The Cure

I have been feeling really bad today.  It started this morning at church.  I subbed on the organ for the morning service, and they had baby dedication.  Then there was a presentation from a summer missionary full of all these beautiful children in need of families.  Also appearing were various announcements for all the weddings and showers that everybody seems to be having.  Every single button that I have that can be pushed was being ballroom danced across.

So I loaded myself in my little white car and drove to Walmart to buy pet food and Diet MD since I was totally out of both.  And I cried.  Embarrassing ugly crying.  Thank God I was in my car where nobody could see or hear me.

Usually, I'm okay.  Most days, I'm fine.  I stay busy, and my life is a good one.  I love what I do; I love my home; I love my friends and family.  I do not stay in a woe-is-me mindset. (And here's I'm going to have a slight Bob Dylan interlude because of reasons.)  I can honestly say that...

Most of the time
My head is on straight
Most of the time
I’m strong enough not to hate
I don’t build up illusion ’til it makes me sick
I ain’t afraid of confusion no matter how thick
I can smile in the face of mankind....

Most of the time.  Today was not most of the time.

I did what I could to try to pull myself out of it.  I made a skillet of faux tacos.  I watched the last three episodes of season three of Orphan Black.  I took a little bitty nap with a purring cat.

None of it worked. The overly-chirpy alarm on my phone went off, and I felt like hurling it into the wall.  Seeing those horrible technicolor rainbows around the lights and feeling for all the world like my head was about to crank up with a migraine, I pulled myself into a decent pair of jeans, loaded my red Peavy Foundation into its case, and reluctantly headed back to the church.

Only a few of us were there for our evening jam session since several of the people who usually show up were gone this weekend, but those of us who were there worked on a fun little song for the night service, and I found myself starting to feel a little better.  I tried to work on a few walks for it, and to be honest, they didn't go so well because of how badly I was feeling, but just having the instrument in my hands was somehow comforting.

The hymns for tonight were full of accidentals, and by the time we got to the specials, all I wanted was to crawl under the pew and sleep awhile.  Our music director announced the song, and I trudged up to the front, picking my bass up along the way.  We started to play, and the congregation started to sing.  The song had some silly lyrics to it, and we sang it over and over again.  Every time we went around, I found myself feeling a little better.  By the end of it, I was smiling.

The music is somehow a cure.  I don't know how it should be that this is true, but for me, it is.  Sometimes the relief comes in just listening to it, to a song that reminds me that I am not alone and that there is still hope.  Sometimes the words are the most important part. Tonight though, it came from shutting out everything except my fingers on the finger board and strings of that old bass keeping a steady rhythm.  There was comfort in every part of it, in the pull of the strap around my neck, in the weight of the body in my lap, in the smooth glide of the polished maple against my hand, in the press of the strings against my fingertips, in the mathematical and logical patterns of notes that were creating the music.

Part of me wishes I could have sat there on that front pew and kept playing forever.  That's not the way the world works, though.  Sooner or later, the music has to end.

The trick is to find a way to keep the good inside even when the instrument is back in its case.  I have to admit I'm still working on it.

Brother

This song.  This. Song.  

I don't have flesh-and-blood brothers, but this pretty much sums up the way I feel about my close friends.  I think it's a beautiful picture of what real friendship is supposed to be, a place where both people are protected and valued, a place where we hold each other up and hold all the broken pieces together.

This has been on my mind quite a lot lately as something I should share with a particular person.  Every time I hear it lately, I think of that individual, but things there have gotten weird.  Instead of bothering that person with it, then, I'm just going to put it here.  

Ramblers in the wilderness we can’t find what we need
Get a little restless from the searching
Get a little worn down in between
Like a bull chasing the matador is the man left to his own schemes
Everybody needs someone beside em’ shining like a lighthouse from the sea

Brother let me be your shelter
I’ll never leave you all alone
I can be the one you call
When you’re low
Brother let me be your fortress
When the night winds are driving on
Be the one to light the way
Bring you home

Face down in the desert now there’s a cage locked around my heart
I found a way to drop the keys where my failures were
Now my hands can’t reach that far
I ain’t made for a rivalry I could never take the world alone
I know that in my weakness I am strong, but
It’s your love that brings me home

