a broken record, once more
This entry will be an attempt to describe and note some of the various musical trends of the year 2011. The year may not be over, and there may be many more drastic changes, but the following observations jump to mind:
From January to March, I was very enamoured with Sleater-Kinney, in particular. One Beat
March was in flux.
April (and into May) was a period of listening mostly to Morrissey, especially Bona Drag, the record I was listening to the night the shit hit the fan.
From around May or so, I was listening to some Manic Street Preachers and John Lennon's Plastic Ono Band.
Since May, basically, with little variation, The Woods, Sleater-Kinney's last album from 2005, has been in constant loop. It has recently gotten to the point (finally) where I have realised this has got to change. The first step, taken on Sunday, was to remove One Beat from the cd player but leave The Woods. I replaced that with Velocity of Sound by The Apples and Stereos and added in the third slot an album by Sun Ra.
I think the bit of variety (at least for me) as exhibited by the general playlist of the last playlist is a sign of hope, for change.
I don't think I listened to The Woods this much in summer 2005, when it was also on heavy rotation and a new album. I don't think I listened to You Are the Quarry this much in 2004, the year that came out. And, as far as Neil Young, I sort of always had multiple records of his in constant rotation.
The Woods, in sum, has been in such comparable loop, the only comparison, in terms of frequency of listening, is Dark Side of the Moon.
When I purchased my first (and to date, only) copy of Dark Side of the Moon, in March of 2001, it remained in a loop on my cd player for a solid month, being the only music I heard for that entire month, and almost the only thing I heard when at home. Literally, the only time I got away from it was when I was in school.
I guess this entry is really more about being obsessive, compulsive, and beholden to repetition than to music. It is an entry about neuroses, related to music. There is much psychology to be explored from this entry and the last one.
Like anything else in life, my choice in music taste has been part willful decision-making, part accidents of life. For instance, I don't think I would have come to, well, really any of the bands I have if I had not been born when I was. If I had been born in say, 1981, I might be more beholden to grunge, and perhaps Kurt Cobain would play a more prominent role in my life. Had I been born in 1991, would I still listen to The Smiths/Morrissey? Would Pink Floyd be relevant to me at all?
I'm working with kids born in the mid-1990s, kids who (if I go based on my memory as "normal" or "average") really don't remember life before September 11th. I mean, I don't really grasp all of the differences, but, for instance, I do have memories of the 1996 presidential campaign. I did get to vote for Kerry and for Obama. Some of this kids --actually most of them-- might not even be eligible to vote for a president until 2016. I can remember Yugoslavia, falling apart; I have vague memories of the Soviet Union still appearing in Social Studies textbooks.
What do these kids know and remember? If we set the clock back further, and say make me be born in 1976 (as was Irma's son, Adam) what would my life look like? Undoubtedly the grunge movement would have been prominent, but so would have the hip-hop/rap movement in its classic phase and what not.
I also think about the technology changes, the massive shifts. It is funny, cruel, and ironic that Adam and I both have memories of war in the Persian Gulf, of war against Iraq. The kids I am being exposed to, except for perhaps the rare kid that really cares about current events and has grown up in a news-orientated household, probably don't really remember life before the Second War in Iraq or Afghanistan.
I may not remember it clearly, but I do remember the 1990s --the decade where the dream is alive. Whereas Adam didn't get to grow up with cellphones and laptops, I have to deal with the fact that due to my extreme mismanagement of funds (and the quasi-Luddite behaviours and affectations I have purposefully adopted), the kids I'm dealing with don't know life before smart phones, youtube, facebook, or laptops.
I still use a desktop, was part of the first wave of facebook (first joining in late 2004!), and I know for a fact that probably about half the kids have better, newer phones than I do.
I watched The Simpsons when they were still new, fresh, and in their prime; I remember Family Guy and Futurama before they got cancelled and returned; these kids frequently cite and refer to Adventure Time. I don't know if they know who Larry David is, but if they do, they never got the thrill I did of watching an episode of Seinfeld in its broadcast debut.
I suppose at this point I'm just really making myself old, cranky, out-dated, anachronistic, a closeted Luddite.
But I'm not. This entry has been way too i-centric, which is worrisome, but, I suppose that's the way things are.
I really wanted to (and even started an entry this morning) talk about Sleater-Kinney, about how they've officially formed a trifecta of favourite bands --the other two being, naturally, The Smiths and Pink Floyd. I never got to see Pink Floyd or The Smiths perform; I never knew either band as new, exciting music. Had I been born in 1976, I still wouldn't have, but I might (depending on what circles I would have been in) have had some notion of who they were, when Morrissey went solo in the late '80s and when Pink Floyd did their final album and tour as a band in 1994-5, to support The Division Bell.
