A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell?

"...Either the music comes first and the lyrics are added, or music and lyrics come together. Only once have the lyrics been written down first- 'Wish You Were Here'. But this is unusual; it hasn't happened before." - Roger Waters

This is another song that I heard whilst flipping through radio stations on the drive to Charleston with Jimmy. It's sometimes difficult to write about bands that have been around forever, because what is there to be said that hasn't been said before? Or better? Or by someone who is actually qualified to form some sort of educated opinion all them? All I have, I guess all most of us have, is our own experiences to project. Pink Floyd invariably reminds me of my Dad. The very first concert I can remember watching (via pay-per-view) was a Pink Floyd concert when I was in third or fourth grade. My Dad had all the windows in the house open and the TV on at some ridiculously loud volume. It made quite the impression on me. I had the vinyl liner for Dark Side of the Moon up on my wall from the age of 11 until I was 17? I can also remember my Mom telling me about the first time she can remember listening to them. JLM loves Pink Floyd as well and freshman year of college, yes, we even did the whole "Wizard of Oz" thing. (Oddly disconcerting.)

All of that being said, I'm not always entirely sure how to feel about them. On the one hand, they sound vastly different from anything else. David Gilmour (and Syd Barrett, too) has such a distinctive voice, but the music is really unique as well. Subject matter varies wildly and leaves a lot of room for your own interpretation. Yet, there is something about them, something I can't place, that makes you feel such a part of it. It's like being able to see some glimpse of the big picture, the universe as a whole. That's how Pink Floyd often sounds to me. That's probably part of the reason why I don't listen to them very often. It can be overwhelming. Not to mention the mind-trip quality of it all.

So. "Wish You Were Here". Just the first few bars will bring tears to my eyes. I love that the verses sound so different from the chorus. Almost like two different songs entirely. You have to actually know the song to recognize it when you first hear it. And when the shift into the familiar comes, you aren't entirely ready for it. I love that this song is so sad. It's epically sad without being dramatic or contrived- you really believe every word that comes out of Gilmour's mouth. Which is a bit funny, since Roger Waters is the one that wrote it. It's  aimed towards Syd Barrett (and indeed, it segues into "Shine On You Crazy Diamond" which is the song about him) but, more broadly, it's about feeling alienated. The guitar doesn't wail or rage. It's very simple and it perfectly complements Gilmour's vocals. He sounds weary and bit despondent. Every syllable sounds forced. Like he's struggling with himself just to get the words out. The chorus is briefly uplifting and a bit more upbeat until the end, which sounds like a sigh.

Running over the same old ground, what have we found?

The same old fears.

Wish you were here.

I wasn't initially fond of the wind effects at the end of the song; I thought they were sort of distracting. They've grown on me. The image of swirling sand or dust comes to mind. Which is probably part of the point- ashes to ashes and all that. The greatest thing about this song to me is just that. It's ability to conjure up images so distinctly while saying so little. I don't think there's anyone that can't identify with this feeling, this feeling that the song just hits you right in the gut with. Feeling like you're the only person that sees things a certain way, or being disappointed in someone else- or their point of view. Missing someone. Feeling like you're constantly searching for something in vain. Growing older and realizing that you're not growing any braver.

I thought I told you, this world is not for you.

More stuff from the roadtrip, plus more bluesy rock to warm up my winter. At least it's a bit warmer today than it has been! It's supposed to get up in the 60's in the District of Columbia. Maybe all the snow on the ground will melt. On our roadtrip, once we get tired of trying to find decent radio, Jimmy and I take turns picking songs or albums on his iPod. It's really funny how much you learn about someone based on their music. Jimmy had quite the STP collection on there and he let me listen to more than a bit of it.

At the risk of getting them stuck in my head again I put The Strokes on. Jimmy chose this song, "Reptilia" and I fell in love. In love enough to go ahead and invest in the entire album. Room on Fire is even better than Is This It. Yeah, yeah, I know it's been out forever but I'm always initially skeptical of new music. Especially the past few years. It seems like fewer and fewer bands are actually taking the time to focus on their whole album as opposed to just getting a single out there the second they get signed. *Sigh*

But, I digress. This song has a lot of the same qualities as "What Ever Happened?". They both start out with strong drum beats and then launch into a catchy and quick guitar bar. The biggest difference between the music for the chorus and the verses are that the bass and drums drop back a bit for the verses, and the guitar drops into a half time beat. It really makes the entire song sound almost frantic. Which works perfectly when Casablancas is so in control he's almost growling through the verses and then on the chorus he sounds practically desperate. Oh Julian Casablancas.

I couldn't listen to this song while driving, I'd surely get pulled over. It's amazing for riding in the car though, or getting ready in the morning, or dancing. It doesn't get stuck in my head as much as "What Ever Happened?" though. It's almost uncomfortably quick... it makes you just as frantic as it is.

my thoughts were so loud I couldn't hear my mouth

Modest Mouse. "The World at Large". MM doing what they do best, simple beats that serve as the best sort of almost poignant but not self-pitying backdrop for these twisted turning lyrics. No one but no one writes lyrics like this. The Germans have this great compound word structure- you can add any German words that you want together to make up one large one... and ad infinitum. 