Brother let me be your shelter
I’ll never leave you all alone
I can be the one you call
When you’re low
Brother let me be your fortress
When the night winds are driving on
Be the one to light the way
Bring you home

And when you call and need me near
Sayin' where'd you go?
Brother I'm right here
And on those days when the sky begins to fall
You're the blood of my blood
We can get through it all

Brother let me be your shelter
I’ll never leave you all alone
I can be the one you call
When you’re feelin' low
Brother let me be your fortress
When the night winds are driving on
Be the one to light the way
Bring you home

Brother let me be your shelter
I’ll never leave you all alone
I can be the one you call
When you’re low
Brother let me be your fortress
When the night winds are driving on
Be the one to light the way
Bring you home
Be the one to light the way
Bring you home

Graceland

 After years of being curious, I finally got to go to Graceland last Wednesday.  My best friend and I got up, ate a hotel buffet breakfast, and braved cross-town traffic to arrive in an nearly-empty parking lot.

We paid our fee, passed through a queue and an unexpected photo stop, were handed the headphone set/audio guide that has become de rigeur at tourist attractions, and loaded onto a small shuttle bus which rolled across Elvis Presley Boulevard, through open gates, and up a small hill.
And there it was.

I am not sure what I was expecting.  This wasn't it.

Maybe I just expected the sort of excess that one sees in the homes of Hollywood elite today, flash, excess, too much of everything to be a truly livable space.  Instead, what was there was a home.  Large, spacious, elegant, but still a home.

Our little headphoned herd passed through the large front door and on either side of us were the home's public spaces.  There was a formal parlor, furnished in white, gold, and blue, on the right, and to the left, there was a formal dining room, the height of elegance for the time period in which it had been decorated.

We looked into a couple of bedrooms tucked down a small hall, and then we went around a corner to the kitchen.  It was here that the contrast of the two parts of the house really struck me.  The kitchen was described as the heart of Elvis's home, and I could tell the difference automatically.  It looked like a place real people could cook and eat and sneak down to raid the fridge in the middle of the night.   In fact, there was a stairwell that would allow just that. It looked like real people had at one time had real lives there, not just a set for photo ops or a display of conspicuous consumption.  

The downstairs rooms and even the famous Jungle Room felt the same way.  The private spaces of Graceland were comfortable and functional, full of expensive things, perhaps, but not a museum, not a slick spread in a magazine.  People used and enjoyed those rooms.

I liked it quite a lot.

The divisions he'd created, the idea of a public formal space in which he could meet those who perhaps were not close to him, is a very Southern thing.  The formal front parlor has been around for a long time.  I found it interesting that he had continued that tradition in his home.  He had enough money to have created anything he wanted, but what he created was a home.

Of course, the house itself is only a small part of the tour.  The outbuildings that have been converted or added are storehouses of memorabilia, costumes, personal items, and above all, gold and platinum records.  Trophies of all kinds were everywhere.

We finished up in the memory garden where the graves are.  People were snapping image after image of the graves, and to me, it felt a little odd.  To me, the graves were a private place, and the neverending parade of tourists, myself included, seemed a little inappropriate.  I admit that I've toured cathedrals of Europe, and I certainly took pictures of Dante's monument in Santa Croce and Shakespeare's in Holy Trinity, but this hit me differently.  I felt like I'd crawled over a fence and invaded someone's privacy.

We loaded back up, were carted across the road, and got off in the miniature theme park where we'd started.  We dutifully toured the automobile collection, browsed in shops, had our photo made with Elvis through the magic of Photoshop, got pressed pennies, bought the obligatory t-shirts.

We took a break and ate a hamburger and a fried peanut butter and banana sandwich with some of the best fries I've ever had in one of the two restaurants on the Graceland property, and the 50s diner decor included the obligatory beautiful Wurlitzer filled with Elvis's music.  We listened, ate, and took a minute to refuel. The whole time, though I couldn't stop thinking about what Elvis himself might have thought about this whole thing.  He had tried to make a home, a refuge for himself and those he loved.  He hadn't built a palace to excess, although he certainly had the financial means to do so.  This means that he treasured that space and what it represented.

So would he have been okay with what it has become?  Would he have seen it as just another part of the business, or would it have bothered him that we were traipsing through his kitchen, snapping photos of his formal parlor?

