tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60461612012-01-25T20:44:12.550-08:00Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.comBlogger7391100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-25985109551662243672012-01-23T21:31:00.000-08:002012-01-24T07:13:08.558-08:00

I regret not having kept a better record of my thoughts regarding the world around me, focussing instead on the one inside me. Not only because the latter gets repetitive (I like that, mind), but because I sometimes struggle to remember my feelings about, say, computing in the early days. I vaguely recall amusement about wikis, for example, and more clearly remember a growing sense of discomfort

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-11875678071384939802012-01-01T15:31:00.000-08:002012-01-01T15:31:52.906-08:00

By no means are these feelings worthy of a post, if only because they are nothing new, and are likely to recur as long as I continue to live like this. Amongst people who know you, one feels the wistful reflection to the past has not always been misguided. A little bit of you lives on in people's memories, and that reciprocation seems so wonderful to a troubled mind. There is strength derived

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-51194126990520216502011-12-29T14:20:00.000-08:002012-01-23T21:30:50.656-08:00

On the train listening to Grant McLennan, recalling the melody the instant before it is sung, passing the green plains and windmills. Nothing happens here. It must be heaven.

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-33959103766936758182011-12-20T11:30:00.000-08:002011-12-29T14:17:16.866-08:00

Do you remember Ween/Parsons? Funny how I gravitate towards certain genre combinations. 1) Mr. Bungle, "None of Them Knew They Were Robots". I shut the band off totally after cursory listens to tracks off of Disco Volante many years ago. It seemed then to be the kind of weirdness in music that I least appreciate, because there was no core that gave it any meaning. Imagine my surprise on

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-17561519523764140952011-12-04T19:09:00.000-08:002011-12-29T14:17:55.733-08:00

I fixed my gaze to the floor. Words were being spoken so casually. My brain was processing them, but my body was in complete meltdown. I thought that by looking away, maybe it wouldn't be true. But of course that didn't work. I know one often says such things, but sometimes they are true: at that moment, I truly did not know what the point of anything was.

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-54768599832466294922011-12-04T19:05:00.000-08:002011-12-29T14:18:33.398-08:00

People ask me how I like the country of dreams. I smile politely and express warm satisfaction. Indeed, I've liked it every time I've set foot in it. It's been very kind to me; it's given me so much over the years. But it's also taken away something very important from me, and from the rest of us stranded sailors. I don't hold a grudge, per se, but it's best to just stay clear. There are things

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-37588373173136757342011-12-02T18:59:00.001-08:002011-12-04T19:16:37.296-08:00

1) The Go-Betweens, "Magic In Here". I recall the same: summer walks by the river, with the soft blue approach of the water, and the nightfall of diamonds evident on the surface. Life can be as peaceful and comfortable as the song suggests.2) The Go-Betweens, "He Lives My Life". Rachel Worth bears at least one similarity to 16 Lovers Lane: it's pretty difficult to decide if it's Grant or Robert

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-12702248681665540492011-11-24T14:04:00.001-08:002011-11-25T16:04:31.459-08:00

I'm not going to try to act smart or funny or anything about this. The equation is quite simple: your presence has an amazingly negative impact on my day. I could tolerate it - I might have tolerated worse, I'm not sure - were it not so pervasive and insistent. I don't want to say who is right or wrong, or even begin to claim that I feel I'm in any sort of position of emotional or spiritual

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-38912211763239365642011-11-22T07:21:00.001-08:002011-12-02T19:05:52.611-08:00

Lingering memories of particularly weak late '70s/early '80s 'Dead efforts kept me from engaging with Robert Hunter's catalogue, beyond just owning one of his CDs as an acknowledgement of his influence over my formative music experiences. It turns out that listening to said CD wasn't such a bad idea after all. Even after so many years, I can remember the mystery and power of his lyrics, how they

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-38423114517725545222011-11-14T19:50:00.001-08:002011-11-23T07:37:02.481-08:00

Even when I think I've totally pinned someone down as serious, no-nonsense, maybe even gruff, they go and tell me something that reveals a glimmer of a different side to them. It isn't the way they say it, but the fact that it for once places them amongst a type I know very well, and feel very fondly towards. They don't see the incongruity, but that makes their admission seem even sweeter. At

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-44102395401291941562011-11-05T20:44:00.000-07:002011-11-08T20:09:37.609-08:00

I've commented at least a couple of times previously that despite owning so many of his albums, I still feel like I haven't the faintest idea what makes Lou Reed tick. I suspect this is a sentiment that will only strengthen with time. (This isn't apropos Lulu specifically, but it is a good example.) I find myself unable to answer the most basic questions about what his music is about, and

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-25655886681115414112011-11-05T17:06:00.001-07:002011-11-05T18:46:01.815-07:00

1) The Blackeyed Susans, "By Your Hand". I was so sure the first McComb-less album would be basically perfunctory apart from his one contribution; it's how things have panned out historically, all the way from Other Voices. Fortunately, I was proven very wrong, and reminded that there are plenty of fine songwriters around, even if only a few are truly great. All that said, this is still probably

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-69621561528789262052011-11-05T09:10:00.000-07:002011-11-05T09:10:44.632-07:00

