Regardless of the fact that I don't know what the heck the word 'Eluardian' means, I know that everything else about the song feels like I'm listening to things I already know and love deep in my bonemarrow.
The kinda song that makes you grin wide and feel like running in the rain with your best friend and getting sick the next day so you can spend the day at home watching E or Tootsie together.
And a break for horns! Every thematic song for the good life needs that.
Of Montreal ~ An Eluardian Instance (2008) Dir: Jesse Ewles from jesse ewles on Vimeo.
Does she know, does she know that I am not just searching for some first-time high?
I know it's all about perceptions, and I accept you as my very first move
Oh, oh yeah
Ah yeah
Ah la la la la la la
(horn break)
I remember riding bikes on Coaster Island
Planning midnight raids on the Swedish plum trees
That summer, it was too cold to swim, so
We climbed upon the rocky shore and freaked out
on the mountain goats, but they were not impressed,
or scared of us
Do you remember, our last summer as independents? (4x)
Do you remember, do you remember
I was a foreigner when you appeared
From the shadows at the motor club
I was a hater in the depths of an emotional hibernation
You sat me down, we had some drinks
And you told me your kinds of insanity
I asked your friend if you were available
She answered, 'no but yes oh well oh well yes and no,'
Now, I'm viewing my memory reel in reverse
Scrolling back to: come to feel your whether-than
Now, I'm noting the limits of our parabola
To predict: the points of thou-shalt-not-return
This inbreeding of ideals is intolerable
I wish David was here
Take your persecution complex and
I'm not gonna absorb your stress output any more
Oh don't you pimp out my heart
Don't you pimp out my heart
(ok so it's actually a love song. but who cares. i'm making it my... good-life song.)
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Transatlanticism- by request
Just so you know, I made it a point to never never never 'critique' or 'review' anything I didn't like. Because there's just no point. I might as well start expending a lot of negative energy on all the bad stuff permeating as soundwaves, which I don't see beneficial to anyone (unless it's very very funny. but even then, I'd still sound like an asshole.)
So I decided that if I didn't like this song, I wouldn't review it.
---
Out of the Transatlanticism album, my favorite, and maybe because I saw it first, is Title and Registration. That and the lackadaisical sadness that is expressed, a sorta nonchalance to it (which is always so cool, because it's not cool to care!!) blanketed in metaphor after metaphor, makes Title and Registration easily likable. Then you have catchier tunes like The Sound of Settling, and any song with a 'bappa bappaaa..!' gets more frequent play from yours truly.
So at first listen, Transatlanticism is not something Kye would play on loop. In fact she would probably skip it after 10 seconds of play.
Because it's difficult to deliver a sad song, that is unabashed about being sad. A song about being at the losing end of a deal that everyone else seems to accept with glee- it makes even the listener feel a bit pathetic for listening.
And Ben Gibbard has never sounded more earnest and breakable in his sadness then he does when he raises his voices to insist,
"I need you so much closer"
Because there's nothing sadder than calling for help from someone you know won't answer.
But then. Staying with him to the end of the song is rewarding.
Each time he repeats, "I need you so much closer" you can feel that his need is less and less, and it is more a determined want and hope rather than sheer desperation.
So Transatlanticism is redeemed because it isn't just a sad song- with that surge of energy at the end, the kind one gets when one makes peace with it all- it gathered enough strength to burst free from its own fetters of desolation.
And you will feel like that friend, that kind of friend- the kind that sticks around until a person down gets up again.
The Atlantic was born today, and I'll tell you how:
The clouds above opened up and let it out.
I was standing on the surface of a perforated sphere
When the water filled every hole.
And thousands upon thousands made an ocean,
Making islands where no island should go.
Oh no.
Most people were overjoyed; they took to their boats.
I thought it less like a lake and more like a moat.
The rhythm of my footsteps crossing floodlands to your door
Have been silenced forever more.
The distance is quite simply much too far for me to row
It seems farther than ever before
Oh no.
I need you so much closer [8x]
I need you so much closer [x4]
So come on come on [x4]
So I decided that if I didn't like this song, I wouldn't review it.
---
Out of the Transatlanticism album, my favorite, and maybe because I saw it first, is Title and Registration. That and the lackadaisical sadness that is expressed, a sorta nonchalance to it (which is always so cool, because it's not cool to care!!) blanketed in metaphor after metaphor, makes Title and Registration easily likable. Then you have catchier tunes like The Sound of Settling, and any song with a 'bappa bappaaa..!' gets more frequent play from yours truly.
So at first listen, Transatlanticism is not something Kye would play on loop. In fact she would probably skip it after 10 seconds of play.
Because it's difficult to deliver a sad song, that is unabashed about being sad. A song about being at the losing end of a deal that everyone else seems to accept with glee- it makes even the listener feel a bit pathetic for listening.
And Ben Gibbard has never sounded more earnest and breakable in his sadness then he does when he raises his voices to insist,
"I need you so much closer"
Because there's nothing sadder than calling for help from someone you know won't answer.
But then. Staying with him to the end of the song is rewarding.
Each time he repeats, "I need you so much closer" you can feel that his need is less and less, and it is more a determined want and hope rather than sheer desperation.
So Transatlanticism is redeemed because it isn't just a sad song- with that surge of energy at the end, the kind one gets when one makes peace with it all- it gathered enough strength to burst free from its own fetters of desolation.
And you will feel like that friend, that kind of friend- the kind that sticks around until a person down gets up again.
The Atlantic was born today, and I'll tell you how:
The clouds above opened up and let it out.
I was standing on the surface of a perforated sphere
When the water filled every hole.
And thousands upon thousands made an ocean,
Making islands where no island should go.
Oh no.
Most people were overjoyed; they took to their boats.
I thought it less like a lake and more like a moat.