The question continued to resonate with me all the way back out to the now-filled parking lot and all the way down I-55 to my own refuge.  It lingers still.

Little Broken Hearts

Every once in awhile, I stumble across an album that I can't stop listening to.  I loop it instead of listening and putting it into a rotation.  Generally speaking, I like variety instead of repetition.  Little Broken Hearts by Norah Jones is currently sort of obsessing me.

Oh, it's not new.  It's been out awhile.  I've had it on my list of things to get.  I finally did the other night, and it's one of those things I'm kicking myself for not getting earlier.

This album is rare in that I think I like every single song on it.  Some cut me more personally than others.  Since it's an album of broken relationships as indicated by the title, not all of these places Jones goes are happy ones.  They're rendered lovely, though, by her voice and artistry.  Sometimes there is beauty even in the shadows of the dark places we go, I guess.

As usual, I also find myself drawn to the lovely little tune with the crazy little lyrics.  I was halfway through "Miriam" the first time before I realized what she was saying.  I restarted it, pulled up the lyrics online, and I immediately fell in love with it.  I think I'm going to make a playlist of nothing but all these happy little psycho songs I have accumulated over the years.  I will do this without looking too closely at what that probably says about me....

Most of all, though, I will continue to enjoy the voice of Norah Jones.  She has such an unusual and rich sound.  Come Away with Me has been something I have enjoyed forever.  Little Broken Hearts, however, adds some edge to both her lyrics and her sound.  It's different, but unlike some of the reviewers I read, I don't think that's bad.  Clearly, as time goes on, we aren't the same people anymore.  Our life experiences change us, or they should, anyway, if we're living any sort of life at all.  Why do we always seem to expect every album from a performer to sound the same as if they aren't changing, too?  That's absurd.  We should enjoy the evolution instead of demanding what only really amounts to stagnation.

A Hopeful Song

"I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day" lyrics
(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882), 1867)

I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

I thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head:
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men."

Till, ringing singing, on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,
Of peace on earth, good will to men!

----
I've heard this song and played this song a million times.  It is only this year that it finally sank in.  Isn't it funny how you can suddenly encounter something for what feels like the first time even after having it underfoot for a lifetime?

The third and fourth verses are the ones that moved me.  Despair is all around.  Darkness encroaches.  Every day our news is full of violence and hate, greed and self-interest.  The song doesn't end there, though.  Even the bells know the antidote, "God is not dead nor doth he sleep."  No matter how bad things get, there is cause for joy and hope in that. Someday, "the wrong shall fail, the right prevail" and we will have that peace and goodwill we so desperately need.

Merry Christmas to you one and all.

Variation on a Theme

In the past two days, I have found myself enthusing over Chris Thile's new Bach album (more about that later) and the YouTube video series Thug Notes.  My first reaction to these in juxtaposition was that they were very different things.  After a little thought, though, I'm not so sure.

What I appreciate about both of them is that they're taking things I traditionally enjoy (Bach, literature) and putting a distinctive personal touch on them (mandolin, thugness).  You have to be very clever and very good at what you do to pull reinterpretation of a masterwork off correctly.  You can take do pale imitations all day long, but to make a genuine new version of something already great means you have to understand the work in question thoroughly.

I think of it like Picasso's art.  Everyone associates him with Cubism and abstraction.  How many people remember that before he found his own new style that he made sure he was a master of traditional techniques?  He admonished people to "[l]earn the rules like a pro so you can break them like an artist."  It's not that he couldn't paint in the more traditional way; it's that he had mastered and surpassed it.

Even though it may seem odd to put a YouTube series in the same category with Thile and maybe both of them with Picasso to some people, I can't help but see their relationship to one another.  True interpretation leads to a new invention all of its own.

Bonfire

You got a lot of lovers with star-crossed wrists

They keep a candle burning on the corner you kissed.

One day I might die, until then there's too much to do

But I'll keep a bonfire for you.

I've seen the pretty boys that you're keeping around

I know how it goes, I've got a girl in town.

And she likes me enough to do what I like to do.

But, I'll keep a bonfire for you.

Let the other lovers talk about who carries the torch

Let them talk about the beauty that they carry it for

Let the other lovers talk about who got what

And who got burned and who got cut

I'll be in the orchard when you get tired

Day after day of the shouts from the choir

Eating the apples and eating the peaches, too

And waiting by my bonfire for you.