Even as a relatively well-informed individual when it comes to popular music's origins, I take for granted the ease with which styles are meshed and boundaries are erased in today's interpretation of the medium. Basically, nowadays you can record near anything, and you can do the same with listening. Which sounds like, and is for the most part, a great liberty to have, but there is generally

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-47554150939083305472011-10-25T19:10:00.000-07:002011-10-29T21:40:30.348-07:00

I had an awkward interaction today reminiscent of quite a few others in the past; an attempt at a joke, with my finest attempt at mock swagger and disgust, met with first mystification and then aggressive defense by the unwitting recipient. As with times past, I wanted to completely switch gears once it became clear that things were heading down the wrong path. But I imagine that changing masks

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-51991889220148821912011-10-23T12:22:00.001-07:002011-10-23T12:33:08.606-07:00

At least a couple of dreams came true the past few months, what with there being John Prine and Paul Simon concerts in this fair city. I don't want to read too much into the fact that I didn't greet them with the delirium I used to invoke when I imagined these days in my bedroom. Part of it is the even-temperedness of growing up, and probably much less is due to my general emotional hesitance.

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-70246020216962945262011-10-19T18:54:00.001-07:002011-11-09T08:20:14.484-08:00

When I told him the news, joyous to most, he didn't betray any hint of disappointment. He shared the good sentiments, definitely. I can't pretend to read his mind, even after so many years, but I know that I at least could not forget the alternate future he had planned, one which the news so firmly and emphatically rendered impossible. The rest of us never took these dreams seriously, and would

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-1972239415788372852011-10-12T21:55:00.000-07:002011-10-19T18:55:23.226-07:00

As always, something I needed to put down, even if I have cooled down considerably since. The terror. Things may only get worse from here. Any memory of a world you once knew will be pulled up by the monster and ripped to shreds. I would like very much for a global stasis, for everything to stop moving, so that I can feel like anything of what I have experienced has had some value or meaning.

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-87648969592504939242011-10-08T08:46:00.000-07:002011-10-08T10:26:38.766-07:00

1) Television, "Venus". The album has always occupied a strange place for me: something that on first listen was unquestionably, firmly high quality, but somehow didn't leave a strong emotional mark. This song however I always thought to have an extra spark, and I'm happy to report my feelings have only amplified with the years. It's a great example of what I mean when I talk about rock poetry;

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-25200798321881501822011-10-02T16:00:00.000-07:002011-10-02T16:01:42.769-07:00

I'm experienced enough to know that statements like "There's an excellent chance I will never discover artists like Steve Harley again" are (i) too topical to be of any interest to you, dear reader, and (ii) very likely of no lasting power beyond, say, a few months. (Music writing is especially difficult that way, and to think otherwise is to ignore history.) But with things being what they are,

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-40329642768839937452011-09-24T13:53:00.001-07:002011-10-01T07:39:32.148-07:00

I saw him again after a much needed break in our interaction. The first new sight of him immediately brought a thought to mind: I could almost perfectly map his personality and actions to someone from the country I left behind. I had to smile at this, which he probably took to be a warm welcome. The equation has changed, I thought, for I felt as though I now controlled his fate.

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-53898743289147074872011-09-04T05:57:00.000-07:002011-09-04T05:57:47.870-07:00

Every time I think of you, I'm conscious somewhere that I deepen my curse. Of course having a heart and having some memory of love, or whatever this wretched affliction is, is better than none. But ask me honestly if I would like to keep this heart, bruised everytime it is reminded of its denial, and of course I will scream back No. Ask me if these years and years of your face coming to my mind

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-55592121033530272472011-08-21T08:25:00.000-07:002011-08-21T08:41:54.942-07:00

If these posts were like Dylan songs, even the most rabid Dylanologist would find it hard to recall the prior reference to the Cure's "Friday I'm In Love". I suppose that's something to be proud of, but onto the matter at hand. Locked away with this song, which I've heard properly maybe one or two times, improperly only a few more, is some peculiar emotion and fragment of memory. I can remember

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-86766560150356889912011-08-14T17:11:00.001-07:002011-10-01T07:32:08.971-07:00

Why be coy? I've expressed frustration at a recent tendency to star gaze and think of summers past. But I've mostly copped out from giving any concrete explanation for why this has come about. It is true that it is rather non-specific, but I'll be darned if I can't make some educated guesses: I find myself physically distanced from the only people who have any semblance of a decent understanding

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-33643185264104604922011-08-14T12:17:00.001-07:002011-08-21T08:46:59.201-07:00

1) Cockney Rebel, "Sweet Dreams/Psychomodo". Sitting in a hospital bed and discovering Dylan may have pushed Harley towards a surrealistic lyrical style, but he evidently paid close attention to the importance of intonation in the message. I think it's what saves the songs, which can otherwise be too obtuse, unlike Dylan. No one else comes to mind immediately as having forged such an

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-45000215810500519102011-08-11T04:40:00.001-07:002011-08-14T12:16:33.856-07:00

I once expected I would grow up and learn to look at life in the right way, and leave behind silly philosophizing about the meaning of it all. Instead I seem to have grown up and learnt the art of determining the one best moment from the past 20 whatever years that serves as perfect contrast to the one I'm experiencing now, and curse everything that brought me to something that feels awfully