Incidentally, I still haven't listened to The Division Bell. That could seem odd to most, as it does to me, but I have my reasons. Whereas The Smiths had a short but magnificent career (that I've listened to nearly every song, except for some of the deepest and most obscure of cuts) and I had to listen to them in a short amount of time, to mirror the intensity.
Pink Floyd, in contrast, had a long career, first forming in 1965. In all the time since, there have been 5 members that got to record on any album, 2 of those members dead. Of the remaining 3, only one (Nick Mason, the drummer) has been present since the beginning, recording and touring at every moment. From '65-'94, some roughly 30 years, they "shone like the sun..." The overall point being that, I don't want them to die. I don't want them to fade away, completely.
Morrissey is still alive, recording and touring. He doesn't have to be mourned. The Beatles were a foregone conclusion (since Lennon died in '80 and George Harrison died when I was in high school) I could never entertain a notion of them. But they still have a lot of stuff I haven't listened to.
As far as other music I like/loved/have listened to: Blondie is back, and still at it. Jefferson Airplane? Well, I never actually had a desire to see them live. I never had a desire to see The Smashing Pumpkins live, either. I don't know that I would have liked to see Davis, Coltrane, or Sun Ra live. Neil Young and Bob Dylan? Definitely still at it. And I saw Sleater-Kinney, and I might seem Wild Flag.
The point I'm making is, of all the musicians I've loved, especially ones that have since died or simply gone defunct, Pink Floyd (and The Beatles) especially, I like to keep a distance between myself and then. In other words, to make a point short and concise (which I should have done to begin with): I haven't heard The Division Bell not out of interest, but because as long as it remains "new" and "unheard" to me --there is a part of Pink Floyd still alive, fresh to explore.
Again, this entry speaks volumes to my neuroses. I'm simply not ready, not eager to move on.
But I have to. In the words of Jorma Kaukonen, in his bittersweet farewell to Jefferson Airplane, and in one of the band's best songs overall:
"All my friends keep telling me
that it would be a shame
to break up such a grand success,
to tear apart a name,
but all I know is what I feel,
whenever I'm not playin'
emptiness ain't where it's at
and neither is feelin' pain..."
The longer I stay sober, the more I reflect on things. But, in particular, the following three things popped into my mind this morning:
(1) It takes a habit a minimum of 21 days of continued efforts to form a habit.
(2) Alcoholism is more than a habit, it is a disease (debatable, I think, but let's accept it for now and argue later).
(3) When breaking up from a long-relationship, it takes half that time to truly get over and stop mourning the relationship. In other words, I actively (and regularly) drank from 2003-2011, or 8 years. It will take a minimum of 4 years to stop lamenting my break-up with alcohol.
Taken all together, the next few years will be especially rough. I hate dealing with transitions, but I must. This year is a transition; the next 3-4 years (at minimum) will be, as I struggle to find employment and secure tenure and maintain my provisional credential, (hopefully) making it more permanent. They are an inevitable part of life. I just have to give myself some extra time to relax and process. For now, and for the rest of my life, I am to remain forever vigilant, mindful that this is a disease, and like any other disease, I need to practice good habits to keep it in remission; however,that doesn't mean that it won't or can't come back. I may have broken the habit of drinking by now, but that doesn't mean I might never end up drinking again. Of course, it is a bit different. But, like anyone with an obsessive and compulsive mind, like anyone with the disease of addiction, there is that strong probability, the disturbingly strong factor that it begins as a thought (sometimes quite naturally, unfortunately) that materializes, and festers, and takes over, before it becomes a drunken action.
I don't want to go back down that place.
There are still many habits and thought-patterns and actions to break, to smash. Change must indeed be thorough and complete. But at what point is it thorough and complete? At what point has it turned into us looping backward, going full circle, back out and being active in the disease?
I never really got around to what I wanted to be the main thrust of this entry, about Sleater-Kinney. But I will end it with an anecdote about them.
I was reading on pitchfork about their last concert, back in 2006. At that concert, they performed (as they usually did) mostly from the album they were promoting. The performance began with "The Fox," the opening track from The Woods which reviews (such as the one on pitchfork) noted that served as kind of a litmus test as to whether or not one could handle and listen to that album. Those that made it past track one were rewarded and generally liked the album. Sleater-Kinney really only got into older songs in the encore. There were two encores. The final song of the concert was a second track, from their third album, 1997's Dig Me Out. That song? "One More Hour" --about the break-up between guitarists (and founding members) Corin Tucker and Carrie Brownstein.
The lyrics start with:
"In one more hour
i will be gone
in one more hour
i'll leave this room"
Tears were said to be streaming down their faces. Though Carrie Brownstein said rather optimistically last year that the next Sleater-Kinney album could be out in the next 5 years, I'm not sure I see it happening. But, then again, I am notoriously bad at prognosticating --which says a lot, considering how bad the future-reading business is to begin with.
