It snowed a little bit on my commute to work this afternoon; granted, it was already gone by the time I got off work, but it seemed significant enough to qualify as this area’s “first snow” of the year. So what could I do but cobble together this insufferably pretentious video of the snow event? Enjoy it, you heathens.
Continued to be soggy emotionally today
even though two people I didn’t know smiled at me,
one because I couldn’t open a bag of dried mango,
the other because I stepped aside
as if I was holding the door for her
even though it was an automatic door.
The mangoes, tiny slivers, were soft
and powerful as baby rattlesnakes.
A branch had blown into my parking spot
by the time I got home like a friendly arm
over a shoulder so I sat in the car
listening to the rain finding its melody,
not wanting to send an angry text message
back to that prick ex-friend of mine who keeps
wanting to prove his life is more worthwhile than mine.
You’re singing every time you talk to someone,
I remind myself again and again, don’t forget you’re singing.
Even in the peel of an orange, there’s probably a god.
Energy is stored in there and then released
once the bonds are broken, once the juice runs
down your chin, everything
(even the gods in oranges)
gets blown apart in the end,
but still you’ve got to keep singing,
keep singing to those damn pricks
otherwise what the hell are we here for?
First, let’s recap what has come so far:
100. “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” by Deep Blue Something
99. “Jack & Diane” by John Mellencamp
98. “Hotel California” by The Eagles
97. “American Pie” by Don McLean
96. “Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough” by Michael Jackson
95. “Nuthin’ but a G Thang” by Dr. Dre
94. “Bushwick Blues” by Delta Spirit
93. “For the Workforce, Drowning” by Thursday
92. “Fish Heads” by Barnes and Barnes
91. “Shimmer” by Fuel
90. “Rubber Biscuit” by the Blues Brothers
89. “House of the Rising Sun” by The Animals
88. “Asleep at the Wheel” by Working For a Nuclear-Free City
87. “There’s an Arc” by Hey Rosetta!
86. “Steam Engine” by My Morning Jacket
85. “Scenario” by A Tribe Called Quest
84. “White Rabbit” by Jefferson Airplane
83. “Fits” by Stone Gossard
82. “Spring Flight to the Land of Fire” by The Cape May 81. “The District Sleeps Alone Tonight” by The Postal Service
80. “Sober” by Tool
79. “Dream is Collapsing” by Hans Zimmer
78. “Why Don’t We Do it in the Road?” by The Beatles
77. “In This Light and on This Evening” by Editors
76. “Lemonworld” by The National
75. “Twin Peaks Theme” by Angelo Badalamente
74. “A Comet Appears” by The Sins
73. “The Mariner’s Revenge Song” by The Decemberists
72. “Pepper” by Butthole Surfers
71. “Life Wasted” by Pearl Jam
70. “Jetstream” by Doves
69. “Trieste” by Gifts From Enola
68. “Oh My God” by Kaiser Chiefs
67. “The Righteous Path” by Drive-By Truckers
66. “Innocence” by The Airborne Toxic Event
65. “There, There” by Radiohead
64. “Ants Marching” by Dave Matthews Band
63. “Symphony 1: In the Barrel of a Gun” by Emily Wells
62. “The Best of What’s Around” by Dave Matthews Band
61. “Old Man” by Neil Young
60. “Cumbersome” by Seven Mary Three
59. “Knocked Up” by Kings of Leon
58. “Machine Head” by Bush
57. “Peaches” by Presidents of the United States of America
56. “Gimme Shelter” by The Rolling Stones
55. “Fell on Black Days” by Soundgarden
54. “The New Year” by Death Cab for Cutie
53. “Call Me Al” by Paul Simon
52. “Real Muthaphuckin’ Gs” by Eazy E
51.. “Evening Kitchen” by Band of Horses
50. “Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth with Money in My Hand” by Primitive Radio Gods
49. “Top Drawer” by Man Man
48. “Locomotive Breath” by Jethro Tull
47. “We Used to Vacation” by Cold War Kids
46. “Easy Money” by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
45. “Two-fifty” by Chris Walla
44. “I’ve Got a Feeling” by The Beatles
43. “Another Pilot” by Hey Rosetta!