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-35267897431936553532011-08-05T19:32:00.001-07:002011-08-06T13:05:17.078-07:00

1) The Blackeyed Susans, "Every Gentle Soul". We all know McComb has his preferred subject matter, but it rarely disappoints. Because, at least to my reckoning, his lyrics rarely ring false, and convince you he lived through the anguish and felt it very deeply. The desperate statement, almost a plea, from the narrator here counts amongst his best lines on the subject. At the right moment, it can

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-27910654807387117222011-07-26T04:33:00.000-07:002011-08-14T12:11:08.696-07:00

I was walking through the bookstore, discounted purchases in hand, marvelling at the reality that it was actually closing, that my future trips to the city could no longer involve a quiet stroll through the towers of books and music. It's terribly egocentric to say this, but I find it apt that my own decline and dismantling should be mirrored so clearly in the world around me. There was something

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-44374446867513693382011-06-27T07:45:00.000-07:002011-06-27T07:56:34.165-07:00

1) The Go-Betweens, "The Wrong Road". There probably isn't a better way to express a fundamental, if non-specific, sense of despair and gloom than repeatedly drawing from that state to conjure up telling couplets and images. Which is what I think happens here, because even if there isn't a single story (that I can tell), there's certainly a message underlying the many quotable lines in this one.

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-51936713570520350042011-06-26T15:11:00.000-07:002011-07-10T16:32:40.446-07:00

Even in the early stages of the vague, hazy sense of gloom that characterized a certain period of my college days (perhaps unsurprisingly, the one coinciding with my most prolific period of writing), I remember having a sense that the affliction was temporary. I could almost imagine looking back on that period five, ten years in the future, and writing it off as some form of insanity that one

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-1831844586179617042011-06-20T19:10:00.001-07:002011-06-20T19:24:13.870-07:00

I'd like to think that even if one disagrees with the conclusions of Carr's The Shallows, one can agree that it does a good job of laying out the argument for the negative effects of technology and the internet without coming across as being just another tirade of a curmudgeon or luddite. Me, I'm at least one, probably both those things, so I often worry that my shared distrust of the internet is

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-80734391025733546792011-04-23T07:37:00.000-07:002011-05-15T17:07:47.286-07:00

"Anyone who ever played a part / Never turned around and hated it"My melodramatic side has been getting a bit out of hand lately; that's what you get when you don't post enough, I suppose. The latest episode occurred when all someone did was ask me my name. The act of repeating those familiar syllables, as I've done innumerable times, in many places and at many stages of life, for some reason

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-25280599329818303542011-04-20T22:54:00.000-07:002011-05-15T17:08:03.229-07:00

Guinness records, canvas shoes, finishing moves. I never knew I would take those memories and keep them so safe, only to...wake up in a world where no one cares.

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-25968677372153234762011-04-10T19:55:00.000-07:002011-04-17T22:15:16.380-07:00

A great song somehow finds a way to transcend the apparently insurmountable limitations of its form, and reveals a secret world that you suspect only you and the composer share. Meaning is never what it appears to be on the surface, and whether it's the instrumentation, vocal delivery, or intangible feel of the music, it can take one to a strange space that we never otherwise see in our waking

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-19655622402860959252011-03-25T19:28:00.000-07:002011-06-20T19:33:35.352-07:00

Looks like I'm branching out - those pesky Triffids no longer at the top!1) The Blackeyed Susans, "Memories". Would that every cover were so idiosyncratic. Like the original, it's not meant to be taken all that seriously, but McComb believes every line all the same. It even comes across as sweet in some listens, but it's hard to make a case for that because of, well, the lyrics I guess. The song

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-92168894576656919602011-03-16T22:54:00.000-07:002011-05-15T17:09:39.393-07:00

If I've boasted about my memory too many times here for your liking, you will be pleased to know that it's really served me no use. If combined with an ability to foresee events, then maybe the memories would serve to be of some use. But as time goes on, it becomes scarily clearer that this is not just a game, a temporary phase that will end. This demon will not stop. I can hardly remember the

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-48374173636446956792011-03-11T22:54:00.001-08:002011-06-20T19:59:46.801-07:00

Only a song, sung at night; only a dream that once shone bright. But those times have faded away; I see no light on the brightest day.

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-21050426701323619362011-02-21T18:26:00.000-08:002011-02-27T16:01:54.857-08:00

I don't really want to discuss subjects as dismal as sobriety, but sometimes you have no choice; appears not all that much else has been happening. Anyhow, even when desperate, I have standards: I'm not in the mood to have a serious discussion about whether teetotalers like me are basically hypocrites who should be exposed as such. Instead, I would like to point out that I was struck by someone

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-29461697662773256802011-02-20T21:31:00.000-08:002011-02-21T10:05:07.032-08:00

1) Lou Reed, "Don't Talk To Me About Work". While I own 9 of this guy's albums, I still feel like I have only a vague sense of what he's about. Maybe he does too. This uncertainty manifests itself from time to time, and I wonder whether I've been tricked into thinking that I like some of his songs; maybe I'm mistaking banality for realism? But this song is an example of his ability to pull out a

