Triumphant Melancholy
Blessedly, they've cut the late shows at the theatre during the week once again, so I was able to leave at a relatively sane 145am tonight (as opposed to the occasional 430am of the past few weeks). Tonight was a good night, despite the low-level sickness that has insisted on hanging around as it has for the past few days. I managed to read the entirety of Steve Martin's Born Standing Up, which despite its short length is one of the most lucid and poetic descriptions of "how I got from nothing to success". I'd recommend it to anyone.
Leaving for the day, I carried my bicycle down the side steps, not really looking forward to riding home in 20 degree weather, but glad to be leaving all the same. As I donned my gloves, a song wafted over from the 19th Street Cafe. Usually, it is a generic electronic type song, but this evening it was Alphaville's Forever Young:
As I look at turning 32 (it will be a binary digit milestone, as oniugnip pointed out, as I turn from 0b11111 to 0b1000000) this song holds a bit more melancholic sway, though not a whole lot more than it has in the past. I certainly don't ruminate much about being young, since in many ways I still feel quite youthful, and I feel like I've discarded much of the naiveté that doesn't serve me well at this stage of my life. What this song reminded me of more is how much of the music I've enjoyed in my life have been characterized by a triumphant melancholy, especially in the synth pop songs of the 1980s. Purely joyful songs have their place, I suppose, but they have never remained in my head for very long.
On a somewhat related note, tonight I unexpectedly recalled this song from Final Fantasy VI (called Final Fantasy III in the US) (fast forward to 0:33):
Anyone who has played this game remembers this moment. I was likely sixteen when I bought this game and played it through (and I still have the cartridge, remarkably). I remember bits and pieces of the game, but this particular moment of the game was the second time I felt a chill go down my spine while playing a video game. The first time was playing and beating Dragon Warrior (1) and choosing "yes" when asked if I would join the Evil Bad Guy, at which point the screen would turn red and eerie music would play until you physically pressed the RESET button.
The most remarkable thing about this particular song is that I had only heard it one time, yet today I was able to not only recall most of the melody but also the opening words (bad translation and all). This likely came from copying down the script before starting the song so I would know which selection to pick, but it still didn't explain why it would have burned itself so deeply into my psyche with just a single listen to the point where I could recall it 15 years later.
Listening to it now, in many ways it still holds, though much of this is filtered through my own nostalgia. Like "Forever Young", this track combines the melancholy and triumphant (as does all opera), which manages to come through despite the lack of vocalization and the sparse instrumentation. I find it to be a worthwhile reminder of how little is actually needed to convey a particular mood.
Leaving for the day, I carried my bicycle down the side steps, not really looking forward to riding home in 20 degree weather, but glad to be leaving all the same. As I donned my gloves, a song wafted over from the 19th Street Cafe. Usually, it is a generic electronic type song, but this evening it was Alphaville's Forever Young:
Click to viewAs I look at turning 32 (it will be a binary digit milestone, as oniugnip pointed out, as I turn from 0b11111 to 0b1000000) this song holds a bit more melancholic sway, though not a whole lot more than it has in the past. I certainly don't ruminate much about being young, since in many ways I still feel quite youthful, and I feel like I've discarded much of the naiveté that doesn't serve me well at this stage of my life. What this song reminded me of more is how much of the music I've enjoyed in my life have been characterized by a triumphant melancholy, especially in the synth pop songs of the 1980s. Purely joyful songs have their place, I suppose, but they have never remained in my head for very long.
On a somewhat related note, tonight I unexpectedly recalled this song from Final Fantasy VI (called Final Fantasy III in the US) (fast forward to 0:33):
Anyone who has played this game remembers this moment. I was likely sixteen when I bought this game and played it through (and I still have the cartridge, remarkably). I remember bits and pieces of the game, but this particular moment of the game was the second time I felt a chill go down my spine while playing a video game. The first time was playing and beating Dragon Warrior (1) and choosing "yes" when asked if I would join the Evil Bad Guy, at which point the screen would turn red and eerie music would play until you physically pressed the RESET button.
The most remarkable thing about this particular song is that I had only heard it one time, yet today I was able to not only recall most of the melody but also the opening words (bad translation and all). This likely came from copying down the script before starting the song so I would know which selection to pick, but it still didn't explain why it would have burned itself so deeply into my psyche with just a single listen to the point where I could recall it 15 years later.
Listening to it now, in many ways it still holds, though much of this is filtered through my own nostalgia. Like "Forever Young", this track combines the melancholy and triumphant (as does all opera), which manages to come through despite the lack of vocalization and the sparse instrumentation. I find it to be a worthwhile reminder of how little is actually needed to convey a particular mood.