In the dark anybody will do for love

But you're the only one I want when the sun comes up

No burning ball of fire set in the sky will do

Next to my bonfire for you.

Let the other lovers talk about who carries the torch

Let them talk about the beauty that they carry it for

Let the other lovers talk about who got what

And who got burned and who got cut

I need a little motion, need a little relief

I get a little lonely at the end of the week

And I want it so bad and if you want it so bad, too

I'll be over here with my bonfire for you.

You got a lot of lovers with star-crossed wrists

They keep a candle burning on the corner you kissed.

One day I might die, until then there's too much to do

But I'll keep a bonfire for you.

~ "Bonfire" - Josh Ritter

________

I love just about everything I've heard by Ritter, but there are certain songs of his that always feel like they were more or less stolen right out of my own thoughts.  (Of course, if this is the case, he's dressing them up in prettier clothing than they had when they were with me.  Heh.)

This song, "Bonfire," is one of those I identify with closely.  Switch some genders here and there, and it's just about the situation I find myself in.  I like the fact that he's not pining and following. Others might thrive on the drama of "star-crossed wrists," but I, like the speaker in the song, am just much more comfortable taking care of life, hanging out in the orchard.

 There is tremendous personal truth for me in the line "One day I might die, until then there's too much to do."  I'm busy.  I have a ridiculous schedule and probably will for the rest of my life.  It's not conducive to marriage or happy homelife.  I've known that for a long time.  Who would put up with me leaving early in the morning and not coming home until after 6:00 most nights?  Who would willingly suffer the slings and arrows of being married to a teacher?  I'm not sure that I really expect anybody to.

That doesn't really prevent me from keeping that bonfire going.  Just because I don't think it will work out doesn't seem to be a deterrent to feeling.  I understand that "bonfire" level of desire all too well.  Candles are all well and good; they give some light and a certain aura of romance, I suppose. However, a candle's lifespan is limited before the match ever touches the wick.  I think a lot of relationships have that same quality. When you think about love, which would you really rather have - the temporary glamor, beauty of limited use and duration, or the permanent that provides on so many different levels?  

Bonfires may require work to make and work to keep them going but they give more heat, more light, more protection from all those things that hunt in the night. They are actually functional rather than decorative.  The metaphor is perfect, then.  Who wants a purely decorative love?  Is it really love at all? The speaker says no.  He has a girl whom he likes and who likes him well enough to "do what [he] likes to do," but this is presented as a necessity, a place-holder.  It's not the real deal, and he's not pretending that it is. He knows good and well he's only got a candle at the present.

This is the place the speaker and I diverge.  I'm not interested in candles.  I don't have the time for them.  I'm only interested in bonfires, I guess.  In fact, that metaphor can go right next to the Sonnet 116 ones as far as I'm concerned.

Anyway....  As you can tell, I've English Teachered this song more than once in my head.  This is probably a lot more thought than it was ever intended to evoke.  (Sorry for beating your song to death, Josh Ritter.)  This is almost certainly more thought than you really wanted to read.  For some reason, though, this was the thing I needed to say just now, so, as always, caveat emptor.  And now, I have some papers to grade and a bonfire to tend.

Istanbul (Not Constantinople)

I bought my tickets for Turkey yesterday.   I shopped around, tried to use my SkyMiles to defray the cost of the ticket, and finally just clicked "Purchase" with no small amount of both trepidation and relief.  It's done.  When you click the big green button, it's done.

I still can't believe it, though.  The more I read and discover, the more fantastic it all seems.  I got my main course textbook from Primary Source last week, and I looked at it some last night.  I also got on our course Moodle and started meeting the people I'm going to be traveling with.  As usual, I'm the only person from the Deep South.  Well.  Every trip needs a token chick from MS, right?  In all seriousness, it looks like it will be a good mix of disciplines, grade levels, and parts of the country.

I also started digging through the list of "extras" one of the course instructors put up.  I ordered a couple of used copies of some books about Istanbul/Ottoman Turkey from Amazon, and I got one of Orham Pamuk's novels on my Kindle.  I can see that what I'm supposed to be doing and what I want to be doing are going to be at war with each other for the next few weeks.  (So what else is new, right?)

