Surprisingly, it's rare that I'm really exposed to the fact that my philosophies and principles are so egregiously out of place in what constitutes normal society. I tend to treat them as idiosyncracies for the most part, and indeed I've become so used to them that I've grown convinced that even if they aren't common, they're at least valid. But when I try explaining any of these things to a polite enquirer, to whom they sound exotic and foreign, I just end up blathering due to the perceived frivolty of the whole thing, and uncomfortably try to switch topics; indeed, at these moments I'm more than open to the possibility of the frivolty being much more than "perceived"!

I have to admit that valuable as my particular slant on most things is to me, there are moments where I question their validity, and wonder whether they are a consequence of inordinate time spent thinking about these matters: time better spent, and I think this is the root of it, actually doing something. Yes, even I sometimes envy the world outside me.

A favourite observation of mine, one which I'm convinced has deeper implications than I realize, is that life is continuous, that time knows naught but how to move forward. This principle is seen at work in another favourite of mine, the revelation. Information exists, somewhere in the universe, perhaps only in the mind of a single person, and yet in only a second it can be splayed across the entire cosmos, visible to all who care to look! And once it's out there, of course, one cannot retract it, and lives are necessarily changed by truths that have always been, but which the mind has only now become conscious of.

My mind sometimes plays tricks on me when I struggle to make out a face in the horizon. There can be a split-second where I'm convinced it's someone whose physical presence is impossible, but before I have the opportunity to rationalize this, the emotional connection is made. An unusual manifestation of missing certain interactions, one which I've experiened a few too many times this month.

Today's Lesson

I realize now that I can't really force myself into people's lives. As much as I want to be a part of them, if circumstances demand that it is not to be, then I ought not try as hard as I sometimes do. Essentially, I cannot try to forcibly convince people that my presence will be beneficial to them, no matter how true I think that is! Beyond trying to project the best part of me, there's not much more I can do. Why? To answer, a line from a favourite Neil Young song: "I can't tell them how to feel".

Beautiful Keats quote:

“ ‘If I should die,’ said I to myself, ‘I have left no immortal work behind me—nothing to make my friends proud of my memory—but I have lov’d the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remember’d.’ ”

I never realized that making a promise could be so heart-rending. In my case, it's the sense that the time is so far away, the horizon seemingly endlessly looming around me. I...don't want to say I think my promises will be untrue. But it's painful to think their context will be lacking further down the path. In particular, it's unsettling, yet sobering, to finally realize that yes, the world does not revolve around me, and that ties do not stay strong just because I want them to. Bah, change, what good is any of it!?

I wrote about "rock poetry" a few years ago, with no success - not even I understand just what my position was at the time. I'd like to make a quick observation on the matter now that some time has passed. My stance now is strongly inspired by Christgau's: namely, that the function of lyrics is rather different than that of a poem, as the latter is meant to be read, the former to be sung. Good lyrics can often seem unusually flat when quoted, the words themselves sans musical context somehow seeming not as bright as when heard. Their general inability to translate strongly to the pure page shouldn't be taken as a negative pronouncement on the form, I think: it's just that lyrics (obviously) rely on their medium to convey emotion, and so comparisons to classical poetry are unfair. I understand what people mean when they call gifted songwriters "poets" - the meaning of the word has somewhat shifted I suppose - but taking it too literally can lead to confusion and crises of confidence (I speak from experience!). It's a different form, and has different methods of making you feel something. So, assessing the worth of a songwriter is necessarily more complex than simply comparing his writing to that of poets past - for there are few who could rise to such a challenge.

As always, this view is subject to change as well, but the issue was bothering me for a while now. I never knew mimicking Christgau was such an easy option!

Nowadays, I tell myself that I don't care too much about objectivity in album reviews and all that; much more important things to worry about, no doubt about it. But still. One of the problems that comes with assessing an album is knowing when to stop the needle, as it were, and confidently say that you understand it. Christgau says it's his gift to know when that point is, and that's something to be really admired. I find it's very easy to think you've understood an album (or an artist) only to be proved wrong several years down the line. I can think of several albums which I've already judged in my head, but where there is a nagging feeling that there's something unfinished, that there's the possibility that there is more to be unearthed. What prevents me from repeated listenings at that point? Time, most obviously, and the fact that it's usually with albums that I find merely adequate; the probability of being rewarded in the endeavor of listening again thus appears rather slim. For the moment, then, I'll just have to assume that for every one misjudged album, there are two whose essence I get with time.

It's occurred to me that this latest fad of mine might be better placed in a separate blog, or, you know, in my head where it belongs. My direct violation of this sensible advice is the simple fact that, unlike many of my posts, this is fun. For me, that is, and isn't that what this blog is all about?

1) John Prine, "Please Don't Bury Me". Just some old-fashioned fun, certainly. But lightweight, never! I like the fact that he was able to ignore the inane "new Dylan" tag and write songs like this. Ironically, it's by being true to his own vision that a Dylan comparison is most warranted.

2) Sparks, "Big Bands". I could choose pretty much anything from the debut album, really. What's more, the core elements of my description would remain very much the same - intelligent lyrics, amazing voice, and crazy song structure! Here, the fact that it occurred to them to write a song on the subject should be enough to earn congratulations: one can easily relate to it in spirit, doubly so when Russell gives it such a delicate vocal treatment. What I especially like is that, contrary to many other bands with a bold musical vision, there is some sort of logic behind all the music; "experimental" and "ground-breaking" can still be charming.

3) The Beatles, "And I Love Her". Might want to check this band out - they sure can pen a good tune.

4) Warren Zevon, "The French Inhaler". Years ago, I remember one reviewer of Zevon's self-titled album advising the rest of us in the art of seduction: just put this song on and draw close. I can guess the particular couplet he was thinking of, and indeed it's a beaut. Whether it's a good idea to coo to your interest that their face looks like something Death brought along, though, is another matter. Reliable sources (his son, no less) tell us that this song is to be imagined as a conversation between Zevon and his wife, and so it's inevitable that some of it is a little impenetrable. But the pieces I do get are all worthwhile.

5) Nick Cave, "Mercy". There was a period of around a year where I was actually a little scared to put on Tender Prey again, because I'd convinced myself that great as it was, it was akin to the soundtrack of the apocalypse. It's not as grim as all that, but taking this track and the one that follows it, I can see why a younger me could get affected in such a way. The atmosphere is brutally evocative - the delivery of "I told her to get down on her knees", for example. And the wry rumination on death is still eminently quotable. I don't find myself in the mood for it all that much (thankfully!) but when the mind is a particular shade of gray, there is nothing like it.

A bit of (intended) effluvia, for a change: long ago, I talked about an inadvertent switch to IE that made me wonder whether it was just tabs that made me drift away from ol' Firefox. Probably, but now I've found a reason to make the gradual move back - and it turns out I was rather prescient, because v3 was the magic number with its introduction of the "smart" address bar. A small improvement in the grand scheme, but I've found it rather indispensable with familiarity. Kudos to the developers for the idea.