to me. The friendly stranger in the black sedan clearly could have been an extra on Starsky and Hutch, who eventually gets chased down for offering candy to little girls. Wait, what the fuck is this song about? This is pre-hipster irony, so I can’t tell if the pimp/pedophile/potential kidnapper in the song is being glamorized or not. The horn riffs are certainly powerful and catchy enough to make it seem that way. But I don’t think that’s the intent at all. Not judging from the album cover, anyway. I think it’s just a story being told. And I’m sure most people never really thought about the lyrics all these years. All that stands out is the funk and soul inspired chorus of “I love you. I need you.I want you, got to have you child. Great God in Heaven, you know I love you.”

All in all, this is man music. The testosterone just drips from the brass section to the vocals. Lyrics be damned, they just get in the way, really. It’s not a car song, and yet makes me drive fast. It’s badassery at its finest, even if paying attention too closely to the lyrics makes you feel icky. And yet, that additional layer might be a big part of why it’s a perfect song. It’s the 70’s, we’re talking about here. It’s the era of grit and grime. It’s the decade of porn and the Son of Sam. It’s only fitting that this song blends it all together. It’s perfect, and I will continue to play it loud.

Throwback Thursday - Fiona Apple Live

This post originally appeared on my tumblr on Oct. 1 2012. Funny how at the time I rarely went to live shows.

Fiona Apple - The Live Experience

I don’t go to many shows, mainly because artists I like are either dead or do not play near me often enough or both. So when I do go, it’s going to be a big deal. Last night was no different. Fiona Apple is a performer that I felt was important to see live at least once, since she’s sort of an unstable talent, and I mean that in a good way. Her songs are raw emotion set to music and as great as her albums are, the live experience had to be better. I wasn’t wrong.

The Fillmore in Miami Beach is a great venue and really fit perfectly with Fiona’s general vibe. It’s small enough to be intimate, but big enough to be able to contain her orchestral explosions. I wish we’d had better seats, since there were moments where we got to hear the band jam while Fiona did some things on the stage floor for the first few rows. But, really, the band was so great, it’s a minor complaint. 

They kicked off with Fast as You Can, which was dynamic and a good way to let you know how great they were going to sound from then on. Following that with On The Bound and then some other cuts from the first two albums made sure everyone was comfortable.

Interesting, to me, was that when she got Extraordinary Machine and Idler Wheel material, the crowd of damaged girls, hipsters, young and old, and generally lovers of good music, was not only excited, but singing along. I didn’t think Extraordinary Machine was a popular album, but but the title track was actually one of the biggest crowd pleasers.

The old adage of leaving them wanting more is good way to describe what happened at the end. After a rousing cover of Conway Twitty’s It’s Only Make Believe, Fiona leaped across the stage never to return. The lights came up and the roadies started taking everything down. No Limp, no Criminal, no more. All in all, it felt a little short, but was more than made up for by the power of what we did hear. 

Throwback Thursday: Perfect Songs - Atomic

This was originally posted on my tumblr on July 16, 2012. I think it was the first ever Perfect Song I wrote about.

Perfectmageddon

Perfect Songs - Atomic

1980. Disco is turning into New Wave. The clubs are full. The hairspray is thick. The lip stick is bright, glossy red. The coke is practically falling from the sky. Each night could be the start of something great or the beginning of the end. The narcissism of the 70s is turning into the nihilism of the 80s. And the soundtrack to all of this, in my mind, is Blondie’s Atomic.

Fast forward through the 80s into the 90s and beyond and that same feeling of abandon on the dance floor, under the influence of whatever drink or drug, trying to be seen, trying to hook up, trying to escape, remains. It’s all counterbalanced by something else in the background though: the knowledge that this can’t and won’t last for ever. Your hair is beautiful. Tonight. Tomorrow, maybe not so much. Atomic. It will all blow up, soon. But, tonight, make it magnificent.

No other song captures these feelings, these moments, like Atomic. The driving beat, the bass line, the synths, and that guitar. And egging you on is Debbie Harry’s sexy voice. It’s Disco, but it’s New Wave and maybe even Surf or Punk. It doesn’t matter. It’s glorious, horny, sad, fabulous and more. It’s fucking Atomic. It’s a perfect song.

Throwback Thursday - Perfect Songs: Lately

This post originally appeared on my Tumblr on August 21, 2012.

Perfect Songs - Lately

There are songs so well written and performed that they put you in a moment you’ve never experienced for yourself. In the case of this song, it’s almost enough to make me actually want to experience the heartache Stevie Wonder is going through (almost). This is, by far, my favorite song of his, with perfectly poetic lyrics and a melody that suggests a type of crying that comes without notice or theatrics, just eyes starting to cry. Coincidentally, this song works as a prequel to my last Perfect Song, setting up a spiral of beautiful heartache. 