42. “Revelate” by The Frames
41. “Wise Up” by Aimee Mann
40. “Sample in a Jar” by Phish
39. “Spitting Venom” by Modest Mouse
38. “Sometimes I Rhyme Slow” by Nice & Smooth
37. “I Shall Be Released” by The Band
36. “When I Fall” by Barenaked Ladies
35. “East Hastings” by Godspeed You! Black Emperor
34. “Terrible Love” by The National
33. “Jolene” by Dolly Parton
32. “Sometime Around Midnight” by The Airborne Toxic Event
31. “This Train Revised” by Indigo Girls
30. “Mad World” by Gary Jules
29. “White Winter Hymnal” by Fleet Foxes
28. “Once in a Lifetime” by Talking Heads
27. “Growing Old is Getting Old” by Silversun Pickups
26. “Brian and Robert” by Phish
25. “Is There a Ghost?” by Band of Horses
24. “Be Safe” by The Cribs
23. “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” by Judy Garland, Hugh Martin, and Ralph Blane
22. “Ashes in the Fall” by Rage Against the Machine
21. “We Laugh Indoors” by Death Cab For Cutie
…and my 20th favorite song of all-time is:
“Dondante” by My Morning Jacket
My Morning Jacket are an impossible band to pin down: they write some straight-forward country songs, some songs that are eerily close to being Seventies standards, some hard rockers, and then what I think of in my head as “loneliness space fusion”, although I’m sure music people might have a more appropriate name for it. “Dondante” falls into this latter category.
Starting out at a low, creeping, spacey drawl, the song builds musically into an explosive yawp of yawning sadness. It might not sound inviting, but I’ll admit to thinking it is the sound of a decent portion of my inner life—and I suspect the inner lives of many.
The lyrics are like many of frontman Jim James’ lyrics: mysterious, almost nonsense masterful setpieces that leave the listener to provide the context of a specific story which nonetheless appears to be universal. There are very few words to “Dondante” (the meaning of the title we are also left to guess at). James is telling a story of someone he used to know. They seem to be dead, he seems to have warned them about something, he seems to have made his peace with it. But elements of the story are left unresolved. As a listener who has had his share of massively depressing departures, I can’t help but place my own experiences onto James’ specific dread nightmare. Here are all the lyrics to “Dondante”:
In a dream I saw you walkin’,
like a kid, alive and talkin’,
that was you.
In the classroom you were teachin’,
on the streets you were policin’,
that was you.
To the ones that I know most
I will tell them of your ghost
like a thing that never, ever was.
And all that ever mattered
will some day turn back to batter
like a joke.
Behind thin walls you hid your feelings.
Takes four legs to make a ceiling,
like a thing.
In a dream I saw you walkin’
with your friends, alive and talkin’.
That was you.
Well I saw it in your movement,
even though you never knew it.
Well, I knew how sweet it could be
if you’d never left these streets.
You had me worried—
so worried—
that this would last.
But now I’m learning—
learning—
that this will pass.
OK, it’s Seth again. Below is the studio version of “Dondante”. Below that is one of the many, many live versions out there. If you at all like the studio version, try the live version, it really cannot be stressed enough how much of a difference the live version of this particular song makes. It’s like the difference of viewing something in two dimensions and suddenly seeing it in three dimensions. Yes, the live version I’ve included is 15 minutes long, but it will rip your fucking heart out.
Now you’re a pal hunching
ten yards away with a cigarette,
identical to buttered popcorn
to the birds overhead
who don’t know a goddamned thing,
and next thing you know
you’ll be saying hello darkness.
Now you see,
now you don’t.
Is anyone ever ready?
Do you get an explanation?
An apology?
Or does the water that was you
(that was 70% of you)
reenter the cycle and shed your name?
Evaporating, condensing, purifying,
quenching, forming ice crystals,
and rainbows, the same water
for billions of years recycled
in the planet’s breathing helix
(it’s absolutely true: no new water
is ever made and none ever stops
being water):
molecules of this shape-shifting skyscape
must once have been you,
Monika, Steve, Bonnie.