The rhythm of my footsteps crossing floodlands to your door
Have been silenced forever more.
The distance is quite simply much too far for me to row
It seems farther than ever before
Oh no.
I need you so much closer [8x]
I need you so much closer [x4]
So come on come on [x4]
Monday, December 15, 2008
childhood pictures
i was once wise
in a time when my knees were round smooth things larger than my legs
i watched girls and boys play
and i played on their periphery- with them but never with them
i was never the queen
i was never allowed
i was always accused of cheating, even when i didn't know the rules
but i never declined to play the game
i was once at the height of my solitude
when i hid beneath chairs covered with a blue blanket
but my vision saw everything yellow
like the yellow of a white man's skin
in a dark room
with the soft flames of a quiet fire caressing his face
i was quiet, my mouth did not move
but with my doll
i went away, so far away
much beyond the unseen borders made by the chair's legs
and Mok and Ayah forgot i was in the house
but they didn't know i had long escaped
i was once hovering just above the nadir
when i lived in a box with walls that climbed high, up to where a cellar should have been but never was
where i scarfed down book after book
to try and fill my belly with the warmth that people couldn't give
because there were none
these are things the photographs can never tell you.
in a time when my knees were round smooth things larger than my legs
i watched girls and boys play
and i played on their periphery- with them but never with them
i was never the queen
i was never allowed
i was always accused of cheating, even when i didn't know the rules
but i never declined to play the game
i was once at the height of my solitude
when i hid beneath chairs covered with a blue blanket
but my vision saw everything yellow
like the yellow of a white man's skin
in a dark room
with the soft flames of a quiet fire caressing his face
i was quiet, my mouth did not move
but with my doll
i went away, so far away
much beyond the unseen borders made by the chair's legs
and Mok and Ayah forgot i was in the house
but they didn't know i had long escaped
i was once hovering just above the nadir
when i lived in a box with walls that climbed high, up to where a cellar should have been but never was
where i scarfed down book after book
to try and fill my belly with the warmth that people couldn't give
because there were none
these are things the photographs can never tell you.
Friday, December 12, 2008
If I were young, I'd flee this town, I'd bury my dreams underground
-Elephant Gun
I was recently asked, if in an alternate universe, I could choose to marry a book or a song.. would I? I replied, 'as opposed to marrying what? A person?' She said, 'Yeah.'
And I thought, I have another question. If I had to choose to marry a book or a song (where other people didn't exist, because if they did, DUH I'd marry a person. you can't have sex with a book.) which one would it be?
For a song, 'Elephant Gun', above is a definite Mr. Maybe.
A hint of everything, but meshed in a way that make the individual sounds, the different facets of character, distinguishable. Elephant Gun promises me of a journey to foreign lands, the wind on my skin, where nothing is just what it is. It doesn't promise me that everything will be pretty, or everything will be fun, but it promises to go through the sights and the motions holding my hand.
What more could a girl want?
Speaking about what girls want (and I know this is a music blog, but sometimes we don't need demarcations because everything is, in their core, connected anyway), I want to tell you about a new friend I made last night.
Her name is Sara, and she is an architecture student in Melbourne University. She loves photography (like you and me), and she loves cycling. And by cycling, I don't mean like me, riding on my bike to Iza's house and back. I mean she knows who the top cyclists are, her friends cycle for the national team, she follows the tournaments, and her hero is Lance Armstrong.
She can't wear heels (like me).
I met her in her blog posts from March to October 2008. And a recurring character in her posts is this 'boy' who comes and goes, and leaves her wanting. There are days she is okay about him, and she sounds so happy, that I grin reading. There are days when he lets her down, and I am furious.
Sara wanted what most of us wanted- to do the things she loved, and to have that person beside her, and her friends around her. Many of her friends, who met her in the real world, seemed like the friends that anyone would wish for. (friends that I believe I have too, though their faces are different.)
What I like most about Sara, because I don't usually decide to be someone's friend through their blog (my ego prevents me from doing that), is that she is so full of life and inspiration and DESIRE. She is a car with a seemingly endlessly fuelled tank- with a map, she could go everywhere and anywhere.
But He has His reasons.
I made a friend and lost her in the span of 2 hours.
Sara was 20 when she made her final journey in October. After launching a great war (because she wasn't merely battling) against an aggressive lung cancer for 6 months. And now, thanks to her blog, she will always be 20 and beautiful.
Excerpts from Sara's Xanga blog:
----
(I'm putting Elephant Gun on loop right now.)
I see these faces of people, who are still very much people to me, and not arwah or past-tenses. I'm confused, because, I see them so vividly sometimes. I remember how they sound like when they laugh. The way they chewed their food. And sometimes, it's so difficult to remember how they look like. Like they never really existed.
I went to sleep last night, feeling heavy and...
I wish, and it's such a futile wish, because it's a wish for the past- I wish I spoke to my dad more. I wish I had more conversations like the one I remember every now and then, when he said, one morning on the way to the KTM station,
'Tengok Kayyah. Chome deh langit?', he touched the clouds through the car's windshield.
I nodded. I NODDED. I'm such an idiot some times. I still am. With my mother.
Last night I wondered what my dad thought about a lot of things. And it kills me that he doesn't keep a diary, or a blog, or anything, other than his spoken words and performed actions, so I'll never know all these others parts of him that I know he is full of.
I share so much of myself with friends, sometimes complete strangers (when it strikes my fancy), but it's so difficult for me to say anything more than functional words when I'm surrounded by family. I'm so sorry for that, I don't know what to do about it. And it kills me even more.
Like my sisters. I know they want to get to know me. Especially Afifa. Whatever they know about me, it's from what they overhear in my conversation with my friends. They get the scraps of me.
Okay. That's enough.
I'm just still a bit shaken. I dreamed of snakes last night.