The story in this song is about suspicions of infidelity, and the best line in the song “Far more frequently you’re wearing perfume” could really be the end of it. It’s one of the best lines ever written in any song, as far as I’m concerned. Something about that phrase and the way it’s delivered is just so damning in a heartbreaking way. It paints a whole picture to me. Whether or not the other person is actually cheating or not, something has obviously changed here and he’s aware of it. Even before she says she doesn’t know when she’s coming home, you can sense the distance between them.

There’s no anger in this song, because it’s still just premonitions, but those premonitions are killers for a man of many wishes. It leads to self doubt and introspection and picking yourself apart slowly in front of the mirror. And no matter how much he tries to hide how he feels, from the world, from her, from himself, his eyes start to cry because she’s whispering someone’s name in her sleep. The pain of his feelings of inadequacy come through in the slight crack in his voice and if that doesn’t get you, then you have no soul. 

Throwback Thursday - Remembering

This was originally posted on my Tumblr on April 1, 2013. This past Tuesday, my dad would have been 79.

Remembering

For some reason, a couple of days ago I decided I wanted to look up one of the artists I remember my parents would play a lot when I was a kid. So I searched for Roberto Carlos on Spotify, and found a song I had completely forgotten but that instantly came back to me and hit me like a punch to the soul.

I can only imagine this song was written from personal experience of seeing his father grow old. It’s just too specific not to be personal. I can picture the slow steps of his dad, and I know too well how it feels to see that from the point of view of a son. It’s funny how when my dad would play this song, back when I was a kid, I’m sure he never thought that one day I’d completely associate it with him. He probably thought nothing of it. He wasn’t lucky enough to have a good father, like I did. The subconscious connection I keep finding with my father through music was likely not intentional on his part at all. Far from it, I imagine.

It’s been 5 years since my dad passed away and there’s still moments, like rediscovering this song, that make me feel like I’m a 12 year old orphan. I’ve said before that I never feared my own mortality until my first daughter was born, and it’s directly tied to how I felt when he passed and I was 36. On top of all that, I imagine how he would have loved his granddaughters. This song, the fact that he played it when I was a kid and that has a such a strong sense memory of Sunday mornings for me, all those ideas come together for me in such a powerful way.

I remember when my dad passed, someone who had recently lost her husband told me we were members of a club, and that it sucked to be in it, but that we understood. Well, losing a parent, no matter how old you may be, is a different club. It’s one where adulthood and childhood dance in a whirlwind of emotion and you aren’t sure how old you are sometimes. And being a parent just adds a layer of impending sadness and dread. For some, I’m sure, the remedy is trying too hard to make an impact on their kids. For others it’s probably trying to insure financial stability for them at any cost. For an exclusive few, it’s about trying to change the world itself for the benefit of their children. For most, it’s a combination of all of these. But I hope that for all of us, it’s about truly being there for our kids in the mundane moments. In the highs and lows. In the in between, boring times. In every moment just being. Sharing what we love and who we are with them. It isn’t selfish for us to try to instill memories of who we are in our children. I do it because no matter how many memories I have of my father, I always wish I had more. Luckily, the fact that I could rediscover this song after so many years means that I do have more.

Throwback Thursday - Fiona Apple: Idler Wheel. . . .

This was originally posted on my Tumblr on June 20, 2012. 

Fiona Apple - Idler Wheel… .

In 1913, Igor Stravinsky’s ballet, The Rite of Spring, caused a riot in Paris. The music was jarring for it’s time, incorporating African rhythms and dissonance that hadn’t been heard before. I’ve always been fascinated by the idea that music could cause such violent reactions among high brow audiences, but it’s apparently not that rare. A quick search on Wikipedia will reveal a section simply called Classical Music Riots. The point is, art is powerful. And I think that’s a good place to start in with my thoughts on the new Fiona Apple album, The Idler Wheel… .

If you didn’t like her last album, Extraordinary Machine, you probably won’t like this either, but I think then you’re missing out on something that doesn’t happen often these days. This is art on a level that most musicians do not even think about (maybe Bjork does), and I’m not saying that to disparage other musicians. This is the type of thing you’d imagine Fiona would play at some little cafe in the 20’s where members of the Algonquin Round Table would judge her loudly, honestly and even harshly at times. People would yell at her in anger and disgust, some would cry, some would laugh and eventually fights would break out. But all along, there would be Fiona, on stage, still playing, still singing, still baring her soul and confronting expectations.

