About Music Records I Love

People who know me for quite some time, know that one of my favourite music genres is Punk/Punk Rock. I like it probably because it's so full of energy; it perfectly connects with the anxiousness, rebeldy, and downright clumsiness of modern adolescence (A-dol-ece : del Dolor). About the last part I speak for myself: I remember being so full of energy, but then again so downright clumsy and impacient to express in clever ways...that's how punk rock transmited me the possibilities of expression in a raw medium...one that can be extremelly powerful and moving.

Then, you usually grow up; tastes in music change that are more according to a more 'mature' lifestyle...punk then turns into a funny reminder of youth and boredom, of good parties and good friends we rarely see...or something mostly associated with nostalgia.

In my particular case, I was never able to 'outgrow' punk music. It's about a raw (if pre-fabricated) passion; feelings so strong and outright simple that only simple things and strong passions can do. But it is true i'm no longer familiar, interested...or to put more correctly...'close' to most punk themes: I don't really believe in Anarchy; I dislike talking about failed romances; I don't consider myself a politicaly minded person; I don't party as hard as some punks do...so the only topics left are either Punks that use humour (very few can pull it off); Punks that sing stories (a trend that also very few pull off with a straight face) and Punk music that shares a very basic feeling: opression, hate, love, boredom, death, loneliness, etc. Feelings that everyone has in many stages of their lives.

Bands like The Replacements, Early 'Libertines' and specially 'X' come to my mind. Personally, i'll never forget the first time i've heard 'The Replacements - Bastards of Young': I heard it on the year 1999, just some days or weeks before New Years. So one day I was watching MTV (Back when I had cable) and they were showing the best 100 videos of the/that Century. It shocked me. I never forgot that song. I thought it was an anthem, a call for arms. I remember I downloaded the song right away and heard it for hours. Just recently I bought their records and every time I listen to them it makes go wanna yell all I want to take off from my chest.

There's a reason because I fell in love with these bands, they not only show a raw feeling a place some rapid chords and rythm over it, they show a picture of angst not common with adolescents, but with young adults: frustrations, love, failure, death and perseverance, addictions and ultimately: good hearted humor. Not a political agenda but a message from the heart; Not platonic relationships but the real meaning of love: random encounters, love by transit, lust and it's vicious circles, relationships and their impact in one's life...so in a nutshell: just the basic feelings one can get to experience, but with more time to realize the impact in oneself.

That's why the album showed on the start of this post is there: it's easily one of the best records i've ever listened. I escentially love the first three 'X' records and the Let It Be-Tim-Pleased to Meet Me saga from 'The Replacements' mostly the same, but 'Under The Big Black Sun' has and probably will have a lot more of impact in my life.

I cant' talk much about the music. Since i'm not a musicitian, and probably all the reviews that praise the album talk a lot about it. But I can tell you about the album itself and what does it make me feel.

Some of the main topics in the album are about very 'dark' themes: being stranded in a place you don't know, love/lust and it's ultimatelly consequences and mainly: Death. Exene Cervenka's (The band's female lead singer and songwriter) sister died in an accident during the making of the album, so most of the lyrics reflect the painful times she was going through. The music, which varies extensively either serves of a tempo for the melancholy in it or it works as a sharp contrast of irony on the thougtful lyrics in it. An very good way to summarize this all comes from this review from 'Rolling Stone Magazine':

'Under the Big Black Sun is an album of visceral glimpses into the heart of the night, leavened by a salving dose of existential humor. There is an aura of the underworld to the lyrics, evoking the nervous feeling of being awake in the wee hours in an unfamiliar place, with some elusive, mortal peril lurking nearby. In both a literal and figurative sense, death is a constant, hovering presence: figuratively, in the shadowy metaphor of the big black sun and in the spiritual death of adultery and other crimes of passion.... If you can never completely escape the specter of death, X seems to be saying, at least you can dance your way free for a while.'- PARKE PUTERBAUGH.

And it's specially what the title track from this album makes me feel. I take the song as how someone has lost faith in general, keeping herself awake through irony, adultry and memories...boozing up, having a smoke, going around empty while killing oneself by doing shallow things, but still...at the same time, dancing the night away...That all is so pointless that the one thing you have left are just memories; memories of the love lost, the friends, loved ones and family you had before they died or left and the courage to say 'Good Morning' to all of that. Even though the lyrics are so pessimistic, the tune of the song is so upbeat, that's so full of contrast and irony that I can't help but to sing along and cover myself with the shit that are all the dumb shores and attitudes one has to keep up everyday...but not going against all that...just smile to it back, and keep on.