Allen, Ricky, Nate,
all of you.
Some video I cobbled together to Band of Horses’ “Everything’s Gonna Be Undone” as I was walking around the city, killing time before the concert:
You may or may not know that one of the unstated goals I had when moving to New Jersey and hence ending the “living-alone-very-far-away-from-everyone-I-know” experiment, was to try to be less of an asshole. Living so solitary, as I did for two years in Erie, hastened an already alarming trend within me that caused me to be cynical, unkind, and judgmental. And nowhere was this more evident than when I went to concerts.
I was alone, and everyone around me wasn’t. Generally speaking, the type of people who go to concerts are nice, gregarious, outgoing folks who want to make friends. I hated them, I ignored them, I went as far as to be mean to them. I hated strangers, but I hated strangers at concerts the most.
So it was with great pleasure and not just a little surprise that I realized, as Band of Horses was about to start playing tonight, that I had made friends at this concert; I was first in line (that’s right, first), and I never gave a second thought to striking up good-natured temporary kinships with my front-of-the-line-mates. I ended up on the railing next to two of them (a married couple from Wisconsin who are following the band) and we talked Band of Horses while we waited for the show to start. They saved my spot for me when I needed to pee—one of the more complicated and worrisome aspects of attending General Admission concerts by yourself. When the show was over we hung out together to try to get setlists (we didn’t) and it was just very pleasant. I ran into some other line-mates after the show as we stood in line at the merchandise booth and we talked like we were old pals. It felt nice not to be an asshole.
Here is a picture of the line (from my vantage point at the very front!!) just before doors opened:
Band of Horses speak to my soul, whatever the fuck that means. This band continues to evolve into a force in my life hitherto unfelt. Tonight was my fourth time seeing them (still haven’t seen my Band of Horses white whale) and my emotional reaction keeps evolving (meaning I come close to crying like a baby a whole lot). Ben Bridwell’s lyrics, coupled with the band’s live show–which is 100% exactly the kind of live show I want from a band–hit me in some secret place that even I can’t locate.
Here is tonight’s setlist:
01 Monsters >
02 Neighbors reprise
03 Compliments
04 Cigarettes, Wedding Bands
05 Laredo
06 The Great Salt Lake
07 Islands On the Coast
08 Northwest Apartment
09 Is There A Ghost?
10 Slow Cruel Hands of Time
11 Older
12 Electric Music
13 Dilly
14 Window Blues
15 Everything’s Gonna be Undone
16 Weed Party
17 Knock Knock
18 Ode to LRC
19 The Funeral
encore break
20 No One’s Gonna Love You More Than I Do (Ben & Tyler only)
21 A Song for You (Gram Parsons cover)
22 The General Specific
is:
“We Laugh Indoors” by Death Cab For Cutie
I’m not going to waste too much time talking about how amazing this band is. Heaven knows I’ve spent more than enough time trying to do that in the past ten years. If you’re going to like them, you already do. But if you have negative, silly notions about the band, allow me to dissuade you of them: they are not “weepy emo”, they are not for high schoolers, and they do not suck.
These are songs for grown-ups. These are complex, layered songs about the intricacies of adult life. Some Death Cab for Cutie songs haven’t fully cohered for me until after 20 listens. There is a lot going on, both lyrically and musically.
“We Laugh Indoors” is a unique entry in Death Cab’s catalogue, but in fact, it would be a unique song in any band’s catalog. It is, like many songs, about a relationship that has ended. But it has a musical and a lyrical quirk that send it into the stratosphere for me. Musically, it begins with an erie, creeping swagger, only to explode in an unforeseen middle section—all the more unforeseen for how uncharacteristic it is of this band. Lyrically, singer and lyricist Ben Gibbard decides to communicate his obsession with this woman by using repetition in a way I’ve never heard it before. It’s not a chorus, yet he repeats, I think twelves times, “I loved you, Guinevere.” It makes the listener a little uncomfortable—almost certainly Gibbard’s intention.