So, yes, the album is challenging. She has always struck me as the girl at the party who sits in the corner, openly disdainful of what’s going on, seriously observing, judging, remembering, just to later put it back in your ear holes. Basically, Dorothy Parker or Sylvia Plath. Her lyrical honesty is obvious enough, but the musical and emotional truth is just as genuine. No matter how complicated the orchestration, there’s always a sense of rawness to the music on this album, like she’s constantly working out demons of one form or another. And this is not to say that the album doesn’t go somewhere that’s ultimately melodic. But before we get there, we listen as she sings complex melodies over even more complex music. Slowly, but surely, though, there is a clear progression towards something, with the last few songs demonstrating more conventional interactions between melody and accompaniment. The stand out track, for my money, is actually the last song, “Hot Knife” which incorporates many of the musical ideas glimpsed in the previous tracks, and turns them into a Phillip Glass like kaleidoscope of melody, harmony and rhythm. 

The album really seems to work best as a whole. It’s not something I’ll likely listen to often, but it’s something I would consider special and important. And as pretentious as this write up may have come across, the beauty of the album is that it doesn’t feel that way at all, even though it’s on a level that could be considered quite high brow. But enough talk, just listen.

Fiona Apple – The Idler Wheel Is Wiser Than the Driver of the Screw and Whipping Cords Will Serve You More Than Ropes Will Ever Do

Throwback Thursday - Perfect Songs - I Want You

Next week.

This post originally appeared on my Tumblr on July 25, 2012. I go see Elvis live next week. Can't wait.

Perfect Songs - I Want You

Music, lyrics and performance can combine to have an impact that goes beyond what was recorded. That’s the sweet spot for any song, really; to be able to transcend into the emotional, sometimes in gut wrenching ways. It’s the rawness of that emotion, whether it’s personal or not that the best writers and performers can drill into your soul. Ultimately, singers are basically actors, finding the truth in each phrase, each line, each note. One of the rawest songs ever written, in every sense, is Elvis Costello’s I Want You.

Elvis Costello & The Attractions – I Want You

It’s the story of a break up where the singer has been cheated on by his girlfriend/wife, and no matter how hurt he is, how angry, how completely destroyed, he still wants her to the point of further emasculating himself before her in his gut wrenching accusations, confessions and pleadings. It’s a complex display of emotions that make the story feel so true, so real, so raw. You can just see this being acted out as a heartbreaking argument, filled with discomfort and confrontation. It exposes so many basic human truths about love, trust, jealousy, hate, desire, and just everything that makes a relationship.

Part of the song’s brilliance is the romantic, nostalgic intro that seems to be from another song and another era completely. It’s sweet and pure and innocent and it gets interrupted by a nasty chord that plunges us into the rest of this breathless diatribe of a song. I think I read somewhere that Costello wanted to write a song similar to John Lennon’s Jealous Guy. Well, in my mind, he surpassed it. I have no idea whether or not the song is based on a real experience or not. I could look it up, I guess, but it doesn’t matter. It is real. Too real.

I could leave it at that, but in this case, there is also a cover of the song that does it equal justice while bringing other elements to the table. Fiona Apple sang the song with Costello on guitar during a tribute show for Costello. Watch for yourself.

Throwback Thursday - Bridge Over Troubled Water

This was originally posted on my Tumblr on July 6, 2012. 

Working on this technology now.

Bridge Over Troubled Water - Parental Nightmares

If you dig back into my music posts, you’ll know the original intent of my music blog was to talk about how music affected me. I haven’t written about that in a long while, but here goes.

The obvious nightmare scenario for any parent is losing a child. You don’t really need to be a parent to know and understand that. Ultimately, it’s a selfish thing too, because it’s about dealing with your own grief more than anything else, and I don’t say that to diminish it any way. It’s obvious because it is the ultimate nightmare scenario. But the other parental nightmare scenario, the one that isn’t as obvious and no one really talks about is not being there for your children. This one is harder to understand unless you actually are a parent, I think. And maybe even harder to understand if you haven’t lost your own parents yet. But, this is the nightmare that haunts me and it’s tied to a song now. 

It was probably some time last year that I heard Simon and Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water” for the first time in a long time. I don’t think I’d heard it since my daughter was born. But on that day, it was fresh after having a very vivid, sad and disturbing dream in which I had died but was a ghost and watched my daughter grieve me (yeah, I’m disturbed like that) so the song took on a new meaning. I was choked up from the opening note and by the last verse “Sail on silver girl, sail on by, your time has come to shine, all your dreams are on their way,” I was close to needing to pull over. “I’m sailing right behind” just killed me. So now, whenever I hear the song it gets me, hard.

I don’t believe in life after death or anything like that. I accept the beauty of having only one chance at life and making the best of each moment. But the sadness of the permanence of death still haunts me. As I get older my own mortality becomes more prominent in my mind and the fact that I would not only miss being there for my daughter, but miss watching her grow is a heart breaker. Not that I spend time obsessing over this, but certainly, this song now brings it up. It’s sad, but it’s also, as grief usually is, comforting to know that I am capable of love on this level. Time and again, music is responsible for these realizations and these emotional journeys, for me. Anyway, the next music post won’t be so melancholy.