Future Islands: Two Songs and a Live One

Ok, trust me, it's hard to choose two songs here because nearly every song is just amazing. Like, breathtaking amazing. Like, the kind of amazing where you scream a bit and go find your best friend, and force her to listen to the album as you drive around town aimlessly. Those are good moments.

Anyway the actual videos aren't that great. "Inch of Dust" is better than the other one, though.

I listened to these two albums as I did this epic run up Farmington Canyon in Utah. The run was pretty fantastic. It was essentially six miles up, four thousand feet or more in elevation gain. The perfect music for such an insane run.

And then I had an injured foot for a couple weeks and had to bow out of the Ragnar: Wasatch Back race I was training for. Ha. Ha.

Was it worth it? Yes, yes, I think it was.





I just watched someone's live version of "Inch of Dust" on Youtube and it was fantastic. Yes, Sam Herring, the singer, is a bit crazy, reminds me of Jack Black being all intense. I love Jack Black, so what does that tell you?

Yes, it means I love Sam Herring. His lyrics are phenomenal. His singing is emotional. You just don't get that these days. LOVE. Big fat love.



Here's a beautiful live performance from NPR. Man, there's just something about his voice. Kills me. Hope you love it. Seriously, you better love it. Or else.

Being Honest With You, My Dear Blog

You wouldn't know it, but I tend to hold a lot back. A LOT. A. LOT. But starting today, I'm turning over a new leaf. I'm going to be more open about things. Is that cool?

Good.

I think I've made this promise before, in other blog posts, but I mean it this time. I really do.

What I usually hold back is, well, the truth about what I'm doing and whatnot. I usually only write about the safe things, things that I'm not afraid for people to know, like me exercising (kicking arse!), running races, music I like, and my random thoughts about current events. Typically those are rants, the ones about current events, and even there, I hold back. I could rant so hard it would burn your brain into a skull-puddle. Skull-puddle. How does that sound? *shiver

Anyway, I hold back the most about my writing. Back when I put links up to some of my stories, you wouldn't know it, but that was huge for me. Enormous. It was quite scary, too. And so far, it's been terrible. No one has even noticed them. I think twenty people have read the stories and they were all in my family.

No big deal. That's what happens when you don't advertise. Plus, who wants to pay for MY stories when you can read my blog for free? My blog is so fascinating. Who needs to get their fix from my stories?

Right now, all that's going on my life is: 1) taking care of Corbet (my son, born eight months ago); 2) maintaining the house (that's hard, if you've never done it before, it involves things like sweeping, folding laundry, dusting blinds, etc. Sucky work, but someone's got to do it); 3) exercising like a banshee; got to get that lithe figure back, you know, ha. Ha ha ha. 4) hiding from the neighbors, who turn out to all be in my ward because I'm back in Utah now ("I saw you out running yesterday." Is a phrase I've heard several times already from ward-members. Still not used to it.); 5) taking care of Corbet; 6) trying to find time to write.

The other day I made a goal. I'd work on my stories DURING THE DAY AT SOME POINT. MAYBE WHEN CORBET IS NAPPING*.

I accomplished that goal once or twice. And then the laundry piled up. And Corbet tried to eat a dust-bunny he found under the linen rack in the master bathroom. That's when I realized I hadn't swept in over a month. So I cleaned. Still haven't swept, but I cleaned the bathroom. Good job, me.

And now I've only written at home once in the past two weeks. Last night. I threw in a scene that was partially inspired by the song "Cough Syrup" by Young the Giant. I liked that song BEFORE it appeared on Glee.

I hate Glee.

Anyway, great song. Can't stop listening to "Islands" by Young the Giant, either. And you know what? That band is awesome. I'm in love.

Anyway, I threw the "Cough Syrup" scene into the manuscript that I finished a month or so ago. The manuscript only took me two years to write or something. Ha. Ha ha ha. That's partially because I had a baby during that time. Writing was difficult while pregnant. And then I had some health complications. I know! Excuses, excuses. So, I think the scene works. I need to reread it again, and touch it up, but I think it's daring. And right. It fits. It really does.

So, there's some info about my writing, which has proven to be the hardest thing for me to write about on my blog. Weird, I know. But honestly, it's because I'm afraid to be a failure.

You know. I just want to grow. Somehow. To combat that feeling I constantly have of being in a state of permanent regression. Like Mister Kurtz. Day by day. The older I get. Perhaps it's merely the "the more I know, the more I realize I don't know" phenomenon, and I'm suffering the symptoms of it. Who can say for sure?

Fear bugs me, anyway, and when I finally realize I'm being afraid, I try to woman up and confront it.

This is me confronting a fear.

Thanks.



*This kind of planning always results in the plan's ultimate destruction. Son won't cooperate when I plan to do things while he naps.

Conway Twitty: "Easy Loving"

This is one of my favorite songs.

