Posts Tagged ‘music’

there’s frost cakes in the carpet

January 31, 2010

This is the view from my window, looking towards downtown:

You’ll notice I haven’t used my car since the snow started Friday afternoon.

Snow makes the windows brighter, so much sun is reflected back from the ground. Now I understand the first line of AC’s “Winter’s Love”

I love this light in wintertime.

—which may be the best song ever written, in my humble opinion. (Besides “Hallelujah” maybe.) No matter where I am or how many times I’ve heard it, those harmonies and chords will change something inside me and lift my spirit. I wouldn’t say it like that if it weren’t true. Animal Collective has some really good, wide-ranging stuff.

I’ve been learning how to play “Doggy”/”Two Corvettes” from Campfire Songs and “Did You See the Words?” from Feels. The latter has one of the trickiest timings I have attempted to play. I don’t know exactly which it is, but the upbeat and downbeat are either equally emphasized or given alternate dominance from phrase to phrase, measure to measure. On the album version, the crash cymbal is never on the downbeat (with the bass drum, which is what your ears expect to hear) and the song is structured around this detail, but your head still wants to bounce with the boom-CHK boom-CHK instead of the CHK-boom CHK-boom. Avey’s vocal rhythms are so syncopated that you switch back and forth from hearing the down- or upbeat as the pulse. Oh and the harmonies are great, too.

Yesterday morning I went out and measured the snow in my front yard, and ended up between 5 and 6 inches. Which, if the professors are to be believed, makes this the heaviest snowfall in BG since 1987.

I just found out there’s a Boston U. basketball player named John Holland.

His number is 23, which of course was Michael Jordan’s number, but which also reminds me of Pope John XXIII and the mathematician John Nash, who during one of his psychotic episodes thought he was on the cover of Life Magazine disguised as the pope, because 23 was his “favorite prime number.”

My name is fraught with irrationality.

Can’t wait to turn 23!



January 19, 2010

There are two hills in this town. The university sits atop one; the other has a water tower painted to resemble the American flag:

From the bathroom I can look out and see it peeking over the roof of the church next door to my house. It’s lit from below, giving it a metallic sheen. A ship hides in the belly of the water tower.

So when I relieve myself in the middle of the night, I can look upon the modern trinity of God, UFOs, and American infrastructure.

It took way too long for me to write that.

I used to be able to write a couple pages at once, skinny-dipping into streams-of-consciousness. I’ve never considered myself a poet. More like an efficient recorder of words that come one right after another, that don’t get hung up on tiny details, that never run out of things to say. I know that stream is still there because I can reach it while dozing, not dreaming but not really awake—sometimes I can view whole pages of words, a document of the subconscious, but of course I never remember what it said.

Maybe that’s the thing. It wasn’t really about anything. The conscious mind arranges the words into meaning.

“Roygbiv” from Boards of Canada’s Music Has the Right to Children has that voice loop, the “ay” sound, and there’s no telling what the sample’s really saying, so any listener can apply their own: “hey,” “late,” “face,” “shape,” “space,” “faith,” “fate,” “lace,” the list goes on.

It’s like that with the dream text. Latent thought. Meaningless, yet.

Having a holiday named after me would be bitchen. What do Jesus Christ, Martin Luther King, Saint Patrick, and Christopher Columbus have in common?