Feels like years

A few of the countless reasons I *L|O|V|E* this song:

1) It’s true, at least right now. About a week of sunny days in Olympia– rare in themselves individually; even more unheard of in a week’s company.

2) John actually sings along with the guitar part. That makes it feel like the song has been around forever, and the Beatles are just covering it, albeit lazily and with utmost casualness.

3) George wrote it. Favorite Beatle, hands down. You know you can’t argue.

4) “Here comes the sun,” they say, and then… well, you’re not sure if they say “it’s all right,” or “it’s alright.” Either way, I appreciate that they aren’t saying, “here comes the sun, f*cking FINALLY, jeezus, where the hell has it been?!” Nah. The sun is out. And it hasn’t been out for a while, and that’s totally cool. I like the unconcerned attitude The Beatles have about the weather.

5) It never gets old.

6) It’s metaphorical.

7) It’s universally appealing.

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Feels like years

You old blue Northern

Some people have memories of childhood that involve getting stuck in one of those blow-up bouncy castles as it collapses, or longboarding in a parking garage in the wee hours of the morning.

One of my clearest memories from my early teens takes place in Ellensburg, Washington. Most Washingtonians consider Ellensburg the scourge of the earth, but I’ve always had a soft spot for it. I was visiting a close family friend with my parents, and we were gearing up for another friend’s barbecue/chili cookoff. It was to be quite an event: at least a dozen different types of chili, a spiciness contest, a cornbread contest, plus live entertainment. Surprisingly, I don’t remember the food much at all, but I remember distinctly the two songs I was supposed to participate in: “Quinn the Eskimo” (a sing-along extravaganza with live backup band) and this song, which I found sad and beautiful and everything I would want my life to be if I were a true cowgirl.

As I remember, I was invited to sing this song as a solo, and I would ride in on a horse and sing it from there with a single guitar accompaniment. I was never a confident soloist and got cold feet like crazy, so another girl (a gorgeous, seventeen year old, real live cowgirl) did the whole bit. I was so jealous and remember complaining to my mom about it, but what could she say? I’d had neither the confidence nor the preparation to perform it.

This is one of those songs that I searched for for years, finally landing on it and being surprised to find that I love it as much as I ever did. It’s not the usual thing I post, but listen.

You old blue Northern

You’ve got this thing about you that keeps me on the edge of my seat.

I cannot tell you how amazing my life is. I’m a pretty happy person, but lately I have just been pumped. All. The. Time.

My birthday is in a week, and nearly all of my friends will be there helping me ring it in.

I have fucking awesome friends.

I listen to good music all the time.

The student newspaper’s website is better than ever.

I’m setting up my own contract this quarter and I’ve picked out all my reading materials.

I’ve been flexing my editing muscles and I LOVE IT.

Oh god, do I fucking love it.

No one can rain on my parade. (Though the Olympia weather is trying its hardest.)

(Title of post from “Teeth,” by The Ettes)

You’ve got this thing about you that keeps me on the edge of my seat.

New Discovery

“It Hurts Me Too” by folk artist Karen Dalton.

No one seems to be sure whether she influenced Bob Dylan, or if it’s the other way around.

I can’t get over her voice. It’s so old-time jazzy (think Billie Holiday), but works perfectly with her guitar style. So… jury’s still out on this one, but I’ll get back to you.

And this one. Alright, I’ll admit I like this one mostly for the French sous-titres. Subtitles. :)

New Discovery

Pleasant Surprises

I’ve said it before (but not here), but I’ll say it again: Talking about Tchaikovsky and Nietzsche makes me feel like the college student everyone wants to be. Or at least, I feel like the college student I always wanted to be. I have to listen to it and read it, respectively, to be able to talk about it, and for once that’s what I’m doing!

First, I found Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture on my iTunes (one of those moments of musical joy)… but initially that made me feel more like a budding anarchist (because I also realized that V’s symbol in V for Vendetta looks like an upside down anarchy symbol)… so I moved on to the Nutcracker Suite. But that made me feel like a stuffed mouse or a five-year-old, not a college student, so then I moved on to the Swan Lake suite, which I guess feels a little more refined.

Then, I began reading The Birth of Tragedy, and got all excited because its alternate title is “Out of the Spirit of Music,” which is what Life is. And Love. Here, Nietzsche says it best: “In song and dance man expresses himself as a member of a higher community; he has forgotten how to walk and speak and is on the way toward flying into the air, dancing. His very gestures express enchantment. … He is no longer and artist, he has become a work of art: in these paroxysms of intoxication the artistic power of all nature reveals itself to the highest gratification of the primordial unity.”

