My Life Has a Soundtrack

Shifting the Blog, Folks

2011-01-29T14:42:00.000-05:00

To all those who for some reason are reading this post right now, despite the fact that I have abandoned my blog for the last few months and haven't given anyone reason to be here,

I'm moving to Word Press. Needed a change of scenery to encourage me to blog again. Plus, Word Press is better.

You can now find me at http://mylifehasasoundtrack.wordpress.com/

You guys are great. Go team!

sam

Seventy-Seven

2010-09-19T16:58:00.002-04:00

I feel blessed that I only live six hours from home. Yes, six hours is a long time to be in a car, but it's not eight hours. It's not fourteen hours. It's not a $250 plane ticket. It's just a long morning in the car. I spend more time every day in my office, sitting at my desk.

Katie and I have made that drive back home several times now. In fact, I recently counted how many trips I've made between Ohio and North Carolina in the last two years. Final tally? Sixteen.

Still, every time we make the drive, we look forward to it. The stretch between here and there is far from tedious. Sure, the two-hour stretch from Durham to the North Carolina-Virginia border is a pass through modern-day America -- complete with billboards, factories, and Hooters -- but about four miles south of Virginia, you hit the north-south vein of America that is Interstate 77.

Interstate 77 is just more than 600 miles of highway that stretches from Columbia, South Carolina, to Cleveland, Ohio. We pick it up near Mount Airy, North Carolina, and take it to Ravenswood, West Virginia -- a full 223 miles -- before splitting off on 33 toward home. It's two-thirds of our drive home, and I couldn't be more thankful.

I think Interstate 77, or at least the length that we drive, is fascinating. Honest to goodness, I think it's beautiful. Immediately after crossing the Virginia state border, the rolling pavement designated into four lanes leads you high into the Appalachian mountains, which don't release you until you're several miles north of Charleston, West Virginia. Even then, you're roller coastering along the foothills. That whole stretch, including about an hour's worth in Virginia and two and a half hours' worth in West Virginia, offers mountain panoramas, rolling forests, myriad colors, and a pass through one of the more under-appreciated cultures in America.

I've never thought much of West Virginia -- biased, I know -- but I'll hand it to them: they've got one gorgeous state to traverse.

And so we look forward to our drive north.

And we look forward to what's on the other end of the drive. Home.

Trip number sixteen carried us home last week. But it was bittersweet. The stop home was only brief, as it was more of a pitstop on the path toward the place Katie once called home, a full three hours beyond the place she's come to know as home. Katie's grandmother had passed away. She was ninety-three. She outlived nine siblings, four children, and her husband. We gathered to say goodbye.

I never really knew Katie's grandmother. A stroke two years ago had left her speech permanently impaired, and my only encounters with her were ones in which she struggled to get us to understand what it was she was trying to say -- and what, in her head, made perfect sense. But even in the scrambled words that came from her mouth, she was a charming woman who'd lost plenty in life and yet hadn't once pointed a finger at the world.

She'd meant a lot to Katie.

And so the trip home last week was one that included tears, exhaustion, and barely a moment to rest. But it was still a trip home, one that reminded us of everything we were blessed to have not so long ago. And everything we're blessed to have just a six-hour drive away. And everyone who has blessed us along the road that has put us here.

The trip really is a beautiful thing. And so we look forward to it.

What Happens When...

2010-06-17T18:09:00.001-04:00

...you put about 50 of the people you love the most in life into a single photo? Something like this.

And I like it a lot.

A Few Things (On a Saturday)

2010-06-12T19:27:00.000-04:00

There are a few things I feel I should make note of so as not to confuse any passersby.

First, I've changed the layout of my blog. Previously, it was a sort of, how shall I say, boring navy blue with a fun little header I once designed myself while busy in the school library. But Blogger has up and modernized itself to 2010 and finally made things a touch more customizable. So today, a lazy Saturday, I toyed with some things and made some changes. Fun times. I'm still not positive I'm satisfied with the changes. Feel free to let me know what you think.