I find this song, one of the most encouraging I have ever heard.

These are the lyrics to the song:

What i did on my vacation for the last ten years
Took pictures of your town plaid perfume on my breath
I mean i've been drinking scotch while touring through your town

Adultry makes you give things away it gets you confused
Adultry takes a one room vacation then it gets you alone
Turns into a hoonymoon scream then you have to change the sheets

Smoke in one hand looking for a light
Martini in the other hand
Pointing out midnight

Now that you pulled the school underwater and drowned the prom
Which man will you save for this friday you can put him in a fish pond
And watch him swim around then have a catholic dinner

If it isn't men it's death it's the same old testament
At the cross her station keeping stood the mournful mother weeping
Where my man extended hung driven with nails to wood

Smoke in one hand looking for a drink
Drink in the other hand
Pointing out midnight

At my desk as you're sleeping as the big deal of death
Kills me and starts leaving everbody asks me how I'm doing
I'm doing everything alone rave on children and try to sleep

Larks must sing grave, deep melodies happy that they die
The sly brown fox pulled up a glass pulled up a chair
And yanked out my hair when i tried to sit I fell down when I woke up he was gone

So one has a smoke one has a drink
The man is gone, mary's dead
Good morning midnight

"In love, one and one are one." - Sartre

About the composition of thoughts with the presence of music.

I don't usually go to contemporary music festivals, events or performances. There's something I really do not understand about it...then again, there's a lot about art I don't understand. But for once, I gave it a shot; see what the hell is it all about. See how much fun you can actually have on those types of events that are so foreign to me.

There were two performances, or shows, or whatever: one video with music, and a single person performing. I cannot tell you about both performances because I slept over the first one. There was something with the heat and the images that where showing that I couldn't resist at all the urge to sleep during it. There were images, and music...and it was for some reason very uninteresting for me. So hopefuly you won't mind that I actually omit that part of the story.

Then came the second performance. A performance by Christophe Desjardins, a French Violin player. His performance was not at all conventional. It is extremelly hard for me to explain what happened...but i'll give it my best shot. The audience was surrounded by 5 speakers; and the performer had the ability to choose or direct how the sound was going to circle through the five speakers, and the direction from how the music was going to go through...and all this through a ring in his finger. Also, on the background there was a person, grabbing one or many particular notes or a sequence at one point during the performance and starts to 'add it up' to the music that the performer is currently playing. So it was a complicated way, or a creative one, deppending on which way you look at it, to play and compose music.

At first, I thought: 'This is a nice way, if overtly unnecessary, to complicate things. It should be enough to just to concentrate on the music; just a reinvention of the wheel...this is'. But the more I heard it, the more sensations started to pile up over me. The more the music kept on; the more I went to another place...and then I wrote the following on a piece of paper:

'...feelings that are displaced and spread all over one's mind; going through circles and following cycles that invariably form an uninterpretable abstraction. The sole objective, it seems, of this performance is a form of mental and physical estimulation that lives, or perhaps, resides beyond the technique and execution of the performance.'

'The tension in the chords mimics the tension shown by the audience. The spamodic reflections produced by the performance, are not comprehended by that same audience; as either is the motive or the meaning. The harmony produced by the performer is a secondary element; while the sensations produced and orchestrated through the musical piece are the main factors in the performance'.

'It is not really an improvisation; but you can feel that every performance is different'.

'Like seeing an executioner performing his own art. The technique takes a very secondary meaning. I am far more interested in the experience and feeling themselves during the performance, and also how those sensations build upon my own experience. Like the growing feeling similar to the news of death, being soak wet from the feelings of absense and mourning, as it then goes on and then impregnates the surroundings of those directed involved, and those who live and dwell in it...the way those feelings eventually grow larger than the news or acts themselves. Trully, the emotions brewed on this performance are of much larger interest for me, as I'm currently considering them as the fruits of his will, rather than the way these fruits are produced...isn't this what art is all about?'.

'Any image, either experienced; remembered or imagined at one point in time, either with the presence of music or without, permanently resides in memory, storing it's meaning and experience. A malleable memory, this is. As the image is permanently stored, but it's meaning changes according to the context this memory is recalled; or the musical piece that recalls it'.