All we can is remain hopeful and do the we can. I know I owe it to myself, and I imagine you owe it to yourself, too.
From January to March, I was very enamoured with Sleater-Kinney, in particular. One Beat
March was in flux.
April (and into May) was a period of listening mostly to Morrissey, especially Bona Drag, the record I was listening to the night the shit hit the fan.
From around May or so, I was listening to some Manic Street Preachers and John Lennon's Plastic Ono Band.
Since May, basically, with little variation, The Woods, Sleater-Kinney's last album from 2005, has been in constant loop. It has recently gotten to the point (finally) where I have realised this has got to change. The first step, taken on Sunday, was to remove One Beat from the cd player but leave The Woods. I replaced that with Velocity of Sound by The Apples and Stereos and added in the third slot an album by Sun Ra.
I think the bit of variety (at least for me) as exhibited by the general playlist of the last playlist is a sign of hope, for change.
I don't think I listened to The Woods this much in summer 2005, when it was also on heavy rotation and a new album. I don't think I listened to You Are the Quarry this much in 2004, the year that came out. And, as far as Neil Young, I sort of always had multiple records of his in constant rotation.
The Woods, in sum, has been in such comparable loop, the only comparison, in terms of frequency of listening, is Dark Side of the Moon.
When I purchased my first (and to date, only) copy of Dark Side of the Moon, in March of 2001, it remained in a loop on my cd player for a solid month, being the only music I heard for that entire month, and almost the only thing I heard when at home. Literally, the only time I got away from it was when I was in school.
I guess this entry is really more about being obsessive, compulsive, and beholden to repetition than to music. It is an entry about neuroses, related to music. There is much psychology to be explored from this entry and the last one.
Like anything else in life, my choice in music taste has been part willful decision-making, part accidents of life. For instance, I don't think I would have come to, well, really any of the bands I have if I had not been born when I was. If I had been born in say, 1981, I might be more beholden to grunge, and perhaps Kurt Cobain would play a more prominent role in my life. Had I been born in 1991, would I still listen to The Smiths/Morrissey? Would Pink Floyd be relevant to me at all?
I'm working with kids born in the mid-1990s, kids who (if I go based on my memory as "normal" or "average") really don't remember life before September 11th. I mean, I don't really grasp all of the differences, but, for instance, I do have memories of the 1996 presidential campaign. I did get to vote for Kerry and for Obama. Some of this kids --actually most of them-- might not even be eligible to vote for a president until 2016. I can remember Yugoslavia, falling apart; I have vague memories of the Soviet Union still appearing in Social Studies textbooks.
What do these kids know and remember? If we set the clock back further, and say make me be born in 1976 (as was Irma's son, Adam) what would my life look like? Undoubtedly the grunge movement would have been prominent, but so would have the hip-hop/rap movement in its classic phase and what not.
I also think about the technology changes, the massive shifts. It is funny, cruel, and ironic that Adam and I both have memories of war in the Persian Gulf, of war against Iraq. The kids I am being exposed to, except for perhaps the rare kid that really cares about current events and has grown up in a news-orientated household, probably don't really remember life before the Second War in Iraq or Afghanistan.
I may not remember it clearly, but I do remember the 1990s --the decade where the dream is alive. Whereas Adam didn't get to grow up with cellphones and laptops, I have to deal with the fact that due to my extreme mismanagement of funds (and the quasi-Luddite behaviours and affectations I have purposefully adopted), the kids I'm dealing with don't know life before smart phones, youtube, facebook, or laptops.
I still use a desktop, was part of the first wave of facebook (first joining in late 2004!), and I know for a fact that probably about half the kids have better, newer phones than I do.
I watched The Simpsons when they were still new, fresh, and in their prime; I remember Family Guy and Futurama before they got cancelled and returned; these kids frequently cite and refer to Adventure Time. I don't know if they know who Larry David is, but if they do, they never got the thrill I did of watching an episode of Seinfeld in its broadcast debut.
I suppose at this point I'm just really making myself old, cranky, out-dated, anachronistic, a closeted Luddite.
But I'm not. This entry has been way too i-centric, which is worrisome, but, I suppose that's the way things are.
I really wanted to (and even started an entry this morning) talk about Sleater-Kinney, about how they've officially formed a trifecta of favourite bands --the other two being, naturally, The Smiths and Pink Floyd. I never got to see Pink Floyd or The Smiths perform; I never knew either band as new, exciting music. Had I been born in 1976, I still wouldn't have, but I might (depending on what circles I would have been in) have had some notion of who they were, when Morrissey went solo in the late '80s and when Pink Floyd did their final album and tour as a band in 1994-5, to support The Division Bell.
Incidentally, I still haven't listened to The Division Bell. That could seem odd to most, as it does to me, but I have my reasons. Whereas The Smiths had a short but magnificent career (that I've listened to nearly every song, except for some of the deepest and most obscure of cuts) and I had to listen to them in a short amount of time, to mirror the intensity.