The reason I bring that up is this- have you ever wanted a word for something more complex than one word will cover? Something precise and specific and yet that you would use all the time? Like schadenfreude. But, not German. Modest Mouse sounds like my thoughts. Like someone is rambling. Coherently and cleverly, but rambling. Waxing poetic. And sometimes it goes nowhere. But when it does... oh. It takes you places. "The World at Large" goes through all four seasons, to the shore, and back again. Got to the door and again, I couldn't stop. The music for this song makes me so sad. Or maybe it's the combination of the lyrics and Isaac Brock's voice, so distinctive and yet so understated here.

Did I want love? Did I need to know? Why does it always feel like I'm caught in an undertow?

This song is really all about continually starting over. There's such a rush that comes with new beginnings. Knowing that something has a finite ending almost makes you appreciate it more. And knowing that something isn't forever sometimes makes the doldrums or the daily struggles a little bit easier to bear. But, you can't live your life constantly flitting from one thing to the next, can you? Even if they are beautiful moments and exciting adventures? It's both terrifying and intoxicating- being on the run. But, if you're constantly searching for the next big thing, do you ever stop to realize that maybe everything you want is right in front of you?

you have weak wrists, but I'll keep you

Is there a sweeter Deftones song than this? If you read all the lyrics, you probably wouldn't think so, but I have the best associations with this song... JLM used to sing that line to me all the time; I do, in fact, have weak wrists. But, more so than the lyrics is the actual music in "Mascara". (Found on Around the Fur.) If you glance to your left, you'll notice in the cute little "about me" section that Blogger so kindly provides us with, I state that Chino Moreno's voice sounds like sex. And, well, it does. But, I think more than that he does this incredibly apt job of conveying emotion.

The music on "Mascara" is all dark and slow. Lots of bass lines. Very quiet- Gothic understatement at it's finest. Even when Chino is wailing, the music stays steady. And, oh, Chino. Does anyone on earth moan more ardently? He starts out practically whispering here and it's thoroughly effecting. I feel soon.. I will sink.. Into you.. What do you think? And even when he gets louder, his voice sounds smooth. Fluid. This is the other half of what I was discussing last night. You can hear the fascination in his voice. It's more than lust, though I wouldn't deign to call it love. Infatuation.

But, there's something about us...

I'd rather die than try to keep her by my side.

Maybe sometimes all we need to get inspired is a change of pace, a different point of view. Took a road trip with my roommate to Charleston on Friday. Eight and a half hours = a lot of music. He drives a stick so I didn't get to actually drive at all, but even just riding in the car and listening to music made me feel more like myself. I couldn't even tell you all the things we listened to in those hours that just made me feel. Made me feel anything at all. It gets to the point where being numb is such a shield. You get tired of being tired or sad or agitated and it all just melds into this light sheen of numbness and you stop consciously noticing how you feel at all. Some days I am so bored with myself that I cannot even function at something close to normally.

I heard Black Rebel Motorcycle Club (B.R.M.C) for the first time in August, driving to Philadelphia with Sharon. They stand out to me because they sound like something I should already know. This is the only song of theirs that Jimmy had on his iPod but it was enough. I haven't been able to get it out of my head since Friday. "Love Burns" off of B.R.M.C., their first album. Which was out in 2001. Clearly, I am behind the curve on this one.

How to describe this song? Layered. To the point of being unable to claim that it is guitar or drum driven. The vocals come dangerously close to being too perfect for my liking. They are a producer's dream. Melding perfectly with the rest of the band. Classic. And if you weren't paying attention to the lyrics, you'd think this was some typical love song, lamenting the loss. But, it's not. It's about unhealthy obsession. Not even with the person you were in the relationship with or the relationship itself, but with the drama that goes along with it. Nothing else can hurt us now, no loss.

Does love feel sweeter or more urgent or more real when it hurts? Are we less accepting of the kind of love that everyone claims to want but, that isn't as fetishized as the kind that's a constant uphill battle? I mean, isn't that the plot of every other romantic comedy? Creative fodder. How infinitely more satisfying it is coming from music. I wish that I was more inspired by actual events currently, but somehow it's so much easier to write about the dark than it is the light. Especially when I feel like I am, literally, in some alternate universe of perpetual dark and cold.

I am turning to bluesy, smoky-voiced and garage rock driven bands to get me through this horrid painful winter. Though, to be perfectly honest, I'd much rather be listening to this in my car with the windows down, wearing something scandalous en route to places warm, smoky and boozy. A year ago I would have added something about kissing strangers to that last sentence, but somewhere over the past few years that particular thrill left the building. And somewhere over the past six months, I've ceased romanticizing pain and started to re-cultivate an appreciation for the real thing.