One of my last purchases, a whim I indulged after somebody else brought it up again on FB, was the They Might Be Giants song "Istanbul (Not Constantinople)."  I remember that song from a million years ago.  C. and I laughed about it when we were in Venice and I was still waiting to find out whether or not I had gotten in for this institute.  It's a very silly song, but somehow it was the perfect thing to celebrate.  It feels very, very good to have this ticket, something to hold on to in the rough week ahead of me.

I'm now running very late to start my day, but it's worth it.  If you haven't heard this song or heard it in a long time, I leave it here to get stuck in your head, too.  Enjoy.

Sing to the Moon - Laura Mvula

I stumbled over Laura Mvula last week when her album was on NPR's First Listen.  I have more or less become obsessed with it since then.  The whole album is in every way fantastic.  Right now, though, this is my favorite song.  The words are beautiful as are the images.  It touched me very personally, so I wanted to share it here.
____


(Verse)
Hey there you, shattered in a thousand pieces
Weeping in the darkest nights.
Hey there you, try to stand up on your own two feet
And stumble into the sky.

(Pre-Chorus)
When the lights go out and you’re on your own
How you’re gonna make it through till the morning sun?

(Chorus)
Sing to the moon and the stars will shine
Over you, lead you to the other side.
Sing to the moon and the stars will shine
Over you, heaven’s gonna turn the time.

(Verse)
Hey there you, looking for a brighter season
Need to lay your burden down.
Hey there you, drowning in a hopeless feeling,
Buried under deeper ground.

(Pre-Chorus)
When the lights go out it’s a waiting game.
Never gonna see a day when your world will change.

(Chorus)
Sing to the moon and the stars will shine
Over you, lead you to the other side.
Sing to the moon and the stars will shine
Over you, heaven’s gonna turn the time.

Sing to the moon and the stars will shine
Over you, lead you to the other side.
Sing to the moon and the stars will shine
Over you, heaven’s gonna turn the time.

A Mobile Observation

What does it say about me that it annoys me when radio stations mute minor vulgarities in their songs? I'm listening to Pink Floyd's "Money," and when it got to the "goodie good bullshit" line, they bleeped it. If that word offends you so very much, maybe you should not listen to the song. I find this sort of thing hypocritical and corrosive to the original intent of the artist. Even if they bleep it, we all know what was meant, effectively hearing it in our heads. What's the point?

It Will Be Mine

(well, as of early March, anyway)

So, today I gave in and went to joshritter.com and pre-ordered The Beast in Its Tracks.  I know there are MONTHS between me and the release date, and I was really only sort of looking around, but then I saw the bundle that has this in it.  That was the deal-clincher.

Does this pattern look familiar to you?  Like, oh, say, something you might have seen me blog about before?  I can't get over how much stuff I like Josh Ritter winds up having in his work/art/etc.  Ancient Egypt.  Hamlet.  The greek/evil eye.  Frankenstein (I will always believe that "Another New World" ties back to Robert Walton until I'm told otherwise.)

I like the song I've heard from the new album, the released single.  I can't believe I won't love the whole thing.  I had to laugh today when I saw on Twitter than Neil Gaiman had gotten an advance copy and didn't have anything to play it on wherever it is that he was.  I like the idea of those two being friends, though.  I have often wondered if they knew each other before the WITS show.  Clearly now they do.  I should think that the potential for fabulous cross-pollination between those two storytellers is mind-boggling.

I am just a simple teacher-person, though.  No titan of creativity am I.  Therefore, I don't get an advance copy.  Sigh.  That's okay.  My duly pre-ordered one should get here right before my Spring Break trip, and I will be wearing that shirt through Italy.  I'll put it with my greek eye stuff that I got from Brazil.  The music can keep me company through the flight.  It's one more thing I can look forward to with my countdown timer to Italy, I guess.

There were lots of other things on the website I wanted.  He has a poster with Anubis playing the guitar.  If that doesn't run out, I will get one of those for my classroom.  It makes me happy.  I can justify having it up all the time because of Mythology.  They also had a zip-front hoodie for "The Curse."  I don't wear a lot of hoodies, but this one made me grin.  If I can free up money in a month or so, I might get that for my birthday present to myself.

For lots of reasons, March can't get here fast enough.  I can't wait until I open my mailbox and find my bundle.  Good music, cool design, last minute packing for a place I've always wanted to go.  Can't beat that with a stick.