(This begs the question of how I chose my background image. I'm glad you asked. Blogger didn't exactly give me a ton of options. They sort of just offered a handful of images that assumed I wrote about music, nature, food, travel, or my family. You win this time, Blogger. You win this time.)

Second, rest in peace, dear lala. Yes, the beloved music streaming service has been shut down, thus creating several awkward "No longer available" boxes peppered throughout my blog. I shake my fist at thee, Apple. Indeed, the music/computer/world domination giant has once again made its presence known in my life, this time buying up lala.com and smiting it in the name of competition.

Really, Apple? Really? (Long sigh.)

The Big Day

2010-05-29T16:52:00.010-04:00

So I got married.

Pretty cool, huh?

On April 10, 2010, I got hitched to the most beautiful bride a man could ever ask for. Katie and I were privileged to be joined by our close family and friends at Franklin Park Conservatory in Columbus, Ohio, where we (finally!) became Mr. and Mrs. Oches. It was a gorgeous day, a gorgeous place, and a heck of a fun time. (The type that will probably influence future writing. Stay tuned.)

One of the greatest privileges of the day was having our friend Matt Eich as our photographer. Matt is more than just a wonderful photographer, he's an artist - his pictures prove his eye for not just moments, but the mood and emotion inside every moment. See more of his stuff at his website.

And so it was with great delight that Katie and I scrolled through the many hundreds of photos that Matt sent along to us a few weeks ago from the Big Day. The images are beautiful and poetic, and will certainly live as a testament to that great day.

Above is a slideshow I threw together of some of the good shots we picked out. These are just a handful of the many, many great images, but I just wanted to put a couple up to give a taste of what that day was like. Enjoy.

Changes (comes with Spring)

2010-05-16T10:04:00.003-04:00

I really like to write. It was why I started this blog; sometimes I just have to write, even if it's senseless, even if it's boring, even if it's self-fulfilling. There's just something about writing that clears my head and makes more order about my world.

I've not gotten a whole lot of writing in lately. But I've had a few other things going on. Indeed, quite a few things have changed, and I've been managing those things.

But with Spring in full force, and with life finding "normalcy," I might find some more time to write. Or maybe I'll just post photos. Or maybe I'll find other ways to express myself. I don't know. But I've found that even though life changes, sometimes those changes are pretty cool and will lead to other new things that I don't even know about yet.

It's kind of fun not knowing.

Spring (And Music)

2010-03-06T09:45:00.004-05:00

I'm a big fan of both.

I'm especially a fan of spring right now. Winter is just depressing. We always take for granted warm temperatures, don't we?

The sun comes out eventually. I have some music to greet it. Usually it's upbeat stuff. I think the sun deserves that.

This is what I'm listening to now. Over this next week - which is supposed to be sunny and 60 - I think I'll probably crank this wherever I go. Makes me think of past springs.

Ambling Alp - Yeasayer

Transition

2010-01-19T22:37:00.004-05:00

I got a Macbook for Christmas.

It rules.

But some things had to change with this new Macbook. Notably, the computer I use. But also, in some deeper sort of way, an old life that I used to call my own.

Perhaps that's a little too esoteric. It makes more sense in my head.

I got my old laptop when I graduated high school. It was the first computer that I could call my own, and I felt like a king. Me and that computer, we did everything together. Well, mostly homework and browsing for music. But in my freshman and sophomore years of college, that pretty much was everything. So we were tight.

In four and a half years, that machine accrued a lot of information and data. I like to think it had a better memory of my life than I do. Thousands of pictures, thousands of songs, countless essays and little bits of words I deemed necessary to write down. It tracked my evolution from ignorant high schooler to hapless adult. Maybe that's why it got so slow at the end.

The first quarter of my freshman year of college was many things, and one of those things was an awakening in musical awareness. I had high-speed Internet for the first time in my life, and what followed was an explosion of music searches, downloads, and shares. By the end of that quarter I was hundreds of songs richer in my musical wealth, and the songs I'd gathered had chiseled the fine memories I'd created of the eclectic friends and life I'd discovered along the way into my head.