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-52674033608989717152011-01-27T22:00:00.000-08:002011-01-30T10:28:33.975-08:00

Sabbath's Theater is easily the filthiest book I've read - Alexander Portnoy would be shocked at some of the goings-on, I'm sure - but, oddly, maybe one of the best? Asking myself why, I suspect it's because the book feels true to itself, and possesses that elusive sense of internal logic. As lechers go, Mickey Sabbath manages to be entertaining in his shame-free defense of his ways, and

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-10410383233609032602010-12-25T13:36:00.000-08:002010-12-26T13:44:26.835-08:00

This time I really will keep it brief, and hopefully focussed less on the items and more on the process of reading & listening itself. Truthfully, this year I had half a mind to not bother with this retrospective, but I suppose they have their uses. Giving up is probably akin to admitting that time has won, and that there's no hope in keeping track where it all goes. But that's a battle I've

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-78649476829717056292010-12-22T23:42:00.001-08:002010-12-23T13:17:33.048-08:00

When going through Nick Hornby's articles on books he's bought/read (which are significantly more entertaining than they sound), it struck me that I can't actually think of anyone else who has written so endearingly yet accessibly about the form, in particular about what is sometimes classified as "serious" fiction. While critical barriers of objectivity have been significantly demolished in

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-21891785575965225392010-12-22T02:23:00.000-08:002010-12-22T23:59:00.937-08:00

The last note struck, confirming succinctly that the moment had arrived. The past is now totally at rest, and time cannot be undone: the spirit newly exited is now beyond communication. This feeling isn't sadness, but emptiness: it is one of the moments (believe me, they are blessedly uncommon) where the prospect of having it all end does not seem so bad, because living with this seems an

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-27078449629828860012010-12-21T03:27:00.000-08:002010-12-22T13:09:50.557-08:00

They were just words, after all, but words delivered with such a level of measured precision that you knew there was an abyss lying beneath. Ever so often these lyrics would be accentuated by a sigh, a purse of the lips, and a gaze into the empty distance. "Play one of the early numbers!", one might be tempted to say, imploringly, but there was no turning back. I knew this leaf would not, could

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-79974177248699158702010-12-19T12:58:00.000-08:002010-12-22T23:57:19.059-08:00

I largely value the quiet privacy my thoughts are allowed in this forum, but sometimes it can feel solipsistic. Especially when I feel like making bold statements, like the following: surely there can't be more than three other people in this world with as vast a cache of emotion, unopened and unknown to all? I rather doubt anyone's going to challenge this, so let's assume it as if for surety (

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-24856932833176487702010-12-09T10:58:00.000-08:002010-12-22T02:33:13.686-08:00

Perhaps the only good thing about living all these counterlives, and having to go through the pain and confusion of transiting between them, is that it offers a sense of perspective. It's pretty serious pain and confusion, mind, so it's hardly equitable perspective. Nonetheless, during my latest transition between lives, I have become quite convinced about the impermanence of it all, a truth that

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-42037303668730937102010-11-22T08:19:00.000-08:002010-12-22T13:22:16.339-08:00

My avowed distrust of the internet feels perennial, but likely its roots extend only five years ago. Special ire has been saved for its impact on music, which in hindsight should have been balanced more with discussion of the positives it has had. Anyhow, the topic today is distraction. Even a proto-Luddite as yours truly has problems maintaining focus when browsing. Every article, every website

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-37961236654994423922010-11-18T08:07:00.000-08:002010-12-04T08:54:10.859-08:00

Whatever meaning her face once carried, it has long since disintegrated over days & nights in the tropics. It once served as testament to a genuine feeling of affection, which sadly grew stronger as it became clearer that it would remain unrequited. Now when I am greeted by her vision, it is little more than a sad trick I attempt to pull on the cosmos, some confused attempt to convince it that I

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-7674837422574057422010-11-11T23:03:00.000-08:002010-12-09T11:16:11.151-08:00

Unsurprisingly for a band whose lead songwriter can safely claim spiritual lineage from the Dylan/Cohen family, for every of the Triffids' moments of obvious brilliance (see my previous song list) there is a often a late bloomer. I hadn't seriously pondered on any of these tracks, and one by one they revealed themselves in a moment of complete surprise. A pleasant experience: it's so easy to

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-39616969164892180552010-10-30T09:06:00.001-07:002010-11-14T08:58:22.520-08:00

After a break from music, it takes only the briefest of re-initiation ceremonies to bring all the voices flooding back. On the right kind of day, it isn't too much of a hyperbole to say that various combinations of lyric & music* consume most of my waking thoughts. (I can only speculate about dream time, of course.) This has been true ever since I started listening to music seriously. All that

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-65720138939936926222010-10-12T22:00:00.000-07:002010-10-29T21:28:21.693-07:00

The Go-Betweens are a canonical example of a band that can (or could) do no wrong, in a certain sense: they're the sort of band I can imagine being boring, but far too intelligent to ever go down a poor artistic path. As romantics in popular song go, they are most likely unsurpassed. But sometimes, the words a bit more than I can handle; they haunt me by virtue of their contrast to my life. On