That Song...

(for F, should he ever read it)

So there's this Christmas song by Bob Dylan called "Must Be Santa."  I got a compilation album with a bunch of stuff on it, and I saw that one and thought, "Wow.  Bob Dylan does Christmas.  Okay."  

I did not at that time understand the profound turn for the holiday weird my life was going to take.

I think I'll let you listen to it for yourself.  You can click above and see the video and everything.  And really, without the video, you're just not getting the full effect.  It's like a cross between National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation and Animal House.  Just be warned.  IT WILL HAUNT YOU.  As in, you'll be humming in the shower as you are washing your hair or in the laundry room while you're folding clothes, and suddenly you will realize.....IT'S THAT SONG.  And so it will be every time your brain goes on idle even momentarily.  Apparently for the rest. of. your. life.

As if that weren't enough, I also have the image of Bob from this video cavorting in my head like an evil Tom Petty in his parade of hats.  And you KNOW it had to go somewhere scary for me to say "an evil Tom Petty."  I mean, consider what that entails for a moment.

So, at your own risk and in your own time, if you dare, test the waters and wade in.  Just be aware that you're going to be grading papers or chopping tomatoes and finding yourself chanting, "Dasher/Dancer/Prancer/Vixen/Eisenhower/Kennedy/Johnson/Nixon....Must be Santa, Must be Santa, Santa Claus...." like some devotee of a cult.

Maybe there's a 12-step to break the cycle.  

Dear Josh Ritter

As if your songs weren't fabulous enough, you also named two of your albums with direct quotes from Hamlet and Horatio (So Runs the World Away and To the Yet Unknowing World).  I caught the Horatio quote last year as I taught the play.  I didn't catch the Hamlet one until this year's adventures in education.  Nicely done, sir.  Nicely done.

Just the Worst Christmas Song EVER

At first I was incredulous.  Then I was appalled.  Then I just started laughing.

I was listening to a new compilation of Christmas songs from various artists.  On it was the song (and I couldn't make this up if I tried) "Shimmy Down My Chimney (Fill Up My Stocking)" by Alison Krauss.

I have no idea how Alison Krauss wound up singing this song.  It's nothing like what I am used to hearing from her.  She has a lovely voice, sweet and rich.  Usually, the songs she sings are delicate and thoughtful.  This one?  Yeah.  Not so much.

Here are some of the tasteful lyrics:


I'm not asking for a miracle, just a night
And if you just look in my eyes, you just might
There'll be no other woman who'll treat you like I can
(Come on over here)
I'll be your loving, darling, you'll be my loving man

Oh, I watch you shimmy down the chimney, baby
I watch you fill up my stocking
But when I offer you some Christmas greetings
You just keep on walking

Who doesn't love a Christmas innuendo?   (Oh, you, too?)

It's just horrible.  Previously, my least-favorite Christmas song was the emotional torture-tool "The Christmas Shoes."  At least there was an attempt at sweetness in that.  Granted it is the kind of sweetness that causes "diabeetus," but it has some trace of Christmas in it.  I'm having a hard time getting to the spirit of the season with "Shimmy Down My Chimney."  (God.  I feel absurd just typing the name.)

I would tell you to check it out if you haven't heard it, but I really don't think I feel much like inflicting it on anybody else.  I guess if you're curious, have at it.  If not, by all means, just take my word for it and stay well clear.

What a Little Moonlight Can Do

My yard, my porch, the field beside the house, all of it is soaked in the most beautiful full moon of the year, the October moon.  I came home from church and walked my dogs by light so bright that I almost couldn't tell where the security light ended and where the moonlight began.  The dogs were full of happiness because everything is out and about in the woods, so adventures aplenty abound.

Today, this night of the October moon, is when the ancient Celts would be celebrating their new year, Samhain, the night  when the veil between the land of the living and the land of the dead is pulled aside.  I'm enjoying the beauty of the orb even if it doesn't have any particular religious significance for me.

I have my the playlist that I entitled "moonmusic" spinning, and I've stolen a few pieces of candy out of the big bag I am taking to school later this week.  It's calm and it's peaceful and it's very nearly perfect.

