This afternoon somebody more important to me than most left all by their lonesome for a cross country journey of fulfillment. They will be visiting all kinds of exciting places, they will be doing it on their own, for many months and they will be doing it for their own wellbeing. This is a terrifying and wonderful prospect by anybody's standards, but for this person in particular it is a tremendous progressive step of bravery.
They won't read this, but they ought to know I think they are heroic.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Lamplight
I guess there's probably something a little serendipitous about the fact that I (and others) attended the album launch of a local group named Lamplight on the same evening as the notorious Earth Hour. I imagine there were, in fact, many people who purpetrated activities by lamplight that night. But how many of these lamps emitted enthused orchestral progressive folk rock? I dare say very few.
The group themselves were quite something, although I recommend their live set over the album they were launching (despite the gorgeous cd case, made entirely out of varnished wood). I say this not only because frontman Mijo Biscan makes for a charmingly informal spectacle, cracking wise with a goofy grin and giving bandmates elaborate high fives, nor because violinst Indiana Avent is simply SEX IN A DRESS, but because Lamplight have a rampant energy on the stage that can't be gleamed through studio work.
Which is not to say the music is ever really bad. The talent here can't hide - songwriting and arranging seen on Selftitled/Untitled has a sophistication not given to almost any other Melbourne bands, and there's a genuine joy that can be taken from knowing that young people don't need to haplessly hire old hands to do their fancy pants string and horn arrangements for them. At the same time, there's a raw power that was wielded by these young people when I saw them live at certain points in their performance that is just not matched at those same points in the recorded counterparts. Call it just one of those things.
Nonetheless, I heartily recommend this innovative quintet for those who are fans of contemporary Australian music. I predict they will be a steady force in the scene for a while now. (If you are heading to Europe over the next few months, I believe they are doing an informal tour there).
The group themselves were quite something, although I recommend their live set over the album they were launching (despite the gorgeous cd case, made entirely out of varnished wood). I say this not only because frontman Mijo Biscan makes for a charmingly informal spectacle, cracking wise with a goofy grin and giving bandmates elaborate high fives, nor because violinst Indiana Avent is simply SEX IN A DRESS, but because Lamplight have a rampant energy on the stage that can't be gleamed through studio work.
Which is not to say the music is ever really bad. The talent here can't hide - songwriting and arranging seen on Selftitled/Untitled has a sophistication not given to almost any other Melbourne bands, and there's a genuine joy that can be taken from knowing that young people don't need to haplessly hire old hands to do their fancy pants string and horn arrangements for them. At the same time, there's a raw power that was wielded by these young people when I saw them live at certain points in their performance that is just not matched at those same points in the recorded counterparts. Call it just one of those things.
Nonetheless, I heartily recommend this innovative quintet for those who are fans of contemporary Australian music. I predict they will be a steady force in the scene for a while now. (If you are heading to Europe over the next few months, I believe they are doing an informal tour there).
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
IT: The Televisual Revolution!
Through sheer will of boredom, I found myself listening the other night to the cast and crew's DVD commentary of the 1990 miniseries IT. Now, before sharing with you the delight and wonder that ensued, I must first present my opinion of the miniseries itself, which is a prerequisite for said delight and wonder.
My opinion of IT: A bit of light, Sunday night entertainment which tries so sincerely in every regard that it breaks even from it's failure to scare and its mighty fists of ham, while riding on the back of one terrific performance by Tim Curry.
According the director and cast, this production was not only the greatest experience of each of their lives, but a benchmark of television writing, a staple of filmic innovation and, in certain respect, a progressive feminist text of the highest order.
And you thought it was just a scary clown!!!
My opinion of IT: A bit of light, Sunday night entertainment which tries so sincerely in every regard that it breaks even from it's failure to scare and its mighty fists of ham, while riding on the back of one terrific performance by Tim Curry.
According the director and cast, this production was not only the greatest experience of each of their lives, but a benchmark of television writing, a staple of filmic innovation and, in certain respect, a progressive feminist text of the highest order.
And you thought it was just a scary clown!!!
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Little Known Wonders of the Musical World: Part Three
Tonight a certain piece has been playing on my mind. Although secrecy and the ensuing sense of security are surely a part of the warm feeling it brings, I would like to share.
What is it? It's a musical representation of a trip down the Nile river in Egypt, entitled River of the Ancients. It's written by a chap named Michael Sweeney, who has probably written more charts for high school bands than he has had hot meals.
Where is it? I heard it first when my high school concert band played it (all fucking year) 2006, but an in-tune and in-time version can be found on The Music of Michael Sweeney, Vol. 2, which I ended up buying last week just to hear the thing proper.