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-28433111019116637602010-10-12T21:51:00.000-07:002010-11-04T21:31:31.851-07:00

It's been many years since I've had the words of Morrissey safely stored away in my head, ready to be quoted at any instant. But as with any great songwriter, there are still discoveries to be made when I relisten to his songs. Recently, I figured out another reason that I feel a sense of connection with the lyrics. Sure, there's the unforgettable line in "How Soon Is Now?", which till this day I

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-45646582166031144422010-10-03T22:21:00.001-07:002010-10-17T20:01:53.230-07:00

Merciless memory though I may possess, even that has its limits. When I look back on some of my past writings, I must confess being shocked that I can't remember those thoughts running through my head. I don't imagine this is because I didn't ponder long and hard about the surrounding events; quite the opposite, as the early days of this blog will attest to. This is troubling when the writing was

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-40254664477641432012010-09-29T07:22:00.001-07:002010-11-12T08:23:50.524-08:00

Take it whichever way you will: after an extended spell of separation from acquaintances of varying degrees, in many cases the only thing I could think about on my return was their flaws. This isn't how it's supposed to work, you know; it suggests either a remarkably deep-seated sense of individualism, or remarkably bad luck in forming a broad social circle. Neither possibility is pleasant. My

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-34464541394631712612010-09-23T22:27:00.000-07:002010-10-10T09:15:25.839-07:00

One of the more impressive pairs in recent memory, and a reminder of the mysterious power of popular song.1) The Triffids, "Wide Open Road". There have been many instances when a song I've gone on to consider great is, on first listen, greeted with apathy by my ears. In recent memory, I can't recall a mistake of similar magnitude as with this track. My first listen many years ago didn't leave

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-22799621739333848282010-09-14T18:57:00.000-07:002010-10-09T09:12:24.865-07:00

I stumbled to the phone as it disrupted my stupor, with my mind still trapped in dreams. Try as I might, on lifting the receiver I found my mouth simply unable to conduct language. After some awkward fumbling, I somehow managed to convey to him my disinterest, which apparently caught him off guard. But he only needed a second to fire a painful retort, one which would have been unimaginable in the

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-30043881021368782512010-09-02T09:39:00.001-07:002010-09-25T09:02:43.768-07:00

A time for looking at tunes of songs past, I suppose.1) Lou Reed, "Last Great American Whale". My current perception of what it means for an album to be good is strongly rooted in the hope that I can listen to it in a year or two, without looking back at the songs as being merely appropriate for a particular time in my life. I'm glad to report that at its one year anniversary, Reed's New York

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-42812757162748991642010-08-03T10:02:00.000-07:002010-09-03T19:33:55.221-07:00

I don't think my taste in music, literature, and the arts in general is especially idiosyncratic or eclectic, but for a long enough stretch of time I've had the feeling that maybe I'm the only person in the world who experiences the things I do. (The careful reader will remember me making that statement about Lou Reed's Set the Twilight Reeling.) To a small extent that can be explained by my

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-31808617403985467142010-08-03T09:54:00.000-07:002010-10-03T22:30:35.272-07:00

I'm fairly certain this serendipity can't go on forever. As people have hinted in the recent past, things are starting to open up. While designated with the title of student, I suppose one is granted leeway, more or less - you're still trying to "find yourself". After that, well, if you ain't been found, you got a whole 'nother thing coming.I don't think I mean just the luxuries I currently have,

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-47636634629957481762010-06-29T19:27:00.000-07:002010-10-03T22:31:28.388-07:00

"Eyes alight with glowing hair / All that fancy paints as fair"There is a certain type of woman that a certain school of songwriters have spent their lives writing verse & melody about, hoping that somewhere they will hit the right intersection of line & note, and bring a smile to her lips. When writing about any fair maiden, there is a strong temptation to imagine her as being a manifestation of

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-59045948906012267052010-05-08T12:52:00.000-07:002010-05-29T00:02:11.136-07:00

People say you shouldn't take your soul all that seriously. Disconnect your brain when the heart wants to travel its own path, and stop all the fantastic dreams of hope and promise. I dislike the flippancy, the disregard for meaning that this view is based on. But that doesn't mean it doesn't make a valid point. Case in point, well, you. Like I said, I really don't perceive any limits to my

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-91894199535899943192010-05-06T21:27:00.000-07:002010-07-07T18:34:06.940-07:00

Revisiting the issue of my attempts at verse, I think part of the reason for my struggle with this form is that my real source of inspiration is songwriting rather than classical poetry. I've previously attempted to resolve the two cultures of these forms, but with no answer more definitive than the Xgau aphorism "poems are meant to be read, songs to be sung". But this is not the focus of the

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-88009804059057567132010-04-21T20:00:00.000-07:002010-07-07T18:38:26.428-07:00

Perfection. If you'd allow, I would love nothing more than to write about you till the universe crumbles to dust. But does it mean anything? No matter how much I talk about Beauty - replete in your aura everytime you glide by - and the importance of acknowledging it, I have to admit what I fear: that if you had anything more than a cursory presence in my life, none of this would mean anything to

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-85345741283596930752010-04-17T00:00:00.000-07:002010-10-03T22:32:57.201-07:00