I wonder why so many of the great old songs had to do with the moon.  Examples right off the top of my head:  "Fly Me to the Moon," "Paper Moon," "Moon River," and "What a Little Moonlight Can Do."  Do we have that many modern moon songs?  Did it lose its mystery and magic for us once we set foot on it?  These songs are still wonderful, still full of an innocence and a hope that I sometimes miss in modern music, especially the hope part.  As long as the singer has the light of the moon and the person s/he loves, everything is going to be okay.  How often do you hear a song where things are that simple, that pure?

Maybe a little more old-fashioned enchantment by the moon wouldn't be a bad thing.

Songs with Wings

So many of my favorite lines and favorite songs have the image of flight in them.  I started thinking about that today.  Here are a few examples:

• "Oh, had I wings I would fly away and be at rest..."  ~ "Ecstasy," Crooked Still (traditional hymn)
• "On my way to better things / I found myself some wings / Distant roads are calling me...."  ~ "No Time Left for You," The Guess Who
• "My love she's like some raven / at my window with a broken wing."  ~ "Love Minus Zero / No Limit," Bob Dylan
• "One glad morning when this life is done / I'll fly away..."  "I'll Fly Away," traditional hymn
• "Perhaps I'll be a bird one day/ if I'm good enough/ and I'll spread out and fly away/ and give up all this stuff."  "Meheni Rachi," Laura Marling version
• "I'm learning to fly / but I ain't got wings/ coming down is the hardest thing." ~ "Learning to Fly," Tom Petty
• "And when we die/ we say we'll catch some blackbird's wing/ Then we'll fly away to heaven come some sweet bluebonnet spring..." ~ "Gulf Coast Highway," Nanci Griffith
• "...Last night I dreamt that I grew wings/ I found a place where they could hear me when I sing."  ~ "Wings," Josh Ritter

I'm sure there are more, but it's late and I'm tired.  This is all I can think of for now. 

Babel

So when your hopes are on fire
But you know your desire
Don't hold a glass over the flame
Don't let your heart grow cold
I will call you by name
I will share your road

MUMFORD & SONS - HOPELESS WANDERER LYRICS 
_______________________

Can I just tell you how much I love this album?  When I first heard it, I thought it was good, but as always with this group, the more I pay attention to the lyrics, the better it gets.  Every time I listen to it, I hear something else that strikes my heart like a hammer shaping steel on an anvil.

Take these from "Ghosts that We Knew":

So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
Cause oh they gave me such a fright
But I will hold on with all of my might
Just promise me we'll be all right

Ghosts that we knew made us black and all blue
But we'll live a long life
And the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view
And we'll live a long life

I love that love here is something that conquers the ghosts everybody carries around with them.  The love is the light that finally puts the shadows of the past to rest.  I want that.  Oh, how I want that.

Another example:


Now I'll be bold
As well as strong
And use my head alongside my heart
So tame my flesh
And fix my eyes
A tethered mind freed from the lies

And I'll kneel down
Wait for now
And I'll kneel down
Know my ground

Raise my hands
Paint my spirit gold
Bow my head
Keep my heart slow

'cus I will wait, I will wait for you
And I will wait, I will wait for you


~ I WILL WAIT 

The line about using "my head alongside my heart" and having a "tethered mind freed from the lies" is tremendous.  If you read here much at all, you know I am creature of the mind as much as I am of the heart.  The joining of the two here, the grounding of the intellect and the clearing of the vision as a step to get ready for love is so much me.  I also find the idea of "paint[ing] my spirit gold" just beautiful.  The imagery of it fills me with a sense of the mystery and wonder that this particular relationship will bring. This whole idea of putting oneself under control and getting ready for love instead of flying around impulsively is gorgeous to me.

And that seems to be a theme throughout the album.  Not every song has it, but it comes up repeatedly.  It's not something one hears a lot in music today.  Most artists do more of the Carpe Diem "sieze it before it's gone" sort of lyrics.  I find the idea of waiting for something that is real and worthy infinitely more appealing.  It's hopeful that the thing desired is out there somewhere and that until it comes, we need to be working on ourselves with patience.  This is always something I need to hear.

I could quote more lyrics, talk about more of the songs, but I will leave these here and just continue to enjoy the rest without the commentary.