It's getting harder to find live recordings of the great old country songs, especially with embedding enabled. If you ask me, and I know you wonder what I think, this is a really stupid move for the labels. How do they think music spreads these days? Youtube. Sharing. Embedding. When I hear a great song from a video, what do I do? I go buy it. It's not rocket science.

I posted a song by the Civil Wars recently, but I only bought the album because I could hear the entire song from the bands' YouTube video. The small sample provided by Amazon.com wasn't enough to make me feel like buying it. So what I'm saying is that Universal and Arista and whoever owns the rights to all the live TV recordings done by the legends of country music, should be drudging up the videos from their archives and posting them on YouTube for younger audiences to find. And they will find it. And they will end up buying it.

Duh. It's like I have to hold their hands or something. They have no idea what's going on. I guess that's why all the studios in Nashville are closing down—because, like all the industries that are currently becoming obsolete, we have dinosaurs running things.

Anyway, I love Loretta and Conway together. Not all the songs, mind you—admittedly some of them are um, crappy. But the good ones are really, really good. I almost posted a 1980s live recording of Conway at the CMAs, just because it's awesome despite being so 1980s country. But I know my audience loves the old southern suits and polyester styles worn by country artists prior to the 80s. And deep down, EVERYONE is secretly in love with Conway. Women and men.

George and Tammy Together in Perfect Harmony

I was just trying to organize my music . . . again . . . and I found this George Jones and Tammy Wynette song. I lost it for a minute, but now it's found. And it's so good, I needed to share it: 



George's hair . . . has that ever been duplicated in all of history? It's perhaps the most amazing 'do I've ever seen. Completely unprecedented.

When George says, "Some love lives..." I die a little. It sounds so great.

There's so much good about this video that I don't know where to begin. Well, scratch that. I began with George's hair, which is phenomenal—right up there with a beard of bees. Then I went to George's voice for a second, which is totally awesome . . . just to recap.

So now let's move to George's outfit. I'm not quite sure who told him to wear that brown top with those orange pants, but I'm pretty certain I have about twenty Facebook "friends" who'd love to get their hands on an outfit of that caliber. You can look for hours at the vintage clothing store and come up several pale orange stripes shy of this work of art. And even then, say you find a pair of those pants. Who's going to give away a vest like George's? No one. There was probably only one made like it in the world anyway, and it's most likely in Marty Stuart's country music relic collection.

But my bohemian friends would love this outfit and I sincerely believe the world would be a better place if there were more outfits like it out in the world. Sadly, what I see more often than not are ugly print tees with pointless words on them like "affliction," "disease," and "no fear" in crude fonts, and holey, carefully distressed jeans.

Also, I think outfits like George's would really be doing us a favor if they could replace all the nasty skinny jeans on men. I'd rather see a thousand pairs of striped orange pants than even one pair of skinny jeans on a guy. And it's not just because I'm a huge fan of striped orange pants. I didn't even know I was until I saw this video. And it's only because of the brown and white vest and George's 'do/chops complementing the pants like a gold chain does a hairy, sun-bronzed chest.

As for Tammy. She's great. I love the blue eyeshadow. It's always been a winner when combined with blonde hair and she pulls it off smashingly. She's got a lot of class. You can tell from the ring and elegant necklace. She's gorgeous. And yes, I love her voice. But I confess, I'm a bigger fan of Loretta Lynn. That's just me. As a combination, George and Tammy are fantastic. I can't complain.

Excellent. I know you'll love the video. Please sample it as many times as you like. I think I watched it a hundred times while I was writing this and I'm still not sick of George's hair.

Alexander: A Million Years

I know, two music posts in a row. That's lame, yet I can't help it. I wrote a post yesterday, but it was controversial and so I didn't publish it. You don't even want to know what it's about because the subject matter alone is enough to ignite rage amongst the calmest of folk.

But this song is great. I just heard it and fell in love immediately, like the first time I saw Stoker playing the drums that night in the Factory in Logan. And I dedicate it to Stoker, except that, obviously, we need to switch out the "my girl" part and make it "my boy" but that sounds odd, so let's make it "my guy." And pretend I'm singing it and that I sound good and any other gender references should automatically be the opposite so that it fits with me dedicating it to Stoker. Thanks.

Also, Stoker doesn't wear make up. So that part should be about MY make up. Not his...hmmmm....I hope he doesn't wear make up. I haven't noticed mine disappearing mysteriously...

Ha ha! Kidding! So kidding. I just thought it would be funny to pretend to be suspicious, suddenly. Suspicion is ALWAYS funny.

"It's a spun tongue, it's a holy s%#$......"

p.s. I love it that I no longer have to call the radio station and ask them to dedicate songs to the one I love. Remember doing that? Talk about sweaty palms over nothing! Now all I have to do is post a song to Twitter, Facebook, or my blog and say, "I dedicate this to you, baby." And please don't bring up Delilah. I will never ever never ever call her. Not even when she's the last radio program on FM. Never.

I love cats.

The Civil Wars "Poison & Wine"

Um. This is amazing. I'm probably the last to hear of them, but that's nothing new.