People like you don't exist: you are a phantom in my mind. You cannot be the same face that greets others; for should any human learn of the ways you unravel, they would recoil in terror. I would not call you sick. But closed. Impenetrable. Only I can see you standing, so far away from every heart. You whisper your only song into the night, and the water shudders to the melody. Whatever the

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-59451587633545984012010-04-08T00:19:00.001-07:002010-04-22T21:35:39.419-07:00

We exchanged a casual smile, and were it anyone else, that would be that. But this one, a writer! A good one! Mid-smile, I chuckled at the thought of being neatly summarized in one of her pieces. ("Earnest chap, but lord knows why he was smiling long after I stopped.") I suspect she has me written off as yet another diligent student, as I often do with the hapless targets of my own writing. Quite

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-25680074940364963792010-04-04T17:21:00.000-07:002010-04-22T23:57:54.661-07:00

This is no idle musing on things that might be; it's tangible fact that the entire thing is finite, that whenever the force so chooses, this world is next in line. Whenever I've been confronted with this fact, there has always been a song in (or close to) my head. It makes me wonder: all the years of careful attention to this form, and what I go down with is something arbitrary, something that

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-57389369844294833792010-04-03T19:24:00.001-07:002010-07-07T18:44:03.701-07:00

Sometime last week I imagined what it would be like to wake up the next day, pay no heed to what I was supposed to do, and instead sit down and write whole the day away. (Or read; that would certainly be easier on me.) What prevents me from acting on this is probably a modicum of social sanity, although I'm quite sure that were I made of stronger stuff, I'd act on this one of my many whims.

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-51783261795656010972010-03-27T19:33:00.000-07:002010-07-07T18:45:27.145-07:00

Because it promises so much, a trip to the bookstore can be irritating, even downright frustrating when it happens to not shelve a particular book one is looking for. I sometimes find myself cursing whoever is in charge for the oversights ("You don't have Slaughterhouse Five?! Really?!"). At moments like that one grumbles, but is reassured that the book can be found online, at least. Back home,

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-69852243187138500492010-03-26T23:39:00.001-07:002010-10-03T22:35:34.074-07:00

I recall the same -A replyA plan you once hadFrom time down to mineThat time was badSo I knew where I wasAloneAnd so at home.The words lift me, and I am no longer walking, but instead flying up high, leaving behind my mind, floating away from the bad dreams, the chatter of unwelcome voices, the black that my steps were leading me to towards. Once up here, it seems remarkable that I haven't

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-61976575362724303992010-03-19T00:53:00.001-07:002010-10-10T09:25:52.098-07:00

I saw you sitting there, in the tower beyond time, watching the entire universe unfold. As I entered from the savage lands outside, soaked in fear and perspiration, I immediately felt time stop and take a breath. Before I could explain what had happened, the sight of you sitting in contemplation was everything. Your gaze slowly met mine, and I received the most knowing smile of my life. I could

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-88968891457563559772010-03-17T08:57:00.000-07:002010-04-08T00:09:51.840-07:00

You must realize that no one teaches me these things. That I know of, I've never actually met anyone dabbling seriously in writing; finding a reader is tough enough, a writer nigh impossible in the circles I move around. Whatever improvements in my pieces that are apparent through the years are the product of some form of common sense, but it's one that I've had to work hard for. Even now, I'll

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-56265359189735495282010-03-14T11:28:00.001-07:002010-03-15T09:08:31.426-07:00

1) Ween, "She's Your Baby". With time apart from the wonder duo, one forgets that even minor songs display a remarkable acuity. To think I once found this a weak end to an otherwise fine album! It strikes me that, if it wasn't obvious already, the band is now firmly in the category of the great mystics for me. Songwriting whose source I simply cannot fathom, but lord bless it doubly for it.2) The

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-4270426046034246842010-02-07T10:19:00.000-08:002010-02-27T09:55:21.175-08:00

Through complete chance I came across the following article on Berryman's legacy resulting from the Dream Songs, and on the reasons for the popularity of the latter. The conclusion is pretty dim: the popularity is attributed more to sociological reasons (put crassly, the "cool" factor associated with reading poetry that initially seems resistant to easy interpretation) than any inherent worth in

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-90202333067827477602010-01-29T00:35:00.000-08:002010-04-25T21:54:43.438-07:00

Between pages, on the right day,Sometimes I find my mind strayTo your questionAnd a younger man's reply.Oh, there's no plot without you,Every word sounds untrue;I close my book,Curse my mouth and sigh.