What's so good about it? You'd be hard-pressed to find a veteran of high school orchestra ensembles who actively enjoys the music they were forced to play, but I'm sorry to say I'm one of them. If you either accept or ignore the admittedly lame historic basis for the tune, it winds up sounding like something Grieg might have done - moody, unpredictable and manically symphonic. Maybe I just get off on really tightly composed pieces of music, which this surely is, but I like to think that it's more to do with the piece itself. Harmonically pleasing, heralding, rewarding. Conceivably lame, yes, but not one bit disingenuous. It's just music that sounds good to my ears.
What is it? It's a musical representation of a trip down the Nile river in Egypt, entitled River of the Ancients. It's written by a chap named Michael Sweeney, who has probably written more charts for high school bands than he has had hot meals.
Where is it? I heard it first when my high school concert band played it (all fucking year) 2006, but an in-tune and in-time version can be found on The Music of Michael Sweeney, Vol. 2, which I ended up buying last week just to hear the thing proper.
What's so good about it? You'd be hard-pressed to find a veteran of high school orchestra ensembles who actively enjoys the music they were forced to play, but I'm sorry to say I'm one of them. If you either accept or ignore the admittedly lame historic basis for the tune, it winds up sounding like something Grieg might have done - moody, unpredictable and manically symphonic. Maybe I just get off on really tightly composed pieces of music, which this surely is, but I like to think that it's more to do with the piece itself. Harmonically pleasing, heralding, rewarding. Conceivably lame, yes, but not one bit disingenuous. It's just music that sounds good to my ears.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Little Known Wonders of the Musical World: Part Two
Tonight a certain piece has been playing on my mind. Although secrecy and the ensuing sense of security are surely a part of the warm feeling it brings, I would like to share.
What is it? The song is called Gospel, and it signifies a very pleasant change in direction by Melbourne based indie group Treetops.
Where is it? Give it a gander for free at the band's myspace, and if you're very impressed, you can purchase their EP, also called Gospel, for what I'm sure is a bargain price.
What's so good about it? Gospel is your classic "bastard regret" song, but it makes its mark by using infectiously catchy melody and good-energy playing to shift its focus much more toward the redemption than the regret. The shout chorus of "I'm only doing good things from now on" is done with such relentless positivity and conviction, and is so congruous with the rest of the song, that the implied irony takes a backseat. Gospel isn't ineffectual - it knows there's despair and darkness in the world, but wants to celebrate the light when its there. True to its name, it actually is something of a genuine Hallelujah.
What is it? The song is called Gospel, and it signifies a very pleasant change in direction by Melbourne based indie group Treetops.
Where is it? Give it a gander for free at the band's myspace, and if you're very impressed, you can purchase their EP, also called Gospel, for what I'm sure is a bargain price.
What's so good about it? Gospel is your classic "bastard regret" song, but it makes its mark by using infectiously catchy melody and good-energy playing to shift its focus much more toward the redemption than the regret. The shout chorus of "I'm only doing good things from now on" is done with such relentless positivity and conviction, and is so congruous with the rest of the song, that the implied irony takes a backseat. Gospel isn't ineffectual - it knows there's despair and darkness in the world, but wants to celebrate the light when its there. True to its name, it actually is something of a genuine Hallelujah.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
"It's Never Over": More on the magic of Jeff Buckley
About three hours ago I finished reading David Browne's dual biography of Tim and Jeff Buckley, a compelling read for any Buckley fan as avid as I which tells two equally interesting and tragic tales, spun thirty years apart. Though the book has, to an extent, inspired me to look further into the music of Buckley Sr., I don't plan on giving cash prizes to anyone who can guess which of the two I was more smitten with. The experience has lead me to reiterate in text my love for Buckley's masterpiece:
Having unspecified relationship troubles with Rebecca Moore, an un-discovered Jeff Buckley began fiddling with a song idea in 1992, detailing his pretty standard feelings of inadequacy, regret and all round heart-ache. The song was called "Lover, You Should've Come Over". And, from the corner of Sin-e amongst the clatter of forks and the bustle of the street outside, the greatest Love-Lost song of all time was born. From the mere title, in itself a lingual treat that feels good in your mouth, to the melodic moaning, crooning and howling which end the song, communicating what words couldn't quite reach, it remains to me one of the most perfect musical pieces ever written... and I get such a strange rush out of realizing I was alive and well when this happened. It reminds me that music, I mean really great, life-changing music, is not dead.
But the untouchable, untouched musical passion that resided in Jeff Buckley isn't the driver in this case: it only necessitates what makes "Lover" great; it gives the song its force and sharpness with which to penetrate us, all the way to that deep part of the human experience where Jeff lived, all the time. Once he's there, we hear what he's saying, and if the moment has caught us just right, we'll damn near weep.