The Neverending Story = Best Kid's Show Ever

Oh man.

So.

Someone posted a commented on a blog post I did in 2007 and of course I went to respond. Then, unfortunately, I noticed that a bunch of my old posts from that month were missing their first lines because as usual, I'm an idiot and I got all fancy with the formatting so that when I changed my template (which I do regularly. It's like rearranging the living room), the formatting didn't change and so certain colored fonts mysteriously disappeared.

Very frustrating.

That's when I ran across this post.

Which of course led to this music video:



Can you resist the Neverending Story? If you were born after 1972 but prior to 1990, the answer is that NO. YOU CAN'T. Because it's perhaps one of the single greatest movies for children EVER.

Watching the music video but ignoring all the embarrassing 80s pop hair moments and bad acting of the singers, the clips of Falkor, Atreyu, and even the obnoxious Childlike Empress with her irritating pout (sorry, pouty faces bring out the boxer in me) reignite my longing to help Atreyu overcome the Nothing.

I HATE the Nothing!

But really the Nothing was more than just a scary werewolf who wants to kill you. It's Nothing, man. NOTHING . . . I think you have to smoke a lot of weed to understand it. 

I can't remember Atreyu's horse's name (Artax?), but the scene in the music video where the horse is sinking in the quicksand KILLS me. KILLS ME. I've never had my own horse, but if I had one, there'd be one condition the horse would have to swear to: TO NEVER DIE. And especially, especially to avoid the blasted quicksand. Atreyu's scream as the horse just stands there, sinking, killed me. Yes, yes, I know. After they overcome the Nothing, everything is restored.

Right? It's been so long since I last watched it, I hardly remember the ending.

Now, I know there will be plenty of people who disagree with me. They will say, "No, the greatest kids movie ever was Goonies." Or, "Pish posh. Best movie for kids was Willow*". Or, "Nawwwwww, Dark Crystal. So classic," I would expect to even hear a "No no no no, best kid's movie is Princess Bride."

My only question for those who want to throw out other best kid's movies is, "Does it have a luckdragon?" If it doesn't have a luckdragon, there's no competition**.

The answer is yes, I have always wanted a luckdragon.

All these movies are from my youth, of course, therefore recent films are not even being recognized. So please don't try to judge Then against Now. Because if you do, Now will utterly fail. Movies from Now don't even COMPARE. I'm not sure what they were thinking in the 80s, but something was going on and we were rewarded with shows like Goonies, Princess Bride, and the NeverEnding Story.

These days all they can do is produce crap like Agent Cody Banks. Spy Kids. More like Crap Kids and Agent Crappy Banks. Not to be bitter. I just enjoy substituting random words with the word crap from time to time. It makes me laugh.

Not that crappy kid shows matter to me, yet, because I don't watch them anymore and my first kid is still gestating. But I'll tell you what he's going to watch when he's old enough. NeverEnding Story.

Luckily, the Childlike Empress's fate wasn't in my hands. I have no respect for pouts of this magnitude, especially not perma-pouts, as hers seems to be. 

*Seriously? I mean, "Willow" was good. But not THAT good.
*This can be expressed in an equation: (Film title) + luckdragon = Best Kid's Movie Ever. Conversely, (Film title) - luckdragon ≠ Best Kid's Movie Ever. I know. It's simple. I made it that way on purpose for all those Hollywood execs looking to cash in on family-friendly kid's movies.

Eddy Arnold: "Cattle Call"

Sometimes at work I feel a little crazy and neurotic and I can't stand to hear the noises my coworkers make. The constant wheezing sound of the perpetual nose-blower (she "requires" an air filter, apparently being highly allergic to normal air, and seems to fixate on her nose, even though from all indications, there's never anything in it. The sound, you see. It's not a "productive" sound. Like a productive cough, as you're getting over a cold or what have you—yes, I hate it that I've formed opinions about my neighbor's health and her vital signs. It's weird. But that's what happens when someone's blowing their nose all day), and the clickety-clacks of the mad-typer who's always composing lengthy emails to other coworkers comprised of poignant and clever observations, and the constant hacking cough of the smoker (sometimes I'll begin a sweet doze and the smoker will hack and cough out of nowhere, with no warning whatsoever, startling me from my peaceful lucid dreams. It's frustrating, and then I think of Pride and Prejudice when Mrs. Bennet gets mad at Kitty for not timing her coughs well and how the coughs wear on Mrs. Bennet's nerves. My nerves too!).

And today is one of those days. I was suddenly feeling very claustrophobic, and HOT (I think my company believes we'll freeze to death if they don't run the heat at 90 degrees). I can't stand it. So I was melting at my desk and feeling like if I had to listen to the clickety-clack of my neighbor I would explode (or gurgle to death in a pile of ooze, because it's so hot, you see), and that's when I remembered last night.

Last night Stoker was researching the history of the Nashville music scene and he played this one song by a musician everyone but me has probably always known about: Eddy Arnold.