'Can it be possible? that these atemporal images, in a large scale and covering huge lapses of time; are able to shape a new personal reality? A reality completely different from the one originally stored in one's memory? Is it similar to the way people change their history according to their needs or the way an actor assumes the life of his character?'

On retrospective. this is one day where I learned more about art and it's purporse, by using experience; than by reading theory.

If you ever have the chance to see Christophe Desjardins. I really recommend his performance. He is on the top of his class.

Here's a video of the technique used in this performance:




Music is the art which is most nigh to tears and memory. ~Oscar Wilde

Los pensamientos que llaman a memorias y a tiempos depreciados o perdidos.

Definitivamente, y sin lugar a dudas, pienso muchísimo en tí. Sin embargo, no pienso tanto en tí como para incomodarme mucho...ni tan poco como para olvidar los motivos de este distanciamiento; el peso de la consecuencias de mis acciones ni tampoco las experiencias que vivimos juntos. Se podría intuir, incluso asumir, que todo esto es una situación 'cómoda' para mí : Estoy haciendo lo suficientemente poco para no cansarme, y lo suficiente como para tener mi consciencia tranquila; bueno...la mayor parte del tiempo.

Se sabe que he hecho lo posible por hacer actividades que me mantengan ocupado; que no tenga que pensar en lo que pasó y ni siquiera saber cómo me siento. Hoy precisamente, me detuve. No pude más, me cansé. Me cansé de ignorarlo todo; de evadirlo todo y más extrañamente...me cansé de siempre estar en la defensiva de mí mismo, como loco en verdad...buscando motivos y actividades de manera enfermiza para hacer que la rutina acabe con todo rastro de tu memoria, así como a las decisiones que nos llevaron aquí. Y bueno, dicho lo anterior...pensé en tí.

Cuando pienso tí siento una terrible culpa. Esa culpa permanentemente relacionada con la inmadurez, la inexperiencia y el impulso natural de ser sobervio. No admitir los errores en el momento. No pensar en nadie mas que en uno. Olvidar intencionalmente la importancia de las promesas dichas. Esta culpa persiste desde el primer momento en que empezó todo este caos. Es esta culpa lo único que permanece constante dentro de las ocaciones que me detengo a pensar en tí.

Lo demás que viene cuando pienso en tí, normalmente, son varias remembranzas de experiencias que tuvimos juntos; claro, todas diferentes, y muy relacionadas todas con el estado de ánimo mío, así como también las actividades inmediatamente ocurridas y los objetos inmediatamente alrededor a la actividad de pensar. Lo curioso, es que entre más pasa el tiempo, se vuelven mucho más detalladas, tanto que hasta se termina recordando el número de minutos que pasaron entre conversaciones; los colores y temperaturas de los lugares a los que se asistía y la cantidad exacta, en milimetros cúbicos, de lágrimas derramadas. Esto no tiene un efecto en mí fuera de la nostalgia. Y la nostalgia, es tanto pasajera como asimilable; fácil de asesinar con el tedio y nuevas experiencias.

Más extrañamente, también vienen pensamientos sobre las remembranzas que tenía en ese momento que pasaba contigo, una especie de recursión de pensamientos...donde lo único en común entre estas conecciones y relaciones de pensamientos es tu presencia. Siendo que ahora veo todo de una forma más imparcial, no puedo dejar de notar que se tuvieron casi tan buenas experiencias como malas: La espera hacía un tedio incontrolable; el cariño y el idealismo endulsaban todo y la ausencia prolongada hacía olvidar a uno mismo el motivo de porque se estaba haciendo todo en primer lugar. Estos 'pensamientos de pensamientos' nunca me llevan a ningún lado, termino pensando que soy un imbecil que no sabe confrontar la situación y que no sabe o tiene de verdad idea de lo que sucede.

Hoy por fín lo entendí, pensé. Entendí qué significa esto para mí: Significa un caso sin resolver; otra prueba de mi cobardía; un testamento a mi desidía; un examen que juré tomar de nuevo y nunca lo hice...un cambio de prioridades....y después indagué en ese pensamiento por cinco minutos más y me dí cuenta que me estaba omitiendo lo más importante.