Because it bends a lot of people out of shape to know it, I think, but every hurt and every happiness you ever suffer never leaves. They make you who you are, and you carry them around with you, in varying forms, til you die. That's why there shouldn't ever be a person who hears the sadly uplifting gospel bridge of "It's never over; my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder" and doesn't immediately think of one specific person. There shouldn't ever be someone who hears those words sung with that voice without remembering with a frightening freshness that feeling, that feeling that there was nothing in all your life you wouldn't have given for one more second of being a whole with that person, that feeling that nothing would ever be alright without them. It was everything, that feeling. It was the whole fucking world for however long you felt it. And Jeff Buckley felt it too.
It takes a special kind of person, I think, to write a song of such paradox with such confidence, but I say what is emotional pain but confident paradox? "Lover, You Should've Come Over" is the truest of all songs in that sense: it is every sad story. We all hear it as we are, sitting at home and feeling normal and good enough, watching the funeral of the outside world parade before our door, and its no coincidence at all that amidst these verses of calmness and acceptance and the signs of a life moving on, every chorus comes back a little stronger than the last, a little more insistent. It's the hardest, and most universal kind of sadness, this: we are happy enough most of the time and as many problems as we may throw up to the sky in the process, the only answer that feels right, and that keeps returning with more and more force: "oh, but I wish you'd come over." It is the tear that hangs inside our soul forever.
And yet Buckley holds out hope: "It's not too late" are his parting words, before the song calms down to its initial lull and fades away, as Jeff himself did not three years later. Because of his untimely departure, we will never know if he was right. Was this optimism his greatest strength or greatest tragedy? Would someone, some day have walked through his door and make it feel, to his hurt and yearning, that his lover had returned? Was the surety that it's never over virtue or vice? The pain is undeniable and universal, but the conclusion is entirely ours to draw, through ourselves and everything we know. That's the magic that Buckley had.
Having unspecified relationship troubles with Rebecca Moore, an un-discovered Jeff Buckley began fiddling with a song idea in 1992, detailing his pretty standard feelings of inadequacy, regret and all round heart-ache. The song was called "Lover, You Should've Come Over". And, from the corner of Sin-e amongst the clatter of forks and the bustle of the street outside, the greatest Love-Lost song of all time was born. From the mere title, in itself a lingual treat that feels good in your mouth, to the melodic moaning, crooning and howling which end the song, communicating what words couldn't quite reach, it remains to me one of the most perfect musical pieces ever written... and I get such a strange rush out of realizing I was alive and well when this happened. It reminds me that music, I mean really great, life-changing music, is not dead.
But the untouchable, untouched musical passion that resided in Jeff Buckley isn't the driver in this case: it only necessitates what makes "Lover" great; it gives the song its force and sharpness with which to penetrate us, all the way to that deep part of the human experience where Jeff lived, all the time. Once he's there, we hear what he's saying, and if the moment has caught us just right, we'll damn near weep.
Because it bends a lot of people out of shape to know it, I think, but every hurt and every happiness you ever suffer never leaves. They make you who you are, and you carry them around with you, in varying forms, til you die. That's why there shouldn't ever be a person who hears the sadly uplifting gospel bridge of "It's never over; my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder" and doesn't immediately think of one specific person. There shouldn't ever be someone who hears those words sung with that voice without remembering with a frightening freshness that feeling, that feeling that there was nothing in all your life you wouldn't have given for one more second of being a whole with that person, that feeling that nothing would ever be alright without them. It was everything, that feeling. It was the whole fucking world for however long you felt it. And Jeff Buckley felt it too.
It takes a special kind of person, I think, to write a song of such paradox with such confidence, but I say what is emotional pain but confident paradox? "Lover, You Should've Come Over" is the truest of all songs in that sense: it is every sad story. We all hear it as we are, sitting at home and feeling normal and good enough, watching the funeral of the outside world parade before our door, and its no coincidence at all that amidst these verses of calmness and acceptance and the signs of a life moving on, every chorus comes back a little stronger than the last, a little more insistent. It's the hardest, and most universal kind of sadness, this: we are happy enough most of the time and as many problems as we may throw up to the sky in the process, the only answer that feels right, and that keeps returning with more and more force: "oh, but I wish you'd come over." It is the tear that hangs inside our soul forever.
And yet Buckley holds out hope: "It's not too late" are his parting words, before the song calms down to its initial lull and fades away, as Jeff himself did not three years later. Because of his untimely departure, we will never know if he was right. Was this optimism his greatest strength or greatest tragedy? Would someone, some day have walked through his door and make it feel, to his hurt and yearning, that his lover had returned? Was the surety that it's never over virtue or vice? The pain is undeniable and universal, but the conclusion is entirely ours to draw, through ourselves and everything we know. That's the magic that Buckley had.
Monday, February 11, 2008
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