Holy moley. It devastates me in a good way to find out there's always been some awesome musician or singer around being great and I've never known about them. That's the benefit of arriving to the scene late. Like being born in the late 70s and only reaching full maturation (really) the day I hear the artist (because it's like I've never arrived until the day I hear that music). Basically I have everything pre-80s to look forward to discovering over the course of my life.

Last night Stoker played "Cattle Call" and I couldn't believe it. Some people might hear it and scoff. Others probably love it and have a long tradition of hearing it—beautiful traditions of going out to the farm with dad or grandpa and having them sing "Cattle Call" or being forced to listen to it on the 8-track. But I haven't got those experiences.

I have others. But not the "Cattle Call" ones.

How can a guy sing that well? That's my main question. It's absolutely insane to me to hear the recording and know that when he recorded it (he recorded three different versions over a period of about fourteen years....or something. Stoker can tell you. Don't quote me), they didn't have auto-tune. I listened to two versions last night and both were amazing. I guess you'd say it's yodeling, but yodeling has always been awful to listen to, for me. And it's always been like, "Yo-del-eh-eh-hoooooo," which is just about terrible to endure. And I don't think that's exactly what Arnold is saying in the song. He's saying, "Ooooh doooo doooo dooo oooooh oh delo, oh doooo dooo, dwip, deee ooooh, ohhh delop, dooo dee dee." That's an actual transcription. I just sat here and transcribed it, vowel for vowel.

And each . . . cattle call . . . is clear and perfect. It's like clear mountain streams. Unblemished blankets of snow. Something like that. John Denver would be able to describe it better than I can, because it's like "Rocky Mountain High," or "Annie's Song," only it's a guy with a flawless voice and it was recorded in the 50s or something. Take that all you modern singers....

Anyway, so I remembered that I didn't have to listen to my coworkers and all their standard noises because I had this Eddy Arnold album to listen to. I got it last night. After I was slain by "Cattle Call." Thank goodness.

The Jezabels: Easy to Love

Holy crap. Just found them. Thanks to MDpart2's video post of some Scottish street biker. Thanks Mike! Unfortunately, Amazon.com still doesn't have their MP3's for sale yet, and I don't buy iTunes music anymore if I can help it, though I heard you can get them there. "Sahara Mahala" is amazing, and so is the one from Danny MacAskill's video--"A Little Piece." I might have to give in and get the iTunes versions even though it's against my principles. Just too good not to own.

Dolly and Bette

Two videos for our friend Jason. His mom died last night and we're all pretty sad about it. She was a great woman and loved by many. When I was living at my parents' house near Salt Lake and dating Stoker, who lived an hour and a half away, Jason's parents let Stoker live in their basement so he could be closer to me right before we got married.

I don't know if Jason loves Beaches, but the song seems appropriate. Moms are our heroes, or at least I think they should be. My mom is my hero. Stoker's mom too. And Jason's mom. Dads are heroes too, but moms seem to really be wind beneath our wings in one of those quiet ways, you know, pushing you along, helping you to be your best, but loving you in a way no one else can or ever will.

Jason loves Dolly Parton and who can blame him? I love her too (and Stoker does also, probably, though he wouldn't admit it as readily). I am sure Jason doesn't have bittersweet memories about his mom, and I don't think she has a single bittersweet memory about Jason. Just sweet ones, because he's a great son, and I'm pretty sure his mom was one hundred percent proud of him.

I wish I could support him more, and all my family and friends, by living in Utah near them so that when moments like this occur, I might be there to share my love with them in hugs and support. The gall of bitterness really is in realizing your loved ones are suffering and you're far away. Though we can't stop the sorrow, it's something to just be there.

Mel Tillis

I go to the same place for lunch every day to write and work on stuff related to my writing. Sometimes I make friends with people or they make friends with me, either way. Because the same people are there every day.

So when someone new makes an appearance, I tend to notice.

This is Nashville, so occasionally I'll see "celebrities." And throw myself at them, begging, pleading for an autograph and a picture.

No, really, I don't do that. I pretend to be cool. Because that's what normal people do. Though I often wonder if the celebrities wish more people would act impressed with them. Because...well, that's why they became rock stars, movie stars, etc. Right?

Like I saw Ben Folds there. He glared at me because I did a double-take (I think that's why) and then I got out my phone and tweeted about how he was there (but, I can't for the life of my think why he'd glare at me...Keith Urban did the same thing when I saw him at Border's and tweeted about his Bentley being parked by my truck as I was leaving—we'd stood in line together). With a really young, skanky girl sitting on his lap. Hanging all over him. It was weird. So he glared at me. Yeah.

The Lo-Cash Cowboys are always there (at first I spelled it Cowbows. That's funny. Cowbows. They should change their name), looking ridiculously done up in carefully torn jeans and lots of bandanas all over them. And often they have skanky girls with them. And I don't really know who they are, I only found out because they're there all the time, planning their next media, country-star attack and what have you. I suppose they're nice enough, but I can hardly approve of men with veritable ladies-of-the-evening on their arms.