-Elephant Gun
I was recently asked, if in an alternate universe, I could choose to marry a book or a song.. would I? I replied, 'as opposed to marrying what? A person?' She said, 'Yeah.'
And I thought, I have another question. If I had to choose to marry a book or a song (where other people didn't exist, because if they did, DUH I'd marry a person. you can't have sex with a book.) which one would it be?
For a song, 'Elephant Gun', above is a definite Mr. Maybe.
A hint of everything, but meshed in a way that make the individual sounds, the different facets of character, distinguishable. Elephant Gun promises me of a journey to foreign lands, the wind on my skin, where nothing is just what it is. It doesn't promise me that everything will be pretty, or everything will be fun, but it promises to go through the sights and the motions holding my hand.
What more could a girl want?
Speaking about what girls want (and I know this is a music blog, but sometimes we don't need demarcations because everything is, in their core, connected anyway), I want to tell you about a new friend I made last night.
Her name is Sara, and she is an architecture student in Melbourne University. She loves photography (like you and me), and she loves cycling. And by cycling, I don't mean like me, riding on my bike to Iza's house and back. I mean she knows who the top cyclists are, her friends cycle for the national team, she follows the tournaments, and her hero is Lance Armstrong.
She can't wear heels (like me).
I met her in her blog posts from March to October 2008. And a recurring character in her posts is this 'boy' who comes and goes, and leaves her wanting. There are days she is okay about him, and she sounds so happy, that I grin reading. There are days when he lets her down, and I am furious.
Sara wanted what most of us wanted- to do the things she loved, and to have that person beside her, and her friends around her. Many of her friends, who met her in the real world, seemed like the friends that anyone would wish for. (friends that I believe I have too, though their faces are different.)
What I like most about Sara, because I don't usually decide to be someone's friend through their blog (my ego prevents me from doing that), is that she is so full of life and inspiration and DESIRE. She is a car with a seemingly endlessly fuelled tank- with a map, she could go everywhere and anywhere.
But He has His reasons.
I made a friend and lost her in the span of 2 hours.
Sara was 20 when she made her final journey in October. After launching a great war (because she wasn't merely battling) against an aggressive lung cancer for 6 months. And now, thanks to her blog, she will always be 20 and beautiful.
Excerpts from Sara's Xanga blog:
April 22, 2008
i'm really glad i reached 20.
thank you, God,family and friends :)
i'm so lucky to have all of you in my life.
May 6, 2008
my mom said,
i can't bear looking at you being in pain.
and i said.
give me pain, as long as i recover and continue with what's ahead of me.
they're still considering other options , ruling out chemo.
chemotheraphy will be the last resort.
and i hope i won't have to go through it.
but if that's the only thing that can keep me alive,
i'd say, BRING IT ON.
Lance Armstrong quotes " Cancer happens to strong and good people " :)
and papa said , "What God can do, God can undo"
and I believe it.
miracle happens.
the percentage of surviving at this stage is less than 5%,
and i'm going to be the lucky fews.
i Believe.
I went to bed thanking God.
another painful day saved.
yet .. another day of surviving this battle.
July 5, 2008
oh ya.
DID i tell youuuuuu,
my doctor said,
my cancer case only happens to one in 10 million.
gila kannnn. i'm so the chosen one.
i'm special ;)
to those yang sihat walafiat,
eat while you still can.
coz once dah sakit,
you have to restrict yourself from eating those unhealthy food.
so... DONT THINK ABOUT BEING FAT.
just enjoy your health and keep fit :)
takyah nak diet diet.
buang masa je.
i dah regret coz when i was healthier i was a bit too concious about my weight.
so kalau makan lebih sikit rasa guilty then skip the next meal.
the only solution is get your lazy ass off the couch and runnnnnnnnnnnn.
*besides, guys dig curvy girls*
i have a llllooooonnngg list of food that i want to eat after i get well...
till then.
<3
----
(I'm putting Elephant Gun on loop right now.)
I see these faces of people, who are still very much people to me, and not arwah or past-tenses. I'm confused, because, I see them so vividly sometimes. I remember how they sound like when they laugh. The way they chewed their food. And sometimes, it's so difficult to remember how they look like. Like they never really existed.
I went to sleep last night, feeling heavy and...
I wish, and it's such a futile wish, because it's a wish for the past- I wish I spoke to my dad more. I wish I had more conversations like the one I remember every now and then, when he said, one morning on the way to the KTM station,
'Tengok Kayyah. Chome deh langit?', he touched the clouds through the car's windshield.
I nodded. I NODDED. I'm such an idiot some times. I still am. With my mother.
Last night I wondered what my dad thought about a lot of things. And it kills me that he doesn't keep a diary, or a blog, or anything, other than his spoken words and performed actions, so I'll never know all these others parts of him that I know he is full of.
I share so much of myself with friends, sometimes complete strangers (when it strikes my fancy), but it's so difficult for me to say anything more than functional words when I'm surrounded by family. I'm so sorry for that, I don't know what to do about it. And it kills me even more.
Like my sisters. I know they want to get to know me. Especially Afifa. Whatever they know about me, it's from what they overhear in my conversation with my friends. They get the scraps of me.
Okay. That's enough.
I'm just still a bit shaken. I dreamed of snakes last night.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Postcards from Italy
i'd like to kill some things in the mush of my brain. but postcards from good times are not one of them- no matter how angry i get that they're only flat tacked on my wall, that i can't smell the oils, that i can't hear the laughs.
and let's get married under willow trees. preferably in the fall. i'll wear a golden dress, like an autumn chameleon. you can wear black, and shine.
The times we had
Oh, when the wind would blow with rain and snow
Were not all bad
We put our feet just where they had, had to go
Never to go
The shattered soul
Following close but nearly twice as slow
In my good times
There were always golden rocks to throw
at those who admit defeat too late
Those were our times, those were our times
And I will love to see that day
That day is mine
When she will marry me outside with the willow trees
And play the songs we made
They made me so
And I would love to see that day
Her day was mine
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
would you believe this is a love song?