… Oh my God, why in the world didn’t I use that for my paper last year?!

This one is even better: “Now, with the gospel of universal harmony, each one feels himself not only united, reconciled, and rused with his neighbor, but as one with him, as if the veil of ‘maya’ had been torn aside and were now merely fluttering in tatters before the mysterious primordial unity.” I don’t know what “maya” is, but otherwise, that’s pretty much exactly what I was trying to say last year. AND I DIDN’T GET IT FROM NIETZSCHE!

Actually, that’s kind of depressing. I thought I had a bunch of original thoughts… but of course this philosopher said it better. Well… Maybe not better. I mean, mine DID take up 25 pages, and I am pretty damn proud of it. I spent so many hours of heartache over it, and Nietzsche probably just rattled it off in a couple minutes without much research or soul-searching. At least that means that mine was more personally interpretive and meaningful. …But alas, I am biased.

Pleasant Surprises

September Mraz Musings

This was written ages ago, while I was waiting for the Michael Franti & Spearhead / Jason Mraz concert in Seattle to start.

—-

With nothing better to do, I’m writing while I stand. I’m on my 2nd or 3rd hour of standing, but all is good with the prospect of seeing Jason Mraz… again. Number three, baby. I guess I’m kind of a Jason Mraz hog [or maybe hag? I can’t read my writing], but what do I care?

I smell weed, who knows where it comes from.

Oh, I just found out. A dreadlocked guy who rose a bit of havoc trying to get more to the front. His famous last words: “I’m not a dick but…”

The poor, clean-cut Mraz crowd doesn’t know how to deal with these hippies. The show goes on.

The air is warm with body heat. What a nasty description, I know. It’s a nasty feeling, too.

I wore my best shoes, as in, the most comfortable and functional ones I have. But I’m finding myself wishing a band would start so I can’t feel my feet.

Up first is Michael Franti and Spearhead, with whom I’ve only really acquainted myself in the past few nights. As I told my mom, it’s sort of music with a message crossed with reggae.

In pure Seattle fashion, fans have blown up a large trash bag, which would otherwise be used as a makeshift poncho, and are using it as a beach ball replacement, bouncing it around the crowd.

I’m hoping Spearhead isn’t so crazy, but after Gogol Bordello, I think I could handle anything.

——

Oh, was I wrong. There was mosh pit mania all over again during Michael Franti, and by the time Jason Mraz started, the crowd was packed so tightly that I could not breathe, let alone move. Most people had to crowd surf to get out, but I was all alone and didn’t want to do any such thing. So I tagged along with a couple who were standing near me, and we made our way to the back. We got death glares and a few possibly intentional shoves, but we were just glad to get out of there to breathe.

That was the farthest back I’ve ever been during a Jason Mraz concert, and it was still fantastic.

September Mraz Musings

Observing Ghostland

I don’t think it’s possible to describe a laser light show to someone who has never seen one, but I’m going to try anyway.

Saturday night was the first time I’d gone to a concert where I had no idea who the headliners were or even really their genre. I didn’t pay for the ticket, which is a plus, but it would have been worth it even if I had. I was a little bored waiting for the show to start, but there was a DJ and it was a woman, which was cool to experience.

For …various reasons, I was pretty apprehensive once the show was about to start. We were right in the middle of the crowd, and I was terrified that the scene was going to turn into a mosh pit and we were going to get trompled and stepped on, and I was going to get sick and hot and miserable. My friends said, “it’s not that kind of show.”

Then the music started, and it became a little more clear that the crowd wasn’t going to be such a problem… but was the music going to be too loud? I was a little afraid that it was going to be a little too intense. My friends didn’t say anything– they were pretty wrapped up in the show, being the ones who actually knew what they were hearing.

Then… the laser light show started. My breath caught momentarily and I got nervous about getting sick again, but then it was too cool to miss by being sick, so I decided not to be sick, and instead to immensely enjoy this new experience.

Ghostland Observatory played for maybe an hour and a half, and it was the fastest hour and a half concert I think I’ve ever been to. I don’t remember being at a concert where I liked the music less, but wanted it to go on more.

It’s not my favorite genre, I must admit. It’s sort of electronica/rock/experimental, which I generally have very little patience with. I’m not sure whether the light show is what made it amazing, or just my state of mind, or what. I got home and tried to listen to the band on eMusic, and I could barely get through one song.

I don’t care. From now on, I have a resolution to broaden my horizons, even if it pegs me as a hipster (which, actually, I take a forbidden pleasure in–and I think that means I don’t really stand a chance of being a hipster anyway).

Observing Ghostland