And I guess Ryan Adams and Jack White frequent the place, but I've never seen them. There are always dudes and women there who look like they're "someone" but I can't place them, and probably some of them are just wannabes. The girl from that band, what's their name, Lady Antebellum was there talking about her awards show she was attending that night and the cashier didn't recognize her. It happens. It's a little sad. Not that Lady Antebellum are wannabes. That one song is awesome. Whatever it's called. It's good. Seriously.

But so far, the best has been Mel Tillis.

If you don't know who Mel Tillis is, well, he's sort of legendary and you should know who he is. He's like up there with Waylon, Conway, and Kenny Rogers. Those cats. You know? Apparently he stutters, but when he was talking to me, I didn't notice. And his daughter is Pam Tillis, and some people might know who she is because she had that great song "Maybe It Was Memphis."

Mel struck up this conversation with me and I didn't recognize him. I was sitting there, typing away happily, pretending my writing matters and will someday make a difference, and this person was hovering at my elbow sort of, and I looked up at him and it was this lovely old man.

"Sorry. I'm waiting for my man over there. He's getting us some drinks." He smiled and indicated this schmoozy looking guy in the line. All decked out in business casual attire like you'd buy at J Crew.

I smiled and nodded at the old man, thinking he looked familiar but I couldn't place him. So I went back to writing.

Then he asked me, "Are you writing a book?"

"Yeah," I said bashfully, because isn't everyone writing a book? It seems like it to me.

"You've been typing away for a while. Real fast."

"Yeah, haha." I said.

"I'm writing a book."

"Oh cool, nice."

"Sort of. What's yours about?"

"Um. It's science fiction sort of."

His man came over with some drinks, then some other guy entered the establishment carrying a Mac laptop, waved at them, and approached the group. So now there's like three men hovering around me. And it's crowded. I pack up, not because they're in my way; it was time to go.

"Is this your writing team?" I ask, because he's staring at me expectantly and both of his men had Macs and he had nothing to write with.

"Oh no, no, this is my publicist and this other guy is from the Tennessean. He's here to interview me." (The Tennessean = Nashville newspaper.)

The publicist says something about not being a writer and I laugh and say, "Isn't everyone writing a book, though. Get on board, you know." I grin sweetly. I can be sweet.

The newspaper reporter mutters something grouchy about how he hasn't time for books, he's too busy writing real journalism to pay the bills (I embellish).

The old gentleman asks me what my book is about and tells me he'll read it when it's done. I say how it's for young adults and he doesn't seem to know what that means, but then he tells me some confusing things about his book, it's about a sheriff in Palm Beach (or somewhere) and "just about a bunch of shit" and stuff. I laugh and say well doesn't everyone want to read a bunch of shit? He laughs and then introduces himself and shakes my hand, I guess because I haven't figured out who he is yet.

And I have, sort of. I figured he was someone I should know (he was being interviewed, he has a publicist, he's wearing cowboy boots, and a great button-down I might add), but I didn't want to ask and embarrass both of us if he wasn't who I thought it was.

I tell him I saw him perform at the Opry. I was backstage when Porter Waggoner did his last performance—the one when Dolly sang "I Will Always Love You" (which, by the way, was heart-wrenching and brought the house down . . . if you know the whole story about that song and Porter). And I remembered Mel because he looked absolutely stunning in a dark brown polyester suit with a harvest-gold button-down dress shirt.

I didn't tell him that whole paragraph. But I wanted him to know I knew who he was. I'm not some naive young person (well, not completely naive anyway) who doesn't have a grasp on the legendary country singers. And it was just a few days prior to that that I was thinking I needed to get some Mel Tillis tracks because I've been sort of starved for new, old, good country.  If only! I could have said, "Oh, man I love such and such. Great song."

Old country music is where it's at. And Mel Tillis. Classy. He was fantastic. I left feeling like a pure moron for not knowing who he was and reducing him to having to tell me. Celebrities don't like that, do they? I mean, it's humbling, right? Our job is to know who they are so they feel worthwhile. :) Right? I slacked on my duties.

I wish I had told him my name because, dang! You know? He offered to read my book. I really hope his book is a hit. He wrote a billion good songs. He's obviously got something going on there.

Sprawl II

Everyone's going to hate me for saying it, but Blondie and Abba. Yep. This song reminds me of those two bands. And I love this song (and I love Blondie and Abba). I was a bad fan and didn't get the albums between Funeral and this one, because I was . . . bad. And for other reasons, I guess. Because I bought Funeral in 2005 just after it was released and then they exploded and when someone explodes like that, I take a few steps back and reconsider. I don't like to get sucked into fires and explosions. Because I'm a jerk. I guess. Anyway, I really appreciate the amount of sweat exhibited in this live performance. These guys work for their money, right? I'm glad I don't have to sweat on stage, beneath the limelight. In front of everyone....

