The Acoustic Aesthetic

In this entry I'll be discussing music, using lots of words whose meanings I'm not entirely sure of, not having had much formal education in music. Just so you know, I'm no expert, though I sometimes act like I think I'm one.

The latest addition to my music collection, and the last one I plan to get in a very long while, is Vienna Teng's superb new album Inland Territory. I greatly looked forward to its release, and was certainly not disappointed, as it's by far her best album - and as her first three are fair contenders for my favorite music ever, that's saying quite a bit.

From the beginning I felt somewhat ambivalent about the second track, White Light. Not for any reason I could name at first; the lyrics, as always, are well-crafted and thoughtful (one of the reasons I adore Vienna Teng), and there's nothing specific about the music that bothered me, except a vague sense that it didn't quite capture my interest. After several listenings, I judged that I felt it was a bit over-produced - too much had been done to it, too many electronic elements, making it seem almost like techno. After more thought, I decided that White Light reminded me specifically of Madonna's Ray Of Light, which I hadn't heard in almost a decade. Though I used to like that song (not well enough to buy it, but well enough), I do not remember it fondly. I remember it as being over-produced, and overrated, possibly because of Madonna's massive popularity. It's also possible that I don't like to be reminded of what I was like in my early teen years, when I listened to such music.

Interestingly, I'm actually fond of some techno music, though in the past few years I've mostly left that behind in favor of more folk-style, acoustic tastes (and, of course, heavy metal). For instance, I still enjoy a techno song from my past, I'll Fly With You, which is very over-produced. And another Inland Territory song, Stray Italian Greyhound, also has a few electronic sounds in it, which I think add to its appeal. Yet White Light wasn't appealing to me.

Today, then, I received an email from Amazon saying that, since I had pre-ordered Inland Territory from them, I was eligible to download a promotional "free exclusive MP3" - White Light, the acoustic version. I was immediately intrigued, and curious what it would sound like - would I like it? After all, I actively disliked Faith and the Muse's song Annwyn Beneath The Waves, until I heard an acoustic version of that song and instantly fell in love. Might the same thing happen again?

Well, I downloaded the acoustic White Light, and though it wasn't love-at-first-note like it was with Annwyn, I did enjoy it much more than the album version. And, after listening to it a few times, I could listen to the album version and enjoy it, because it reminded me of the acoustic version.

I find all of this extraordinarily interesting.

And it became wild

Today I took the train into the city and walked past the prison. Around that prison was a fence, and atop that fence was a ring of barbed wire, and also a robin. It was singing so sweetly as to turn the fence into a bough, and the wire's barbs into spring leaf-buds. Its song compelled me stand and free myself from the city and its noises.

That's why I was late for class.

song interpretation: bound for glory

As I've blogged before, I'll sometimes listen to a song for years before having a sudden insight into its meaning (which, in my favorite music, is usually complex and bears much contemplation). Today such an insight struck me while I listened to the Indigo Girls revised cover of This Train. Rather heavily revised, from what I've seen of the original; it could count as a whole new song. I've loved this track since I first heard it, for its evocative imagery, fierce instrumentation, and Amy Ray's voice like a smoky wildfire (one of my three favorite vocalists).

One part of the lyrics that always stuck out to me was on a railroad car/one hundred people/ Gypsies, queers and David-stars. But it wasn't until this morning that I made this connection: those three groups - Gypsies, homosexuals, and (of course) Jews - were all targets of the Holocaust. And were transported en masse by train.

Intended or not, this is certainly an impactful connection. Listening to the song again on the way to school, other lines jumped out at me: we are climbing / out of these boxcars / out of these chambers / out of the bed where we lay, ten strangers...

And then, measure the bones / count the face / pull out the teeth / do you belong to the human race?
(Do I belong to the human race? Am I as worthy of life, of dignity, of freedom, as any other human being?)

(Or of the means to do what it is my very purpose to do?)

here is a dancer who has no legs
here is a healer who has no hands
here is a teacher who has no face
here is a runner who has no feet
here is a thinker who has no head
here is a builder who has no back
here is a writer who has no voice

Words which were already powerfully evocative gained new dimensions of meaning, up to and including the very end, which was a capella and veritably spat out as if in anger:

These are the questions
stacked like wood
these are the answers

Here is potential, and it's gone for good.

Thoughts on the year ahead.

Today I'm very aware that I'm at the start of a new age, and though I don't know what lies ahead of me, I'm determined to move forward into whatever mystery awaits. Since I last posted here, I've gotten my driver's license and turned twenty-one: two more milestones on the road to full adulthood. I'm now an adult in most of the ways that are easily measurable: physically, legally, academically (with a high school diploma and a few years of college under my belt). As I see it, all that remains is to become financially independant; once that's taken care of, all the social, emotional and spiritual aspects of adulthood - the things that aren't easily measurable - will likely fall into place.

But what gives me such a sense of anticipation about the coming months isn't so much what I have achieved recently as what I must necessarily achieve in the next year. This will be my last semester as a full-time student, and come Summer I hope to have an internship with SCA which may take me away from home for several months - potentially well into Autumn. In the event that this falls through, I may decide to travel for several months anyway.

By the time I return in Fall or early Winter, I don't know what options may be available to me, but as I said earlier, I won't be a full-time student anymore. One possibility is that I will work full-time while working toward an Associates of Science degree part-time. I feel very good about the prospect of only going to school part-time for a few reasons; because of the pressure I've felt to take enough credits to be full-time, I've had to deal with very awkward class schedules and unnecessary electives that cut deeply into my time to follow other pursuits, including employment. Hopefully, with the weight of tuition off of my budget and better employment prospects, I could end up living on my own as soon as next Winter.

These are not "hopeful" plans, not take-it-or-leave-it. I'm determined to push myself out of the nest and see whether I can survive whatever world I find myself tumbling into; if I fail, it won't be to return to my current status as unemployed college student living under my parents' roof. Ready or not, I can't stay another year - and I am afraid that I might not be ready, but more afraid of never giving myself the chance to find out.

In the mean time, I have the next four months or so to take care of other things. "Other things" includes my various creative projects, the foremost of which are a comic book project and a novel project; I'm hoping to have the novel done by the end of the semester. I'm also working on occupying my time. At the moment setting aside the search for paid employment, I'm becoming a volunteer worker in the Metroparks (the Cleveland area's park system). And, of course, there's school. But there's also the matter of making peace with leaving my entire social network, if only for a portion of the year. I have come to feel almost a sense of responsibility toward my friends and family in the area, and part of me feels like traveling for extended periods of time would amount to an abandonment. Intellectually, I know that I must live my own life while maintaining my connections to others, and that I can potentially form as much of a strong community with others that I meet along the way. But there is a strong sense of loss associated with growth. I can only hope that the growing plant doesn't mourn its seed casing too much, as it leaves the safety of the ground to face the cold world above.