"Stand Inside Your Love"
You and me
Meant to be
Immutable
Impossible
It's destiny
Pure lunacy
Incalculable
Insufferable
But for the last time
You're everything that I want and ask for
You're all that I'd dreamed
Who wouldn't be the one you love
Who wouldn't stand inside your love
Protected and the lover of
A pure soul and beautiful you
Don't understand
Don't feel me now
I will breathe
For the both of us
Travel the world
Traverse the skies
Your home is here
Within my heart
And for the first time
I feel as though I am reborn
In my mind
Recast as child and mystic sage
Who wouldn't be the one you love
Who wouldn't stand inside your love
And for the first time
I'm telling you how much I need and bleed for
Your every move and waking sound
In my time
I'll wrap my wire around your heart and your mind
You're mine forever now
Who wouldn't be the one you love and live for
Who wouldn't stand inside your love and die for
Who wouldn't be the one you love
and he kissed her foot.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Bloc Party- Signs
“At your funeral I was so upset. So up…. So upset.”
Sigh. It has got to make you want to sigh. Heartbreakingly beautiful.
He is one of those musicians who have voice as instrument. Others include Thom Yorke, M.Nasir, Isaac Brock, Greg Paquet, Hamilton Leithauser, John Frusciante, Ian Curtis, Kate Bush, PJ Harvey, Sarah McLachlan, Regina Spektor, Jeff Buckley, Glen Hansard, Paul Banks, Caleb Followill, Julian Casablancas and a never-exhausted-list of them. Listen as the high pitch music opens the song and later his low tone voice enters. As the song progresses, he weaves in his high tone with the music. It could not have been more pretty or clever.
I have to say the highest point of the song is when he sings the line that I have quoted above. It most definitely will do something to your heart.
Listen here on YouTube
** Names added after Kye's comment =)
Sigh. It has got to make you want to sigh. Heartbreakingly beautiful.
He is one of those musicians who have voice as instrument. Others include Thom Yorke, M.Nasir, Isaac Brock, Greg Paquet, Hamilton Leithauser, John Frusciante, Ian Curtis, Kate Bush, PJ Harvey, Sarah McLachlan, Regina Spektor, Jeff Buckley, Glen Hansard, Paul Banks, Caleb Followill, Julian Casablancas and a never-exhausted-list of them. Listen as the high pitch music opens the song and later his low tone voice enters. As the song progresses, he weaves in his high tone with the music. It could not have been more pretty or clever.
I have to say the highest point of the song is when he sings the line that I have quoted above. It most definitely will do something to your heart.
Listen here on YouTube
** Names added after Kye's comment =)
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Gotta love them Swedes
Even if their lyrics sometimes sound funny. Okay, maybe the chorus (the most blatant lines) were so frickin cliched. But I checked out the lyrics properly just now, and the other parts weren't so bad. Still pretty corny. But her voice and the guitars and all that Swedish goodness makes up for it.
Fine Line
I love her voice.
Fine Line
I love her voice.
Without a doubt, Coldplay's not-so-new-but-new-enough-for-me (isn't it amazing how we can invent pseudoadjectives by merely stringing a group of nonadjectives with dashes?) Viva la Vida is a great album, challenged only by the classic greatness of Parachutes, but my favorite song that I play on loop in the car, and in my head, on my lips, and under my breath to freak out nearby train passengers remains the ever uplifting Strawberry Swing. A catchier song never sounded more sincere.
Nothing like a group of little words to say the biggest things.
They were sitting
They were sitting on the strawberry swing
Every moment was so precious
They were sitting
They were talking under strawberry swing
Everybody was for fighting
Wouldn't wanna waste a thing
Cold, cold water bring me round
Now my feet won't touch the ground
Cold, cold water what ya say?
When it's such…
It's such a perfect day
It's such a perfect day
I remember
We were walking up to strawberry swing
I can't wait until the morning
Wouldn't wanna change a thing
People moving all the time
Inside a perfectly straight line
Don't you wanna curve away?
When it's such…
It's such a perfect day
It's such a perfect day
Now the sky could be blue
I don't mind
Without you it's a waste of time
Could be blue
I don’t mind
Without you it’s a waste of time
Could be blue,
could be grey
without you I’m just miles away
could be blue
I don’t mind
Without you it’s a waste of time
Nothing like a group of little words to say the biggest things.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Guilty Pleasures
...out of that dark place in my closet where there's a community of dust bunnies picking their nose in public.
Many of us secretly lace ourselves in the poisonous. In the ridiculous. In the embarrassing. Often times we do it behind closed doors, in dark alleys or behind big oak trees. Within the company of the silent walls, taciturn pets, oblivious parents and stale dust passing by. Some of us embrace our hidden skeletons, take them out to lunch and do the salsa with them in public. Here’s a less torrential alternative. Share it here on The Loop. Because amongst friends, who can really play the fool? Amongst friends, we’re all just fools with our guards down at a higher percentage than you’d allow in the presence of monster in-laws. If you’re going to tell me you’ve never listened to anything shameful before, then I’m going to go over there and talk to your mother. I’m sure she still remembers all those hours you spent listening to N’Sync/Westlife/Spice Girls and staring lovingly into the eyes of Lance. Sure, at that time you didn’t know he was gay. At that time you didn’t know that gay meant not in love with you…because you had the wrong genitalia. At least at the time you weren’t sure of the human anatomy nor did you have proper taste. C’mon, Lance? He didn’t need a press conference, it was pretty obvious. He was eurotrash bleached blonde!