Blue Beard

The song is great. The music video makes me miss the west. Haha! What doesn't make me miss Utah? you ask. Nothing. And how can a bunch of pictures of stars and pine trees make me miss anything? I have no answers. I live by instinct alone and feelings. A world of feelings. It would kill an average man to experience the sheer number of feelings I feel in an hour. I'm not lying. He would be a shivering, drooling lump of flesh if he felt all the feelings I experience in a regular day. It's rough. Yep. So watch the video and feel something. Feel what I feel. Nostalgia for the mountain west. So long!

What Part of Forever

I love it that his band is comprised entirely of women. He seems to have taken a cue from James Bond or something. The girls are even dressed like they're from a Bond movie straight out of the 70s. Anyway, love this song.

Phantom Legs and Blinking Pigs...

little dragon_blinking pigs from jin angdoo lee on Vimeo.

In case you didn't follow the link in the previous post.

Secret of Happiness

I've figured out the secret to happiness.

It's quite simple, really. The secret is to realize that life is rather miserable. So expect misery, but be happy through it all. Right? It's not that hard. All you do is understand that life isn't supposed to be a visit to Wonka's factory and you'll get along swimmingly.

I was thinking about it today. I have about a hundred bruises on my thighs from this new bed-frame I got on Saturday. The bed-frame looks great. I swear it improves the entire bed, which was really starting to give me back problems. I feel like an adult, having a bed-frame and real bedroom furniture instead of whatever college leftovers Stoker and I could throw together. That's nice. There's nothing like feeling like an adult (even if all any of us ever does is fake it).

Anyway, the footboard has some wicked corners and being a dolt, I've run into them about a million and two times. I'm always in a hurry. I'm always charging ahead and ramming my legs against things accidentally.

So I was noticing how abused my legs look. The bruises are bad and hurt, as bruises are wont to do. But still, this song I was listening to put me in a good mood. I was singing along, getting into the song, and it hit me: life is like that combo--seeing the bruises and pain but being in a good mood because of a song. Or whatever you have that can add a positive note to the sorrow.

Priceless. I'm giving you kernels of wisdom here. Go with them and let them set you free, my child.

I know it seems like I have all the answers. But actually, I have a degree in fakery. I forget all the lessons I've learned almost always. If I've been hurt often enough, I can learn. Like, for example, the lessons of the inexplicable cabinet in our kitchen.

We bought a fixer-upper that was built in 1940. I think the kitchen cabinets might be the original cabinets. I assume refrigerators must have consistently been five in a half feet at some point and that's why this floating cabinet just hangs there with nothing under it, waiting to crack you open as you clock your head against its vicious corner on your way into the dining room. It's right next to the doorway. I think I turned my head into something like a squishy peach five or six times before it became habitual to automatically compensate for the stupid thing (and now I have brain damage. So sad. But it was worth it! To learn such a valuable lesson....).

What I mean to illustrate is how difficult it is for humans to learn. Or at least me, the slowest learner, the latest bloomer ever to feign intelligence.

But it took five or six good concussions before I learned. So in the end I think I came out on top. Or perhaps that's the brain damage talking.

The point is, misery should have a soundtrack. Find yours. I've got mine and it puts a great spin on everything. It's not that bad! Things are fine! Listen to this Cee Lo Green song, this Jamie Lidell tune or my favorite right now, Little Dragon.  

Barbara and Barry: Pure Bliss

Is it really such a crime to love Babs? And in particular, her duets with Barry Gibb? And to be more to the point, the song "Guilty"?

I feel like I've written about this a million times already, but it turns out, I've only actually written about Babs once, in this post, and it was just to mention how great "Evergreen" is. Because it is. And "Guilty" is amazing. "Out on the street anybody you meet got a heartache of their own . . . " That's true. They do. Thanks, Babs, for pointing that out.

And then thank you, even more, for the entire song and how you make any little duet seem epic and romantic and perfect and you do it without auto-tune or any digital engineering, just your emotion and your crystal clear tones.

"Pulses racin', darlin', how grand we are, little by little we meet in the middle . . . make it a crime to be out in the cold . . . " Barry. My word, Barry, you make such an amazing, profound point. And you know, when you sing with Babs, with your brothers in the background, you slay even the casual listener. You make my life feel like the romantic comedy it was always meant to be. You make me think I could do anything, move a mountain, walk on water, fly away in a hot air balloon with my lover, glasses of sparkling champagne bubbling away, fluted stems held so delicately between our fingers, and stars in our eyes, nuzzling noses like two shy deer.

And then there's the part in the song, the chorus where Babs and Barry sing together, and Babs does that signature move where she, kind of off the cuff, goes all lazy in keeping time with Barry's singing, "And we got nothing to be guilty of, our love will climb any mountain, near or far, we are, and we never let it end, we are devotion . . . ."

And they are. I mean, have you heard the song? That sort of singing and dueting (is that a word?) is PURE devotion. And it makes me feel devoted. It makes me fall in love with everything. This computer (which I already loved, but now I love it more). This table. This coffee shop. The people in the room with me. All of them. I now love them simply because "Guilty" is making me feel it, feel the love.