When Literature and Rock Collide

On my way home today, "She's So Cold" from the Rolling Stones was blasting and I was singing along when it hit me.  The lyrics of that song are just a reworking of Spenser's sonnet "My Love Is Like to Ice." I teach it every year to two different courses, so it is kicking around in the back of my mind fairly handy.  Here's the Spenserian sonnet:


My Love Is Like To Ice

My love is like to ice, and I to fire:
How comes it then that this her cold so great
Is not dissolved through my so hot desire,
But harder grows the more I her entreat?
Or how comes it that my exceeding heat
Is not allayed by her heart-frozen cold,
But that I burn much more in boiling sweat,
And feel my flames augmented manifold?
What more miraculous thing may be told,
That fire, which all things melts, should harden ice,
And ice, which is congeal's with senseless cold,
Should kindle fire by wonderful device?
Such is the power of love in gentle mind,
That it can alter all the course of kind.

Here's the Rolling Stones:

You judge for yourself.  Maybe it's just a case of that old adage that there's just nothing new under the sun, but this juxtaposition of things made me really, really happy as I sailed down the highway.  Think I'll use this next year when it comes time to teach this again.

What He Said

You see, making a living doing something you love isn’t only about making a living (in fact for many that’s not even a possibility) it’s about making a life. That means building friendships, respecting your own limitations, taking pleasure in your own creativity and in the creativity of others, and always, always, always reminding yourself to enjoy the moment you’re in.
~ Josh Ritter

Two Songs I Probably Shouldn't Like (But I Do)

Of all the apps on my iPhone, I think I use Shazam and Instagram more than any of the others.  It's just possible that this classifies me as a hipster, something I try really hard not to think about since I really, really, really hate that term/the whole ideology of it.  I say as I'm wearing one of my clever tshirts.  Sigh.  If  all of it does, well....vaffanculo.  (I'm working on my obscenities in other languages now.  Italian and Spanish are especially satisfying for some reason.)  I am still going to enjoy it anyway.

Which brings me to my next point.

I was going through my song tags, and I found one I'd done quite awhile ago for a version of "99 Problems" by Hugo.  I listened to the clip again, and I decided that, yes, I did indeed have to have that song.  I don't remember if I tagged it while I was watching the dreadful remake of Fright Night in which it appears or one day when I (seem to) remember it being on the radio when I was in a really bad mood after a confrontation with somebody and it just seemed to FIT.  I should not like this song.  The language in it should irritate me.  But I do.  I really, really do.  And there are days when I want to put it in a giant 1980s boom box, travel to the place where whoever it is that is irritating me is (if they are of the feminine persuasion...and possibly if they are not), press play, and POINT.  "99 problems and..."  YOU'RE NOT ONE. Press stop. Walk away.  This is not exactly what the song lyrics were intended to convey, I know.  They were all "male independence, no woman is going to get me down," blah, blah, blah.  Call it literary interpretation.

When I went to download the mp3, I looked at the entire album by Hugo to see what, if anything, else might be on it that I might like.  I hadn't really heard anything by him, so I wanted to explore before I made the decision concerning getting only the single or the whole album.  As I listened to the samples, there were several that I liked, enough to get me to purchase the album, but one other stood out from all the rest.

One of the reviewers on Amazon called "Butter and Bread" "pure sex."  He wasn't kidding.  The opening lines are "She tastes like midnight/she tastes like wine/ (repeat)/gonna run my fingers all down her spine." And it just goes from there.  It's pure blues nasty, and I've got it stuck in my mind.  I love this song.  I need to find a guy who could have this attitude and keep him for blues reasons. (And if you don't know what blues reasons are, you probably shouldn't ever read my blog.  Ever.  Run.  Now.  And I'm sorry for the damage I've done you by reading this far....)  Technically, this might be another one of those songs I should eschew, but it makes me grin, and if that's wrong, well, again, I guess I'll be breaking out another one of my linguistic toys.

Maybe it's the unusual moon.  Maybe it's the end of a rough-as-sandpaper year.  Maybe it's coming off all the Topamax and waking up again.  Maybe I'm always like this. I don't know.  I guess I just currently find myself in the mood for things that are not delicate or polite.  Tomorrow, I may be back in the mode for social satire, tea, crumpets, and Jane Austen, but just now, I believe I'm more in a phase where it's going to have to be something a little less refined.