AND he didn’t sing. He just danced around. WITH OTHER MEN. Hm…
Now, this is going to be emo. This is emo. This is blistered-pieces-of-a-broken-heart emo.
However, there’s no beware-of-screaming-feral-vocalist warning here. This is Butch Walker’s Mixtape. It is a guilty pleasure I’m foisting upon your innocent ears because it is so teenage poetry. Lost love being the subject matter. Pounding fists and breaking things being the actions taking place. Moping insides included.
I don’t remember how I came about it. I don’t remember what I felt about it. But I do remember that it was just something that latched on to me like a 10 feet long tape worm. I remember it playing in the dark as I tried to fall asleep and always thinking my god, is he going to strain his heart? This is cacat.
But c’mon! It was…it is emo catchy, mixed with boo hoo sorrow. Butch
Example:
You say hello, inside I'm screaming I love you
You say goodnight, in my mind
I'm sleeping next to you
You drive away from my car crash of a heart
And I don't know.
Rest assured I’m not listening to it anymore and it actually ceased being a guilty pleasure way back when it came up and I felt my ears being sexually assaulted. Like being licked in the lobe by some pervert. Or Richard Simmons. Or Gay Aiken. That was how unnerving the realization that this guilty pleasure is now dead and buried. Not of course until you suffer too.
As if we needed a creepy video to prove my point but let’s go all out for the experience.
There goes my unsullied reputation for good music =) I do it all for you.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
J'suis Snob
When at the movies, I am disposed to choosing an international or a foreign film over the latest blockbuster flick starring some shameless American displaying his six pack abs, or her double D boobies. Not that boobies can actually be seen on the wide screen of a Malaysian cinema but don’t worry; I’m not into same-sex provocation either.
Anyway, it is not the same when it comes to music. I am inclined to listen to music made in English saved for a handful of songs that I somehow picked up along the way that is not conveyed in the current lingua franca. Frankly, I don’t understand these few songs but as we can all agree, the language of music is universal. Those foreign songs include a Spanish rock tune (typical, eh?), a popular German love ballad from the 90s (!!!), a Japanese theme song for a once crazed-over Japanese drama (I am susceptible to sibling influences), and M. Nasir.
Or not good.
Or annoying.
Or ridiculous.
With the exception of M. Nasir. But why is M. Nasir different? How is it that M. Nasir can tower over the mainstream acts of the Malay music industry, hold his own and completely kick ass? Not only is he all that, but he has no Western influences either. His music is not some clever fusing of East and West nor churned out using a pop formula.
It is because sonically, he’s above mainstream deliverance. Because he can pen Malay literature and package it in a respectable fashion of music. How he merges his vocals, his words and his vision is solidly and intricately done. An apt representation of the arts that he has dedicated himself to producing. Creative yet infused with tradition. He even uses his masterful skills of pepatahs and not only am I capable of understanding it but I am in awed by his laudable brilliance. I can’t do it (D.U.H) and other Malay artists can’t do it either, not even under M. Nasir’s direction (such as the appalling Mawi). But I digress. My gushing over the musical genius of M. Nasir can be spared a different post.
Through the handful of foreign songs that are in my collection of music, one language is less evanescent, less difficult to tire of especially if I can’t extract any real meaning from the lyrics since it is unintelligible to my limited understanding of languages. I speak of the French. It’s so charming a language and so fine-tuned in sound. It’s classy, airy, and romantic. It has the ability to create a fanciful reverie. Listening to the French sing is like being let in on a secret that you mustn’t reveal to anyone even though you wouldn’t be able to anyhow given the fact that you cannot repeat what you don’t understand. Although French songs sound less cohesive in the sense that the words don’t follow in rhyme and it sounds verbose, but the delivery is often key to have it come off very sensible. In fact, despite not speaking French (and no, all those college French classes I took has not resulted in me speaking any real French), I find listening to French, very meaningful.
J’suis snob? I think so.
Download here.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Cath- Death Cab For Cutie
Cath, she stands with a well-intentioned man
But she can't relax with his hand on the small of her back
And as the flashbulbs burst
She holds a smile like someone would hold a crying child
And soon everybody will ask what became of you
'Cause your heart was dying fast, and you didn't know what to do
Cath, it seems that you live in someone else's dream
In a hand-me-down wedding dress
Where the things that could have been all repressed
But you said your vows, and you closed the door
On so many men who would have loved you more
And soon everybody will ask what became of you
'Cause your heart was dying fast, and you didn't know what to do
The whispers that it won't last roll up and down the pews
But if their hearts were dying that fast,
They'd have done the same as you
And I'd have done the same as you
There isn't much to decipher for this one. (so I think). Shaz asked me what I thought the line She holds a smile like someone would hold a crying child meant. At the time, I was a stranger to the song and its lyrics, and I answered offhandedly, "Smiling while gritting your teeth?"
Now that I've heard the song on loop, I realize now the heart of the song resides in that one line. All that tension, all the clench, all that quiet frustration, transferred mercilessly on some innocent molars. Hidden behind a desperately plastered smile.
Sometimes you have nothing else left to do.
But she can't relax with his hand on the small of her back
And as the flashbulbs burst
She holds a smile like someone would hold a crying child
And soon everybody will ask what became of you
'Cause your heart was dying fast, and you didn't know what to do
Cath, it seems that you live in someone else's dream
In a hand-me-down wedding dress
Where the things that could have been all repressed
But you said your vows, and you closed the door
On so many men who would have loved you more
And soon everybody will ask what became of you
'Cause your heart was dying fast, and you didn't know what to do
The whispers that it won't last roll up and down the pews
But if their hearts were dying that fast,
They'd have done the same as you
And I'd have done the same as you
There isn't much to decipher for this one. (so I think). Shaz asked me what I thought the line She holds a smile like someone would hold a crying child meant. At the time, I was a stranger to the song and its lyrics, and I answered offhandedly, "Smiling while gritting your teeth?"