It's a love potion. It's BETTER than a love potion. It's the key to world peace. Babs and Barry. The perfect union of man and woman in song. The only other magical combination I can think of right now is Babs and Neil. But for now, I'm feeling it with "Guilty."

"You gotta be mine, we take it away, it's gotta be night and day, just a matter of time." Just a matter of time before Babs takes over the world with her voice. I can't believe she hasn't yet. Pure unadulterated, un-auto-tuned, gorgeousness in a voice.

Had a Dream Last Night that Both My Arms Were Broken

"Minstrel of the Dawn" or "To the Morning"?

In reviewing my expansive CD collection, I've been coming across some old gems. Today I ripped Gord's Gold. It's imperative that you understand my musical history before you pass judgment on me for owning this album (my friends in high school ridiculed me, of course. I listened to old people music). I was raised on FM100. In Utah that's easy listening, light favorites, and love songs. (In Nashville, Lightning 100 is the cool-kid indie station. That's taken some getting used to.)

Anyway, my mom listened to stuff like Jackson Browne, Dan Fogelberg, Abba, the Carpenters, Kris Kristofferson, and stuff like that. So I listened to it. It's logical. And of course that branch of music is still pretty important to me.

So, if you want to make me die from a good heartache, wake me up Saturday morning with Dan Fogelberg's song "To the Morning," from his very first album Home Free. My mom used to do that when I was a kid. She'd play it really loud and it would pull us all from our various beds. Sometimes she would have breakfast ready.

We lived on the foothills of the mountain, so it took forever for the sun to get over the mountains. We had a window facing east and I still remember my mom standing in that window, watching the sun come up, singing the words along with Dan Fogelberg. She was pretty amazing. Need I even say that I thought she was a goddess? 

What's fantastic about all this, now, is that occasionally Stoker tries to yank on my heartstrings by waking me on a Saturday or a Sunday with that song my mom used to play. But he forgets which song it was. So several times I've woken to Gordon Lightfoot's "The Minstrel of the Dawn." A song about a musician singing in a bar. It's probably autobiographical.

"Minstrel of the Dawn" is nice, if a little jiggish in parts.  It doesn't really hold a candle to the melody and power of "To the Morning" which is about the passage of time and the inevitability of love, separation, longing, and pain. 

It's a funny mistake--playing "Minstrel of the Dawn" when you meant to play "To the Morning."  It's become one of my favorite memories involving Stoker.  You can see how he'd mix up the songs.  They both have something about the morning in their titles.  And once you've hit play, you're kind of committed even if you realize your error because the volume is turned up really loud. 

Guess you had to be there.  And know the songs.  One thing is that I think Dan Fogelberg really meant his song to be one of the first things you hear in the morning so there's a stillness in the first notes--there's a long instrumental introduction before he begins singing.  Minstrel of the Dawn doesn't really have that reverent feeling to it. It starts out with words right away, like this, "The minstrel of the dawn is here to make you laugh and bend your ear..."  Quite the jolt first thing in the morning.  

For a comparison, Dan Fogelberg sings, "Watching the sun, watching it come up over the rooftops...."  He says it in a hushed kind of voice.  Pretty fabulous.  It's one of the better ways to start your day out.   

I Demonstrate the Inherent Power of Cher's "Heart of Stone"

Cher's "Heart of Stone" is probably one of the greatest songs to come out of 1989. It rocks. It aches. It rhymes. And it has tambourine. It has everything (no cowbell, but tambourine is as good as cowbell). I'm going to dissect it to prove how poignant it is:

Begins with an excellent acoustic guitar being strummed in a heartfelt manner.

Cher: "Beneath the white fire of the moon, loves wings are broken all too soon."

Obviously this sets up the story. The setting, if you will. The protagonist is clearly pondering the fate of her love beneath the full moon. It doesn't say it's a full moon. I'm taking literary license here. Usually a moon is full when someone thinks to remark about the amount of light its giving off. So, we have the moon and it's night and the wings of love have been broken. So we have a bird. No, no, not a bird; love, love is a bird. The bird of love has been grounded, thus the dream has been broken.

So the protagonist is regarding the landscape of the night, musing about the moon, and realizing the dream has been lost. It's a nice scene, established in two short lines. Good metaphors and such. Also, I really like that the moon has "white fire." That's fantastic crap right there.

Cher: "We never learn. [begin tambourine] Hurt together, hurt alone. Don't you sometimes wish your heart was a heart of stone?"

So there we have the age old lament that "we never learn." It's true. Humans are worse than animals when it comes to learning. We struggle. We have hope. We return to the former things, the things that have hurt us, because of hope. Nicely done, Cher. It's always good to fall back on proverbial sayings and whatnot when you're making a statement. Right? Because they're universal.