Que te tengo miedo. Muchísimo. Imposible. Estoy paralizado al pensar que te volveré hablar; que te volveré a escribir, pasando un mes de obligada y acordada ausencia. No tengo ni la menor idea qué te quiero decir, porque no puedo pensar: Tengo miedo que tú sí sepas qué decir, que tu mente se encuentre inamovible y también, que se vuelva imposible. Eso fué lo que pensé hoy.

Pero la vez pasada no pensé que te tuviera miedo, pensé que te tenía coraje; pero poco después me dí cuenta que no era coraje a tí, sino a mí mismo . Y la vez anterior a esa, pensé que te extrañaba, pero en realidad era que me sentía solo, pero después me dí cuenta que no estaba sólo y era que estaba escuchando a Foo Fighters, y después me admití que te extrañaba, y que todos mis intentos de racionalizar la idea que te quiero a pesar de todo, fueron completamente inútiles.

Nada de lo que dije tiene algo que ver con algo, pero lo cierto es que te tengo miedo y te quiero; y todo el tiempo lo estaba encubriendo. Bueno, en fín, Definitivamente, Tiina; te tengo mas miedo que cariño; y tengo más culpa que capacidad de tener miedo. Qué miedo...hablar contigo; me lleva a lugares que añoro y me son imposibles; a una conversación incómoda y a un trabajo mental de codificación realmente fuerte. Qué terrible....

Pero sí, te quiero. Te extraño. Y tengo tanto miedo de usar el teléfono, que no puedo ni verlo.

Pronto te veo.

Te quiero.

"...This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man..." - Polonius in 'Hamlet' by William Shakespeare.

First Ramblings

I think some of these ideas might have some future as part of something bigger. In the sense that they could be turned into songs or fully grown stories. I wrote these one time I was incredibly angry at something which is not important at all at this moment. I'm writing them here so I remember to use them for something in the near future.

By the way, these are written in Spanish:

'Mediante nubes y plumas se esconden las verdades que en tormentas volábamos, sin importar el peligro...para luego perdernos en luces que nos llevan al abismo'.

'La guerra de ideas, entre la gente culta y contra las mediocres, se vuelve, en algún punto, en el conflicto constante de mantener tus propios estándares.'

'Nunca entenderás, por el demonio que soy, las terribles artimañas con las que confundes y predicas como un falso Dios, porque al momento de ser interrogado podrás hechar pestes a los entes, como yo, que ensuciamos tus espejos ahumados de ética y moral. Pero, para que me entiendas a mí ahora, te digo que no soy tu demonio. Soy tu verdugo....'.

'La casa siempre gana...pero no jugar es suicidio'.

'Me molesta ser consciente, pero me molesta más ser imbecil. No entiendo a la mayoría y cuando lo hago, es porque son imbéciles igual que yo'.

'Siete años de mala suerte al romper un espejo; aparentemente ninguno al romper el alma'.

'Aunque tus colores y luces te distingan, el ligero olor a mierda que sale de tu boca es apenas percibible entre gente atenta o incrédula. Yo soy ninguno de los anteriores: soy un perro.'

'Nada supera el sentimiento de amar y perder, y hay razones por lo que creo que debe doler como la misma muerte: las dos manejan ese frio y permanente sentido de ausencia.'

'Al no depender de nadie se pierde esa vulnerabilidad tan aguda que nos hace realmente sentir, expresar y solo con esa vulnerabilidad se puede llegar a asimilar la diferencia entre 'una muerte como el fin de un camino cualquiera' y una muerte verdadera como 'la ausencia de vida...y quererla tener mas que nunca''.

Maybe something good can come out of one of these 'quotes' or 'one-liners'...i'll see what I can do with them. I understand they can look pretty amateurish, but that's the idea...see if there's any progress with my writing and my train of thought.

'It's hard to be nostalgic when you can't remember anything at all' - Anonymous.

....This is stupid...

...this is the 4rth blog I start, and I happen to not know if I actually want to keep this one alive for more than 3 posts.

But then again, i've been writing some stuff over my spare time, (or at least thinking of writing, or that I should write...maybe) and all what i've actually written is spread on various notebooks...but for some reason, I actually want to be organized this time, and to be able to keep my thoughts ordered and be able to see if what i've thought recently can actually be the start of something interesting.

Unlike my other blogs (which...well, were pretty short-lived), this one will be about nothing and everything...let's see how that works!.

Anyways, thanks for reading...hopefully this one will be interesting.

Cheers!

I love talking about nothing. It is the only thing I know anything about. - Oscar Wilde.