Now that I've heard the song on loop, I realize now the heart of the song resides in that one line. All that tension, all the clench, all that quiet frustration, transferred mercilessly on some innocent molars. Hidden behind a desperately plastered smile.
Sometimes you have nothing else left to do.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Senses on Fire- Mercury Rev
As this song crawls into my ear canals, starting its journey to the middle and inner ears and further on to the ultimate area of my cerebrum, I feel its progression, as though listening to a song in working- almost like being walked through its architecture and engineering piecing themselves together with the highlight of the song laying itself down for me- much to my liking.
The striking thing about it is how it develops itself into an audio complexity having started of with the simple sound of background raindrops. I find the high frequency sound at the beginning of the song to be very inviting. Then it slowly builds itself up to a siren with accompanying characteristic drumming. Characteristic because it reminds me of Joy Division’s She’s Lost Control. I have confirmed this suspicion by playing the two songs back to back, and I am comfortable to say that they sound similar. If you care to argue, do compare yourself. But in no way am I slating Mercury Rev of copying. In actual, I do admire the resemblance because I love how one good song prompts me to another good song. I barely noticed this likeness at first, but after much looping….
The first minute is purely devoid of lyrics. This could be a put off for someone who isn’t an instrumental music enthusiast, unlike me. Although I am sure we all have that one song we love so dearly that has dragging introductory instruments in advance of the words, but we tolerate because it’s just pretty and perfect that way. Well this song enters that category for me (and my list stretches longer than a song). And for me, this song would be fine still even if it turned out instrumental. For those who need lyrics, I don’t have much to offer than “My sense are on fire” and “Ready or not? Here I come!” But this mustn’t be a cause for frustration- limited by amount, the variation of intonation compensates.
The whispering voice comes from a distance, announcing to all, matter-of-factly that “My senses are on fire.” He keeps at this until the very truth of this announcement wakes him up and he tells to himself that his senses are on fire and finally for emphasis, he softly screams to himself “My senses are on fire” (uh-oh!) The urgency of this knowledge is further accentuated by the siren that follows.
Then he says “Ready or not? Here I come” times four. I wouldn’t know if the change in tone in all four times was just vocal sprinkles or if it actually carries any weight. But to my own interpretation, the first time he is informing the other person “I am charging at you with my senses on fire. And off I go!” The second time he sounds like “Whether or not you’re ready, I’m coming at you.” The third time, he stresses on not in “ready or not”, which makes him sound impatient. And at last, he says “Ready or not?” for the sake of formality, without any intention to an answer or to intimidate or to demonstrate irritability; before he finally executes “Here I come!”
Immediately to follow is again his declaration to the world that his senses are on fire. I hear a plea for help which fades weakening, perhaps because nobody is listening or offering anything. Then he exits by repeating the words to himself to serve no purpose at all, almost like a robot malfunctioning and reciting an instruction from its dying brain over and over.
Another attraction to this song is how it begins with low mood music that bounds you to think of it as the theme of the song, however enters a zone of energy and anger with “Ready or not? Here I come” before fading downwards again.
I cannot resist saying to the musicians: well done!
Senses on Fire
ps: My apology,I had trouble putting up the link to Joy Division here, so you're gonna have to work a muscle to find the song.
The striking thing about it is how it develops itself into an audio complexity having started of with the simple sound of background raindrops. I find the high frequency sound at the beginning of the song to be very inviting. Then it slowly builds itself up to a siren with accompanying characteristic drumming. Characteristic because it reminds me of Joy Division’s She’s Lost Control. I have confirmed this suspicion by playing the two songs back to back, and I am comfortable to say that they sound similar. If you care to argue, do compare yourself. But in no way am I slating Mercury Rev of copying. In actual, I do admire the resemblance because I love how one good song prompts me to another good song. I barely noticed this likeness at first, but after much looping….
The first minute is purely devoid of lyrics. This could be a put off for someone who isn’t an instrumental music enthusiast, unlike me. Although I am sure we all have that one song we love so dearly that has dragging introductory instruments in advance of the words, but we tolerate because it’s just pretty and perfect that way. Well this song enters that category for me (and my list stretches longer than a song). And for me, this song would be fine still even if it turned out instrumental. For those who need lyrics, I don’t have much to offer than “My sense are on fire” and “Ready or not? Here I come!” But this mustn’t be a cause for frustration- limited by amount, the variation of intonation compensates.
The whispering voice comes from a distance, announcing to all, matter-of-factly that “My senses are on fire.” He keeps at this until the very truth of this announcement wakes him up and he tells to himself that his senses are on fire and finally for emphasis, he softly screams to himself “My senses are on fire” (uh-oh!) The urgency of this knowledge is further accentuated by the siren that follows.
Then he says “Ready or not? Here I come” times four. I wouldn’t know if the change in tone in all four times was just vocal sprinkles or if it actually carries any weight. But to my own interpretation, the first time he is informing the other person “I am charging at you with my senses on fire. And off I go!” The second time he sounds like “Whether or not you’re ready, I’m coming at you.” The third time, he stresses on not in “ready or not”, which makes him sound impatient. And at last, he says “Ready or not?” for the sake of formality, without any intention to an answer or to intimidate or to demonstrate irritability; before he finally executes “Here I come!”
Immediately to follow is again his declaration to the world that his senses are on fire. I hear a plea for help which fades weakening, perhaps because nobody is listening or offering anything. Then he exits by repeating the words to himself to serve no purpose at all, almost like a robot malfunctioning and reciting an instruction from its dying brain over and over.
Another attraction to this song is how it begins with low mood music that bounds you to think of it as the theme of the song, however enters a zone of energy and anger with “Ready or not? Here I come” before fading downwards again.
I cannot resist saying to the musicians: well done!