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-80520250120977076892010-01-27T00:28:00.001-08:002010-10-12T21:29:02.752-07:00

To begin by asking whether I exist on a different plane is rarely a good sign. But sometimes...how else can I put it. I find myself capable of what one could call the ability to abstract, but it's only in the things that count; that is, life and people. I am triggered by words, phrases, a certain look that reveals pure innocence in contrast to a world consumed by noise and ambiguity. These lead

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-53616949488717807222010-01-27T00:26:00.001-08:002010-02-06T10:29:41.161-08:00

Hiding behind those sweet spectacles was an astonishing heart. I was already confident of his innocence of spirit, but I never thought his interests were of a literary bent. He expressed this fact with a line so concise, so beautiful, that I will never forget it. To think, all the hours I've toiled over verse, clunkily making words rhyme, and yet never once have I broadcast this hobby to the

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-49474381515262977562010-01-24T22:23:00.000-08:002010-02-06T10:48:57.541-08:00

1) John Prine, "The Torch Singer". I've underestimated Diamonds In The Rough for quite a while. I now think that side A may be as good as the debut. With songs like these, he conjures up a lazy, dusty feeling that I imagine many songwriters make it their life goal to capture. I can't imagine anything else in music, let alone art, that's imbued with the same state of mind. He makes a strong case

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-37343618189531082912010-01-23T22:05:00.000-08:002010-05-01T13:49:15.919-07:00

A perceptive take on popular song I recently read is that it serves as a filter on life. A broad statement that can be applied to any art form, but there are at least two reasons it's a valuable way to think of popular song. First, the music lends itself so easily to subjective interpretation, because it is explicitly designed to be a visceral experience; once one responds instinctively, there's

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-48676314818486923602010-01-22T22:27:00.000-08:002010-09-03T19:51:10.314-07:00

Sitting on the bus with the rain outside, I was pondering the mysteries of life. I don't know where the center is anymore, and things have never felt this uncertain. It's one of those troughs where all I see and know is the present, and it's certainly not the place to be. Oh, but I'm not defeated that easily. I know ways of escaping. Yes, the smell of summer rain...I remember. There certainly was

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-45631836789747115892010-01-07T23:28:00.000-08:002010-09-03T19:51:01.048-07:00

It could well be that none of it means anything. Intersections of our respective time and space could just be the result of atoms playfully colliding. Maybe comets have not gone blazing by in signs of approval, and the stars haven't been shining so that I could find purpose in the night sky. It could be nothing more than the way the earth spins, how life plays itself out from time to time. Yes,

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-37085753381030829582009-12-17T09:50:00.000-08:002009-12-30T14:49:09.416-08:00

The plain summary of this combined retrospective is that things haven't gone too well on either front. The reasons are probably varied, but I'd like to put most of the blame on mental unease. It's hard to appreciate something artistic when the mind isn't willing to pause and pretend there's a world outside. I hope I can figure out how to get past this next year, but polluting this retrospective

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-7542566684340151042009-12-08T23:30:00.000-08:002009-12-08T23:53:34.938-08:00

But don't forget the songs / That made you cry /And the songs that saved your life;Yes, you're older now / And you're a clever swine / But they were the only ones who ever stood by youWhen one starts quoting Morrissey, it becomes something of a habit, you see. Seeing him in person made me reflect on the sentiment in the above lines. It'd be a stretch to say Morrissey saved me, but the music did

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-56136948271526927982009-12-05T08:42:00.001-08:002010-02-28T09:36:01.974-08:00

How is art created? How are love songs written? My experience suggests they are partly wishes of the way things ought to be.

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-23734185990604405382009-12-04T23:06:00.001-08:002009-12-04T23:10:45.896-08:00

Good lord, at moments my existence terrifies me. Some of the things I do surely go against the fundamental principles of being human. I cannot do better than quote the classic Berryman line: There ought to be a law against Henry.(How's that for a retro number? 2004 is alive and kickin'!)

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-26456884626716515022009-12-04T20:04:00.000-08:002009-12-04T23:12:01.434-08:00

Shyness is nice / And shyness can stop you / From doing all the things in life / You'd like to.While I feared that it would turn out this way, I always had some hope that my quarter-century would find me in slightly better shape than I am now. Somewhat like the narrator of The Wrong Boy, I feel like it's wrong to have to resort to Morrissey lines at this age: or, being more specific, early Smiths

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-60118779579953357342009-12-02T08:02:00.001-08:002009-12-05T08:41:43.146-08:00

The way I interact with people seems to be all about context. I seem to subconsciously decide what mode a particular situation requires, and act accordingly. My best and worst interactions, roughly speaking, involve the two extremes in terms of number of people involved. The best I think is the one-on-one*, where I tend to speak freely in a manner that is most reflective of the "real" me. The

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-39481316635459581582009-11-29T18:49:00.001-08:002009-12-04T20:03:07.520-08:00

It's frustrating that experiences are inherently one-way; I feel that by probing the aether, summoning it to answer all my questions about your life, I ought to be entitled to have you do the same. This is an oddity, one I don't believe the cliches address. When the heavens part and you see a sunlit figure in the distance, what happens when they don't notice you?