I’ve posted the lyrics below, and below them, the studio version of the song, and below that, a live version that is interspersed with interviews with the band, from the superb movie about their life on the road, “Drive Well, Sleep Carefully”. Seeing the fire and intensity with which the band plays this song should make believers out of anybody.
Look at his opening gambit here: he likes to imagine that the laughs he and Guinevere shared in the rooms they used to live in are still trapped somewhere under the hardwood floors, and he imagines “peeling the hardwoods back” to let the laughs back out, that he might hear them again. But look at how he says it:
We Laugh Indoors
When we laugh indoors,
the blissful tones bounce off the walls
and fall to the ground.
Peel the hardwood back
to let them loose from decades trapped
and listen so still.
This city is my home,
construction noise all day long
and gutter punks are bumming change.
So I breed thicker skin
and let my lustrous coat fill in
and I’ll never admit that
I loved you guenivere.
I’ve always fallen fast
with too much trust in the promise that
“No one’s ever been here, so you can quell those wet fears.”
I want purity, I must have it here right now.
But don’t you get me started now.
December’s chill comes late,
the days get darker and we wait
for this direness to pass.
There are piles on the floor
of artifacts from dresser drawers,
and I’ll help you pack.
is:
“Ashes in the Fall” by Rage Against the Machine
Rage Against the Machine are surely one of the smartest, most socially-aware bands that has ever existed. Their songbook is brimming with examples of subject matter and lyrics that would make Woody Guthrie proud, coupled with a gnarled, modern, harsh rock sound that turns the gentle acoustic strumming of the original folk artists on its head. It is angry music for angry words.
Zack de la Rocha, the vocalist and lyricist, has very high amibitions for every song he writes, which often results in brilliance, but just as often gets too academic or wordsy for his own good. In my opinion, “Ashes in the Fall”, from the band’s final album The Battle of Los Angeles, is the absolute height of de la Rocha’s power as a lyricist, and a rowsing endorsement of the band’s musical prowess.
The beginning of the song is a rambling, free-associative rant about the viscious cycles that perpetuate our “haves” and “have-nots” society. de la Rocha doesn’t explain more than he has to. He creates images, tells half-stories, trusting careful listeners to go back over these things and picture them, contemplate them, figure them out. This is not “easy” music. The song opens “A mass of hands press/ on the market window/ Ghosts of progress/ dressed in slow death”…the owners of these hands are “glaring through the promise/ upon the food that rots slowly in the aisle”. What exactly is he talking about? What does this supermarket have to do with anything? Careful repeat listens reveal simple meanings.
In something that passes for a chorus, de la Rocha seems to evoke a kinship with the folk or protest songwriters of old, “This is the new sound/ just like the old sound./ Just like the noose wound/ over new ground.” Interesting because, of course, the actual sound is very different but the tenor seems the same. And the “noose wound/ over new ground”? We might be a different country now than we were then, says de la Rocha, but they’re still lynching us.
But the real marvel comes at the end (please, I implore you, if you haven’t heard this song before, listen until the end), when de la Rocha lays the point of the song out for us, and the point is this:if you keep us poor and out of work, you can put us in jail and control us, which of course comes down to the folks in power using fear to control us. Here is how de la Rocha lays that argument out:
Ain’t it funny how the factory doors close
round the time that the school doors close?
Round the time that the doors of the jail cells
open up to
greet you like the reaper?
Ain’t its funny how the factory doors close
round the time that the school doors close?
Round the time that a
hundred thousand jail cells
open up to greet you like the reaper?
And then (after saying a few times “This is no oasis!”, which is a sweet one-off line in itself) he hits us with this hum-dinger: quietly, he repeats a few times “Just like ashes in the fall.” This is certainly one of the great metaphors in rock lyric history. Like the rest of the song, it is not easy. It requires some processing. What would it mean if you saw ashes drifting past you in the fall, or if you had some hot ashes in your backyard next to a pile of leaves? How does this image system inform the meaning of Rage’s song?