Senses on Fire
ps: My apology,I had trouble putting up the link to Joy Division here, so you're gonna have to work a muscle to find the song.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
In Praise of the Vulnerable Man (in praise of my feminist alter ego)
I will start off with a thank you for the invitation to the inventors of this blog- Kye & Fifer. =)
I do have quite some songs I wish to write my opinions about....but I would like to honor my first post to Alanis Morissette.
Yup, Alanis is back and back with her long wavy hair too. I have yet to listen to the whole album to comment on it, so I'll just limit myself to the songs I've been overplaying.
The first single is Underneath. It caught me the first time, but didn't really have that intensity to stay around much at the beginning, although it soon infects me. And very Alanis of the lyrics- aren't we glad for this? Also, New York Magazine named it the best song we’ve heard all day.
There is no difference
In what we’re doing in here
That doesn’t show up as bigger symptoms out there
So why spend all our time undressing our bandages
When we’ve the ultimate key to the cause
Right here all underneath
The first song that I kept on repeat is Orchid. I like how the song opens with a simple acoustic guitar followed by her singing "Me and my helmet, such an unconventional kid. All intense and kinetic, at best tolerated from afar." And I guess as with all Alanis' song, the lyrics will keep coming at you in striking brilliance. I will rest my case with the next line of lyrics:
I'm a sweet piece of work
Well intentioned and unloved
Unlabeled and misunderstood
Treated like a rose as an orchid
Next is In Praise of the Vulnerable Man. On a first listen, this song started off weak for me, but wait till the chorus. And then when you get back to it, the whole song will sink you in. It may just begin as a romantic love song, but with a title like that (and the fact that it's Alanis), you keep in mind that something else is developing:
And I vow and I vow to be true
And I vow and I vow to not take advantage
This is in praise of the vulnerable man
Why won’t you lead the rest of your cavalry home
This is a thank you for letting me in
Indeed in praise of the vulnerable man
I will end my Alanis tribute with Tapes. When everything appears dark for no apparent reason and the world reminds you again that it is the mastermind behind the conspiracy to bring you down and you feel uncared for and you want somebody to agree with you to all these, this song comes as a sort of emergency treatment before friends can intervene. I love how her voice fades towards the end. A good kind of eerie.
I'm too exhausting to be loved
A volatile chemical
Best to quarantine and cut off
All these tapes in my head swirl around
Keeping my vibe down
All these thoughts in my head aren't my own
Wreaking havoc
I do have quite some songs I wish to write my opinions about....but I would like to honor my first post to Alanis Morissette.
Yup, Alanis is back and back with her long wavy hair too. I have yet to listen to the whole album to comment on it, so I'll just limit myself to the songs I've been overplaying.
The first single is Underneath. It caught me the first time, but didn't really have that intensity to stay around much at the beginning, although it soon infects me. And very Alanis of the lyrics- aren't we glad for this? Also, New York Magazine named it the best song we’ve heard all day.
There is no difference
In what we’re doing in here
That doesn’t show up as bigger symptoms out there
So why spend all our time undressing our bandages
When we’ve the ultimate key to the cause
Right here all underneath
The first song that I kept on repeat is Orchid. I like how the song opens with a simple acoustic guitar followed by her singing "Me and my helmet, such an unconventional kid. All intense and kinetic, at best tolerated from afar." And I guess as with all Alanis' song, the lyrics will keep coming at you in striking brilliance. I will rest my case with the next line of lyrics:
I'm a sweet piece of work
Well intentioned and unloved
Unlabeled and misunderstood
Treated like a rose as an orchid
Next is In Praise of the Vulnerable Man. On a first listen, this song started off weak for me, but wait till the chorus. And then when you get back to it, the whole song will sink you in. It may just begin as a romantic love song, but with a title like that (and the fact that it's Alanis), you keep in mind that something else is developing:
And I vow and I vow to be true
And I vow and I vow to not take advantage
This is in praise of the vulnerable man
Why won’t you lead the rest of your cavalry home
This is a thank you for letting me in
Indeed in praise of the vulnerable man
I will end my Alanis tribute with Tapes. When everything appears dark for no apparent reason and the world reminds you again that it is the mastermind behind the conspiracy to bring you down and you feel uncared for and you want somebody to agree with you to all these, this song comes as a sort of emergency treatment before friends can intervene. I love how her voice fades towards the end. A good kind of eerie.
I'm too exhausting to be loved
A volatile chemical
Best to quarantine and cut off
All these tapes in my head swirl around
Keeping my vibe down
All these thoughts in my head aren't my own
Wreaking havoc
Chad VanGaalen- Willow Tree
What I like about Chad VanGaalen is that he sounds fragile, but steady. Like a spider's web. In Willow Tree, this is resonated through out the seemingly simple pluck of the guitar. It's just a duet between the two of them, until the accordion eases its way in. And there you have the sweetest love song. Utter devotion, but plainly put- no affectation whatsoever. Surely this is not romantic love he's singing of. Romantic love is never this selfless.
Sleep all day
Just waiting for the sun to set
I hang my clothes
Up on the line
When I die
I'll hang my head beside the willow tree
When I'm dead
Is when I'll be free
And you can take my body
Put it in a boat
Light it on fire
You can use the kerosene
Take my body
Put it in a boat
Light it on fire
Send it out to sea
Chad VanGaalen- Willow Tree
Sleep all day
Just waiting for the sun to set
I hang my clothes
Up on the line
When I die
I'll hang my head beside the willow tree
When I'm dead
Is when I'll be free
And you can take my body
Put it in a boat
Light it on fire
You can use the kerosene
Take my body
Put it in a boat
Light it on fire
Send it out to sea
Chad VanGaalen- Willow Tree
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Gfc- Albert Hammond Jr
Gfc- Albert Hammond Jr.