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-89258146930466727942009-11-28T09:27:00.000-08:002009-11-28T09:35:31.121-08:00

Reflecting on some of my recent work, I wonder if I've fooled myself. It's quite possible that I'm not significantly more mature than a few years ago, or at least, not to the extent that I wish. The big difference is that I have a larger arsenal at my disposal to express my thoughts, and so it's easier to dress up emotions. Which brings us back to art-as-a-crutch, funnily enough. That's my

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-63001595707643322752009-11-25T21:43:00.000-08:002011-07-12T18:13:05.032-07:00

I'm usually happy to chug along listening to whatever album catches my attention. Sometimes though, when the album isn't particularly spectacular, I take pause and wonder if anyone on earth has put as much effort as me into the music in question. There's the worry of time being wasted, for one; I start wondering if there are other things to do besides yielding three-fourths of an hour to

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-63712441333322727232009-11-18T08:05:00.000-08:002009-11-22T17:16:08.235-08:00

No pragmatism here, for sure. But sometimes I can only faithfully report what certain moods and thoughts whisper to me. (The messenger defense, you understand.)The angels drew a hundred stars,Made them glitter and glowAnd scattered them across the night.I wasn't tempted;After the heaven of your smile,The one above seemed less bright.

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-45624348613915126662009-11-18T08:04:00.000-08:002010-09-03T19:49:24.857-07:00

I somehow ended up with a dose of pragmatism here, which makes me mildly impressed with myself.When you smileI am changed,The only one livingNo longer.Don't love meIf you prefer,But consider growingA little fonder.

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-58822118902111568222009-11-14T22:13:00.000-08:002009-11-22T11:59:23.951-08:00

I used to think it was a great thing that computers and the internet make it effortless to keep every scrap of our lives intact, retrievable five, ten, fifteen years on (2012 notwithstanding). There is undoubtedly a pleasure in reading something I wrote five years ago, because I can almost remember my state of my mind. If it's something good, I can pat myself on the back for being so good for my

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-75924414643679769902009-11-01T09:59:00.000-08:002009-11-03T20:18:46.055-08:00

A common question when listening to some particularly bad piece of music is, "What were they thinking?!". In many cases there are reasonable explanations - the lure of money, too many drugs, and the like - but sometimes it's just the result of a perfectly natural artistic slump. Then one wonders if the artist knew they were in a slump at the time, just because it seems so evident to us. I'm

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-7100489674653964232009-10-26T22:48:00.001-07:002009-11-28T09:36:52.238-08:00

When I say I don't know if many people share my way of thinking, one of the things I mean is that I seem to find a particularly strong consolation from art, where normal men find befuddlement (and sometimes insincerity). As much as I would like to call that "being artistic", I'm definitely without the talent the phrase implies; so something better is needed. (Weird is always a good choice, but

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-86673295423850543372009-10-26T22:46:00.001-07:002009-10-29T00:10:43.233-07:00

I know that suggesting that these things should be taken humourously is asking for a lot, but it's true in this case (I think?). If you like, though, consider it another of those mind-projections, relieving the consciousness of the strain of having to process such thoughts continually.I open my eyes in the morning -I see,She has quit my life;So I ask:Should I follow suit?

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-38959243026468398902009-10-25T11:40:00.006-07:002009-10-25T11:56:02.471-07:00

Lines from Keats & Yeats, Bukowski & Berryman (do the two pairs share any analogies?) are floating in my head. It is the sort of day where I feel like taking a leaf out of one of their books; namely, shutting the blinds and reading from all of their books, committing to memory everything that possesses that intangible beauty that is synonymous with the form. What makes these brief arrangements

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-81126037892560403242009-10-17T16:20:00.005-07:002009-11-28T09:36:45.658-08:00

As I was plodding through the contents of the last post, the phrase "artistic suffering" popped into my head and seemed a natural fit in the context of things. Thinking about this a bit more has prompted the following question. Given the choice, would I forsake this streak of mine, the aspiration to create art out of experience (suffering and joy alike), if it meant actually getting what I want?

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-23261489629679150662009-10-09T00:07:00.025-07:002010-10-12T21:37:12.313-07:00

It feels like there's something important here; an idea, or feeling, that I've touched upon before but which seems to be central to the moment described here. Primarily, though? I don't know what the hell is going on. And I can't say that's a place I've been in very often, actually.And that if memory recur, the sun'sUnder eclipse and the day blotted out.Yeats' words, the conclusion to a stanza

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-18508675278703977112009-10-09T00:04:00.018-07:002009-10-18T08:32:16.979-07:00

While the last choice isn't as direct in its relation to Soul as the others, it should be obvious how the connection comes in anyway.1) John Prine, "Picture Show". In the direction of the last post, who knows why such songs are resonant. This initially seemed a bit perfunctory, and my first assessment of The Missing Years followed suit; thank goodness for the law of multiple listens. The key line

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-76021352842640798642009-09-23T00:25:00.010-07:002009-10-15T19:43:10.337-07:00

I don't know if popular song is explicitly designed to attach itself to moments in time, but it certainly seems to do this quite a lot with me. Perhaps it is due to its directness, or what purists alternately call its general lack of subtlety (fairly?). Devoted readers will find the following line of thinking familiar: while I firmly believe it has several artistic merits, I won't deny that

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6046161.post-77555114933096395742009-09-04T16:32:00.005-07:002009-09-08T23:41:55.651-07:00

The diligent reader might cite the following as being radically delayed responses on my part, but while I probably could've written about these songs much earlier, I needed time to be sure. Except the last one, which I added just now, and have heard probably three times. Can you spot the theme?1) Gram Parsons, "Return of the Grievous Angel". It's surprising the lyrics are borrowed, because

Adityahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09760531604231991596noreply@blogger.com0