I used to get disappointed that, musically, Rage trails off after their big build-up during the “reaper” lyrics and gets quiet for the “Ashes” lyrics. But they don’t just want to give us a music release. But they’re not just making music for our pleasure; they want us to hear and ponder this metaphor.
Here is the song, with the lyrics embedded in the video.
Many of you know that I am a big fan of using “snail mail”. I send plenty of postcards, letters, and larger, miscellaneous package-type things. I love the idea that something that was just in my hands, or was created or written by me, can be in your hands and your possession just a few days later.
I’m an especially big fan of the postcard, with its picture on the front that you can either choose to write about or ignore completely, and the very limited space for writing on the back, forcing you to be very judicious with your words.
So yesterday, when my mother and I were out browsing at the local antique stores, I was naturally curious when I saw a bin full of old postcards. I was even more delighted—and then moved beyond almost all measure–when I started reading the messages written on the backs of some of these postcards. I bought the ones that moved me the most, and knew I’d have to share them with you on here.
I don’t think you need me to over-explain what is so moving about these. I’d love to see some comments on here about your feelings and interpretations and what these mean to you. What I’ve done is scanned the front and back of each, and then typed the text underneath, including the date it was sent, either from the postmark or something written on the postcard. Let me know how these make you feel.
Sent from Ocean City, NJ, to Bridgeton, NJ. Not sure of date, but possibly 1975.
Mother dear,
Your letter here when we arrived at 6. Will write you tomorrow. Do not bother with sending flowers, we now expect to go Elmer’s Fri and wouldn’t be here and its too much bother for you. Lidie is at Elmers now. Saw them last night.
–e
Sent from Disney World, Florida, to Bridgeton, NJ, 1972
Hi
Well we got hear today. It sure is great! I bet you’d like it hear. I never seen anything like it.
Love,
Aunt Ida, Uncle Dan
No date or location information; appears to maybe not have been sent. Seems to be pretty damn old, though. I’m open to various interpretations of the third sentence, either in its meaning or my reading of the handwriting.
Dear cousins. I gathered some violets today. Paul can walk when he holds to something. The clock don’t get tired now. Tell Robert I saw some jack rabbits coming from town. Baby has 5 teeth. from Keith.
Sent from Chicago to Ephrata, PA, 1932
Johnnie and I “did” Chicago yesterday–both day & night. We’re making good time and should be in Yellowstone by the end of the week. We’re spending the night in a log cabin with a creek at our back door. –Dot R
Sent from Springfield, Missouri, to Ephrata, PA, 1944. It is of note that the recipient of this postcard is almost certainly the author of the previous one, a miss Dorothy “Dot” Schmeck, who signed the previous postcard (from 12 years before this one) as “Dot R”.
Dear Dot,
Your letter was swell and you need never apologize about it. I was happy to get it and hope you keep up the good work. Don’t get a paper and Eleanor keeps running around so you may keep me up on the hometown news. Keep Eleanor toned down to her level now that I’m not there to do it.
Too bad about the men that must go into the service. Wish it would end soon, don’t you? Didn’t know you were worried about the male situation? Guess it is serious, isn’t it?
Kids are OK the way I feel now. So don’t be too sorry. This is interesting work, tho.
How about writing me back to make up for the months you didn’t know?
Mim
…and my 23rd favorite song of all-time is:
“Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” as sung by Judy Garland and written by Hugh Martin and Ralph Blane
I don’t just love this song around Christmas time. I love it all year, and yes, I listen to it at many points throughout the year. This is some fucking song! Let me tell you all about it.
“Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” started its life as just another song in a musical film called “Meet Me in St. Louis”, from 1944. The movie is not a Christmas movie, there just happens to be a scene around Christmas time where Judy Garland–the film’s star–sings this song in a heartbreaking scene while staring out a window. The song wouldn’t become a holiday staple until many years after the film’s release.
It is an incredibly sad song. Most people don’t realize it. You may never really stop to think about the lyrics, and on top of that, the lyrics that are positive are almost certainly meant ironically. The tone of the song is practically unmistakable in its sadness.