Gfc from Albert Hammond Jr's new album, ¿Como Tel Llama? is ticklish. The high-pitched innocuous riff, the rise and drop of the bass, are like tips of feathers that relaxes you into thinking this is harmless.
It is all a trick.
“Inside me there's a sad machine, wants to stop moving. I disagree for the things you do, you should stop doing it' sounds passive, almost laidback from Albert's nonchalant tone.
Then suddenly he lets go and tells you the truth. 'Oh! All the while, all the while! I want the frustration to know that you are alright. Not what I was doin'...you played a fool!'
Then he calms down, and the music releases all energy and reenters it's sleepy lullaby. But it is only momentary, before they pick you up again and toss you against the wall, the bass and drums steadily keeps your attention, lets you know this is grave business. AHJ pins you by shoulders and accuse you again and again. 'Hold my head, it's about to fall, all that is happening,' Albert pleads, resigned. Follow this with the guitar angsty guitar solo, refrained from complete self-righteous anger by the soft and carefree 'Ooh' accompanying it.
And like one who has bared everything, but in the midst of it all, in self-deprecating fashion- thinks he makes sense to no one; AHJ abruptly gives up. Gfc ends, without an exit. Leaving you behind, the jilted-lover. Unhinged, assaulted, wanting.
Gfc from Albert Hammond Jr's new album, ¿Como Tel Llama? is ticklish. The high-pitched innocuous riff, the rise and drop of the bass, are like tips of feathers that relaxes you into thinking this is harmless.
It is all a trick.
“Inside me there's a sad machine, wants to stop moving. I disagree for the things you do, you should stop doing it' sounds passive, almost laidback from Albert's nonchalant tone.
Then suddenly he lets go and tells you the truth. 'Oh! All the while, all the while! I want the frustration to know that you are alright. Not what I was doin'...you played a fool!'
Then he calms down, and the music releases all energy and reenters it's sleepy lullaby. But it is only momentary, before they pick you up again and toss you against the wall, the bass and drums steadily keeps your attention, lets you know this is grave business. AHJ pins you by shoulders and accuse you again and again. 'Hold my head, it's about to fall, all that is happening,' Albert pleads, resigned. Follow this with the guitar angsty guitar solo, refrained from complete self-righteous anger by the soft and carefree 'Ooh' accompanying it.
And like one who has bared everything, but in the midst of it all, in self-deprecating fashion- thinks he makes sense to no one; AHJ abruptly gives up. Gfc ends, without an exit. Leaving you behind, the jilted-lover. Unhinged, assaulted, wanting.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Review: Apostle of Hustle- National Anthem of Nowhere
There is a breed of songs that make me feel a certain way. It feels like my heart is being caressed, and I am dizzy and ecstatic by the intrusion of sound into something otherwise heavily protected by my lungs and ribcage. It is like that feeling I get before I pass out. But it is marked by the onset of pleasure instead of pain.
The waves vibrate throughout my cochlea, and the chemicals released at the acme of its helica stimulate that part of my brain that has the postal code: HEAVEN.
Like all highs, the feeling is but fleeting. I soon tire of the song, that I so easily fell into love, playing in loop. I would have to take a break from it.
For now, National Anthem by Apostle of Hustle is steadily pressing the buttons of my 'happy' cortex.
Oh those trumpets that still try their darndest to keep spirits high! But the bass and drums won't lie. They are pragmatic, they are constant and keep us from steering away too far. That easy riff, the glue that shifts the weight of its thickness to keep everything together. It is the riff of deception, letting you hear what you think you want, then pushing you away when you come to close.
And Andrew Whiteman's voice, that soft drone of a man singing between consciousness and higher grounds. His voice is like the waters of the Dead Sea, silky and salty, and lingering. He begins, 'we know words float through her veins, her sexual use of pain. as she sends her sailors in. well, they don't come back, and they don't give in.'
But suddenly he breaks free from entrancement, and yells desperately post-hard riff, 'oh the sea I cannot save! from across the waves! with a knife!' He then resigns and sadly croons, 'Sleep comes This can’t last long Darling, watch the sunrise Sleep comes This can’t last long
Darling, watch the sunrise'
Then the riff takes it away. Takes away the regret, tells us that it is sad, but there is nothing wrong with that.
And repeat. And repeat. And repeat.
Apostle of Hustle- National Anthem of Nowhere
The waves vibrate throughout my cochlea, and the chemicals released at the acme of its helica stimulate that part of my brain that has the postal code: HEAVEN.
Like all highs, the feeling is but fleeting. I soon tire of the song, that I so easily fell into love, playing in loop. I would have to take a break from it.
For now, National Anthem by Apostle of Hustle is steadily pressing the buttons of my 'happy' cortex.
Oh those trumpets that still try their darndest to keep spirits high! But the bass and drums won't lie. They are pragmatic, they are constant and keep us from steering away too far. That easy riff, the glue that shifts the weight of its thickness to keep everything together. It is the riff of deception, letting you hear what you think you want, then pushing you away when you come to close.
And Andrew Whiteman's voice, that soft drone of a man singing between consciousness and higher grounds. His voice is like the waters of the Dead Sea, silky and salty, and lingering. He begins, 'we know words float through her veins, her sexual use of pain. as she sends her sailors in. well, they don't come back, and they don't give in.'
But suddenly he breaks free from entrancement, and yells desperately post-hard riff, 'oh the sea I cannot save! from across the waves! with a knife!' He then resigns and sadly croons, 'Sleep comes This can’t last long Darling, watch the sunrise Sleep comes This can’t last long
Darling, watch the sunrise'
Then the riff takes it away. Takes away the regret, tells us that it is sad, but there is nothing wrong with that.
And repeat. And repeat. And repeat.
Apostle of Hustle- National Anthem of Nowhere
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