And then the protagonist goes on pondering, more lamentation, the lovers in the song "hurt together, hurt alone." Also very true. When love ends, does either party win? No, unless of course one of the parties is abusive and then the one abused wins, good job in that case. But typically, both parties lose because the entire universe conspires to break lovers apart, and that seems to be acknowledged here in that short line when coupled with the next line, which says, "Don't you sometimes wish your heart was a heart of stone?" The unspoken content of that line is that hearts are always being broken and if only (if only!) the heart could be made of stone, it couldn't be broken and break ups wouldn't hurt. Right?

Next we have the introduction of more instruments, always a powerful moment in a song. The pause, then the drums come in and the electric guitar, and bass. Fantastic. Who doesn't love this type of song-furniture?

Cher: "We turn the wheel and break the chain. Put steel to steel and laugh at pain. We're dreamers in castles, made of sand. the road to eden's overgrown. Don't you sometimes wish you're heart was made of stone."

Now what Cher is doing is giving us some concrete images. Applause. Why? Because concrete images are always a good choice. So we have a wheel, and a chain, some steel, and then the only abstraction in those two lines, PAIN. Abstract emotions are nearly always weak, so when Cher prepares us with some actual hard, cold images, we feel the meaning of pain. Pain is a broken chain (like on a bicycle), steel on steel, ooh that's cold. Then pain. But not just any pain. Pain you laugh at sarcastically, like, ha ha, Pain, think you can hurt me?

Then we get another hearty helping of very good metaphors. Sand castles. Roads to paradise overgrown and difficult to traverse, i.e., we're never going to make it, this is bull crap, why even try? That sort of thing. Works very well. Also, very sarcastic. As though to say, "What, you don't think love is worth it? Fine. Let me just mock what we had and by the way, I wish my heart was made of stone."

Fantastic. Just fantastic.

Then we have the chorus. It's an interesting chorus. Not your typical chorus. The first chorus has some interesting, not-boring drum fills and cymbal crashes.

Cher: "Look at the headlines: Big crowd at the crazy house, long queue for the joker's shoes, ten rounds in the ring with love, do you lose and win, oh, oh win and lose."

Ok, this part is very confusing. I'm not sure what the protagonist is trying to say here, except that only insane people put themselves through love, and if that's true, then bravo because it's VERY effective. VERY. I don't know what the deal is with "look at the headlines" and in any case, the newspaper reference is tired. But I do enjoy the "long queue for the joker's shoes" and the reference to the boxing match with love. Yes, that's good. We all get that because most of us have been pummeled by love enough to empathize with the reference.

Cher: "Sweet rain like mercy in the night (lay me down, wash away the sorrow) caress my soul and set it right (lay me down show me your tomorrow) summer tears, winter, and the moments flown, don't you sometimes wish your heart was made of stone. Mercy mercy wish your heart was a heart of stone."

Oh man. This part is probably the crowning bit of the song. In my opinion. Cher's voice changes when she moves into the line "sweet rain like mercy in the night," leaving the chorus behind, and it makes sense because suddenly the protagonist is singing about redemption ("caress my soul and set it right"). The rain has come and covered the moon (presumably), and then we have the backing chorus going on a baptism type theme, and the rest of Cher's lines are like a prayer, almost. The rest of the section is about moving on, "summer tears, winter, and the moments flown." Nice. It's always effective to bring in the seasons to represent the passage of time. Very good.

Cher: "Get the picture? No room for the innocent, peak season in lonely town, knocked out of the ring by love, are you down and up, or up and down?"

Good images. Much like the previous chorus, only this time it's referencing a brochure for a vacation trip, but the catch is, it's the off-season. No one wants to be in Jackson Hole or Sun Valley during the summer. Lonely town (unless of course you're there for the mountain biking, but that's easily ignored in my case). And instead of just being IN the ring with love, the protagonist has been knocked OUT of the ring. That was a killing blow, my friends.

Cher: "I ask the river for a sign, (in a dream, we go on together) well how long is love supposed to shine? (in a dream, diamonds are forever) but you and I, we hurt together, hurt alone! Don't you sometimes wish your heart was a heart of stone? Mercy mercy, wish your heart was a stone."

In this section Cher really belts it out. With emotion. It's loaded. She's the protagonist, it suddenly seems, she's truly looking to that river for a sign. I assume this river was always part of the song's landscape, and since she's just been baptized by the rain and a river, it makes sense that there's a river. And Cher sees that in a dream things could have been different, the lovers could have been together and the ring of promise (the diamond) actually kept the love true. But alas! The dream fades and the reality is that the relationship is over. They hurt at the same time and wish there was no pain.

Ahhhh, weak mortals. But without all that pain, songs as great as "Heart of Stone" wouldn't exist. And how gloomy a world would be without love songs, break up songs, and songs of redemption! I believe, my friends, that I've successfully proven my point, that "Heart of Stone" is an awesome song, full of excellent metaphors and imagery, and not only that, it's Cher! Cher! Of course, my words can hardly do it justice. You must listen to it to really feel the greatness. I'm particularly fond of the backing chorus during the redemption sections. Fabulous!