Pink Floyd, in contrast, had a long career, first forming in 1965. In all the time since, there have been 5 members that got to record on any album, 2 of those members dead. Of the remaining 3, only one (Nick Mason, the drummer) has been present since the beginning, recording and touring at every moment. From '65-'94, some roughly 30 years, they "shone like the sun..." The overall point being that, I don't want them to die. I don't want them to fade away, completely.
Morrissey is still alive, recording and touring. He doesn't have to be mourned. The Beatles were a foregone conclusion (since Lennon died in '80 and George Harrison died when I was in high school) I could never entertain a notion of them. But they still have a lot of stuff I haven't listened to.
As far as other music I like/loved/have listened to: Blondie is back, and still at it. Jefferson Airplane? Well, I never actually had a desire to see them live. I never had a desire to see The Smashing Pumpkins live, either. I don't know that I would have liked to see Davis, Coltrane, or Sun Ra live. Neil Young and Bob Dylan? Definitely still at it. And I saw Sleater-Kinney, and I might seem Wild Flag.
The point I'm making is, of all the musicians I've loved, especially ones that have since died or simply gone defunct, Pink Floyd (and The Beatles) especially, I like to keep a distance between myself and then. In other words, to make a point short and concise (which I should have done to begin with): I haven't heard The Division Bell not out of interest, but because as long as it remains "new" and "unheard" to me --there is a part of Pink Floyd still alive, fresh to explore.
Again, this entry speaks volumes to my neuroses. I'm simply not ready, not eager to move on.
But I have to. In the words of Jorma Kaukonen, in his bittersweet farewell to Jefferson Airplane, and in one of the band's best songs overall:
"All my friends keep telling me
that it would be a shame
to break up such a grand success,
to tear apart a name,
but all I know is what I feel,
whenever I'm not playin'
emptiness ain't where it's at
and neither is feelin' pain..."
The longer I stay sober, the more I reflect on things. But, in particular, the following three things popped into my mind this morning:
(1) It takes a habit a minimum of 21 days of continued efforts to form a habit.
(2) Alcoholism is more than a habit, it is a disease (debatable, I think, but let's accept it for now and argue later).
(3) When breaking up from a long-relationship, it takes half that time to truly get over and stop mourning the relationship. In other words, I actively (and regularly) drank from 2003-2011, or 8 years. It will take a minimum of 4 years to stop lamenting my break-up with alcohol.
Taken all together, the next few years will be especially rough. I hate dealing with transitions, but I must. This year is a transition; the next 3-4 years (at minimum) will be, as I struggle to find employment and secure tenure and maintain my provisional credential, (hopefully) making it more permanent. They are an inevitable part of life. I just have to give myself some extra time to relax and process. For now, and for the rest of my life, I am to remain forever vigilant, mindful that this is a disease, and like any other disease, I need to practice good habits to keep it in remission; however,that doesn't mean that it won't or can't come back. I may have broken the habit of drinking by now, but that doesn't mean I might never end up drinking again. Of course, it is a bit different. But, like anyone with an obsessive and compulsive mind, like anyone with the disease of addiction, there is that strong probability, the disturbingly strong factor that it begins as a thought (sometimes quite naturally, unfortunately) that materializes, and festers, and takes over, before it becomes a drunken action.
I don't want to go back down that place.
There are still many habits and thought-patterns and actions to break, to smash. Change must indeed be thorough and complete. But at what point is it thorough and complete? At what point has it turned into us looping backward, going full circle, back out and being active in the disease?
I never really got around to what I wanted to be the main thrust of this entry, about Sleater-Kinney. But I will end it with an anecdote about them.
I was reading on pitchfork about their last concert, back in 2006. At that concert, they performed (as they usually did) mostly from the album they were promoting. The performance began with "The Fox," the opening track from The Woods which reviews (such as the one on pitchfork) noted that served as kind of a litmus test as to whether or not one could handle and listen to that album. Those that made it past track one were rewarded and generally liked the album. Sleater-Kinney really only got into older songs in the encore. There were two encores. The final song of the concert was a second track, from their third album, 1997's Dig Me Out. That song? "One More Hour" --about the break-up between guitarists (and founding members) Corin Tucker and Carrie Brownstein.
The lyrics start with:
"In one more hour
i will be gone
in one more hour
i'll leave this room"
Tears were said to be streaming down their faces. Though Carrie Brownstein said rather optimistically last year that the next Sleater-Kinney album could be out in the next 5 years, I'm not sure I see it happening. But, then again, I am notoriously bad at prognosticating --which says a lot, considering how bad the future-reading business is to begin with.
All we can is remain hopeful and do the we can. I know I owe it to myself, and I imagine you owe it to yourself, too.