So why do I like a song so much that I think is so sad? Well, on one level, it is just an immense appreciation for the songcraft going on. But on another level, the song speaks to me and affects me for reasons, and at a depth, that I’m almost afraid to explore. I think it appeals to portions of my personality that are unattractive, or at the very least, not the most loving-cuddly parts of me.
The song is honest in its appraisal of the holidays. Listen, I love Christmas and everything surrounding it, but the cynical core of me tends to waver toward the weary conclusions of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”. I seriously cannot count how many times this song has made my cry.
Other versions of the song—notably a true stinker by Sinatra that is pretty much more famous now than the original—change a few key lyrics to make things more positive, but at the expense of losing all emotional punch and creating a little bit of holiday hodgepodge nonsense, most notably changing the line “until then, we’ll have to muddle through somehow” to “hang a shining star upon the highest bough”…it may seem small to many, but I am far from alone in thinking this is a beastly, juvenile butcher job that serves only to appeal to the happy masses.
(starting right from the start, calling the holiday a “merry little Christmas” belittles its importance. In light of small cues like this throughout, standard holiday treacle like “next year, all our troubles will be out of sight” has to be seen as a joke, a kind of satire of our culture’s over-senimentalization of the holidays…yes, this was already something that was happening in 1944. However, the song is not all piss and vinegar; it yearns for these ideas to be true, and is drenched in—thanks to Garland’s perfect delivery— a deep love for “faithful friends who were dear to us.”…but notice even there, the songwriters used the past tense…the friends were dear to us; here we can’t help but confront the inevitable breaking-down and fracturing of life)
Read the (original) lyrics below and then watch Judy Garland sing it in the video I’ve included, from “Meet Me in St. Louis”. Don’t just think about the lyrics, but about Garland’s delivery and the tone of the music.
Have yourself a merry little Christmas.
Let your heart be light.
Next year,
all our troubles will be out of sight.
Have yourself a merry little Christmas.
Make the Yuletide gay.
Next year,
all our troubles will be miles away.
Once again as in olden days,
happy golden days of yore.
Faithful friends who were dear to us
will be near to us once more.
Someday soon, we all will be together
if the fates allow.
Until then, we’ll have to muddle through somehow.
So have yourself a merry little Christmas now.
A few months ago, my friend Duane and I decided we wanted to collaborate on some kind of video/ music/ words project. We started exchanging various files via Skype and bouncing ideas off of each other.
A few months before that, we had discovered we shared a fascination with the planet Jupiter (and FYI, in case you don’t know, when you want to say something has the qualities of Jupiter, the word to use is Jovian). I think it would be fair to say Duane and I have slightly different feelings about Jupiter. Correct me if I’m wrong here Duane, but I’d say, in a word, Jupiter fills you with awe, whereas it mainly fills me with dread.
When we began exchanging files, the first thing I gravitated toward was a short piece of music Duane had made called “Jovian Space”. I put it on my mp3 player and decided to go out into the world with it on repeat and film things while listening to it.
I Skyped a bunch of footage to Duane and we decided it might also be interesting if I wrote a poem about Jupiter and read it over the footage and the music. Writing a poem about Jupiter turned out to be easier than I had anticipated; I just wrote about how it made me feel, how it made me feel sorrow, and lonleliness, and scared.
Duane put it all together in fine fiddle. The end result looks like one long take of video but it actually one short take and one long take that Duane seamlessly edited together.
This is not the sort of thing that is “for everybody”; it is, undoubtedly, arty. But it is the sort of thing I really, really dig. I could watch stuff like this all day.
“In Our Bedroom After the War”
“Take Me to the Riot”
“Today Will Be Better, I Swear”
“Your Ex-Lover is Dead”
“Set Yourself on Fire”
“What I’m Trying to Say”
“He Lied About Death”
“One More Night (Your Ex-Lover Remains Dead)”
“The Last Song Ever Written”
“We Don’t Want Your Body”
“I Died So I Could Haunt You”
“What the Snowman Learned About Love”
“Counting Stars on the Ceiling”
“A Thread Cut with a Carving Knife”
Notes From the Fire 