(no subject)
i've been really enjoying these two songs lately.
both of the songs are about something ineffable, and this feeling quite literally transcends words in the choruses, which consist of high-pitched oh's and ah's. but these are not in the same category as the 'oi oi' alarum of punk rock or the jingly trills of the Beach Boys. these choruses are not filler fluff, but sounds encoded with meaning, meaning that is better expressed in sound than could be in lyricism (melancholy/descending wails in the first song and ascending/orgasmic bursts in the second song).
the st. vincent song is remorsefully lustful, and as she leaves the party by herself without the money for cab fare or a clean conscious, she walks out into the (presumably brisk) night, and "keeping my eye on the exit sign," instructs herself, "steady now..." before letting out a somber wail of alienation and a reluctant appreciation of the beautiful night. almost like a coyote's croon.
the vampire weekend song courses quickly with anticipation as the subject of the song recounts her walk through NYC while queued up to enter the Museum of Modern Art gallery. when the moment comes and she is allowed to enter ("you waited since lunch, it all comes at once..."), the singer bursts into an indulgent, delightful cry that sort of spirals upwards, seeming to climb the walls of some brightly lit cathedral to the heavens. it's the perfect way to express the "eureka!" moment of seeing something beautiful in a museum. it's a "hurrah!" and a joyful dizziness and a humbling diminishment of the individual at the altar of beauty all stitched together simply in a near-shrieking hook.
to me these songs are like the two faces of my own personal emotional coin; melancholic and enraptured. i love the quietness and the coldness, the smallness that i feel as i weave through the neighborhood with my dog after i get off work at midnight. and i love the same sort of smallness, but a triumphant one this time, that i feel when i approach a long-coveted piece of art for the first time in a museum.
these musicians are aware of the trouble with words, and they are so deft with melody-writing that they can skip the corny rhymes and cleverness and just wail. brilliant, woeful, joyful wails that burst out of the inspired soul like a hallelujah chorus. absolutely genius. this is probably how people can enjoy opera so much. sometimes it seems like a collection of notes contains an infinity of interpretations.
Click to viewboth of the songs are about something ineffable, and this feeling quite literally transcends words in the choruses, which consist of high-pitched oh's and ah's. but these are not in the same category as the 'oi oi' alarum of punk rock or the jingly trills of the Beach Boys. these choruses are not filler fluff, but sounds encoded with meaning, meaning that is better expressed in sound than could be in lyricism (melancholy/descending wails in the first song and ascending/orgasmic bursts in the second song).
the st. vincent song is remorsefully lustful, and as she leaves the party by herself without the money for cab fare or a clean conscious, she walks out into the (presumably brisk) night, and "keeping my eye on the exit sign," instructs herself, "steady now..." before letting out a somber wail of alienation and a reluctant appreciation of the beautiful night. almost like a coyote's croon.
the vampire weekend song courses quickly with anticipation as the subject of the song recounts her walk through NYC while queued up to enter the Museum of Modern Art gallery. when the moment comes and she is allowed to enter ("you waited since lunch, it all comes at once..."), the singer bursts into an indulgent, delightful cry that sort of spirals upwards, seeming to climb the walls of some brightly lit cathedral to the heavens. it's the perfect way to express the "eureka!" moment of seeing something beautiful in a museum. it's a "hurrah!" and a joyful dizziness and a humbling diminishment of the individual at the altar of beauty all stitched together simply in a near-shrieking hook.
to me these songs are like the two faces of my own personal emotional coin; melancholic and enraptured. i love the quietness and the coldness, the smallness that i feel as i weave through the neighborhood with my dog after i get off work at midnight. and i love the same sort of smallness, but a triumphant one this time, that i feel when i approach a long-coveted piece of art for the first time in a museum.
these musicians are aware of the trouble with words, and they are so deft with melody-writing that they can skip the corny rhymes and cleverness and just wail. brilliant, woeful, joyful wails that burst out of the inspired soul like a hallelujah chorus. absolutely genius. this is probably how people can enjoy opera so much. sometimes it seems like a collection of notes contains an infinity of interpretations.