One day I had a bright idea: I should keep track of all the music I listened to this quarter. Some day, I'll listen to that playlist and take a trip back to the fall quarter of freshman year.

So I made the playlist. Then I did the same thing for winter quarter of freshman year. And spring quarter, too. At the end of the year I was so deep that I knew I'd have to do it all of college.

And so I did. A playlist for every season of college. All of it tracked on my laptop. Each playlist a book of memories, both good and bad, of my life.

I never knew what I was going to do with those playlists. To be honest with you, I don't know that I ever listened to them again. But there was something about making sure they were there on my iTunes that calmed me, like they were memories I was certain I couldn't lose. Kind of like a photo album; you don't want to forget those times, but your head can't quite afford to hold on to them.

(I'm also a pack rat. It actually pains me to get rid of things. Usually I try to find an excuse for saving some lousy old shirt, piece of furniture, or scrap of paper.)

So then I graduate college, I get a job, I get engaged, I become a big boy, and I get a Macbook. Life changes, my environment changes, everything changes.

And my laptop changes.

I transferred all of my stuff from the old laptop to the new. All of the pictures, songs, essays, all preserved. But something got lost in the shuffle.

My playlists.

Now, for all of you Mac geeks out there, calm down, I do know that there is a way to transfer iTunes playlists from one computer to another. But suffice it to say, my way around the situation - surgically removing my playlists from one digital life and implanting into another - is entirely too long and complicated for me to focus on right now. Trust me, I tried to sit down and figure it out. I deleted and reloaded my 12,000-song library twice to try to figure it out. And it was beyond me. It is just way too much work than is worth it.

And so I faced the decision: Do I get rid of these 12 invaluable playlists that have documented the last four years of my life?

Tough as it was, I made the call. I left the playlists behind.

And so here I am, on my fancy new computer that doesn't really know me all too well yet. So far, we're just acquaintances. And my old friend, together with those playlists, sits put to rest, alone on my desk, ready for retirement. (Which will probably just be a place in my closet. Remember: pack rat.)

This computer is going to see a lot of new memories. It's going to see a lot of new music, a lot of new pictures, a lot of new essays. The first iTunes playlist I made? "Our Wedding."

But this computer will never know me like the other one did. They will know two different mes. And maybe that's a good thing. Putting that old life to rest - playlists and all - helps open room for new experiences and a new life to document.

I'm just thankful I have a computer to come along for the ride.

My 2009 Top Ten

2010-01-04T20:58:00.002-05:00

So it's been a while, huh? My life got crazy. So it goes.

Anywho, here are my top 10 albums of 2009. It was a lot better of a year than 2008. So kudos to you, 2009.

1. Veckatimest by Grizzly Bear

2. Oh My God Charlie Darwin by The Low Anthem

3. Manners by Passion Pit

4. xx by the xx

5. Dark was the Night compilation

6. Hold Time by M. Ward

7. Noble Beast by Andrew Bird

8. Hospice by The Antlers

9. The Hazards of Love by The Decemberists

10. Gather, Form, & Fly by Megafaun

Special Mention: Blood Bank EP by Bon Iver

Garden

2009-11-15T14:36:00.024-05:00

The Coast

2009-11-03T22:47:00.004-05:00

I wrote this once. I posted on this same picture once before, too. But this essay was written before that. I just didn't post it here. But I was thinking about it now, thinking about this memory, and I decided I wanted to post it.

I could stare at this picture forever.

The white foam of the receding tide retreating from the frozen sand, a glassy surf left in its wake. A mirror to the dusk Maine sky.

The frozen coast silently following the shoreline, curving to the treacherous rock peninsula where chilling waves violently crash day after day.

The expensive, coast-side houses cowering below the expansive, rainbow-colored sky, already nearing dark despite the mid-afternoon hour.

She stands on the edge of the photo, stealing a glance at the camera. The collar of her heavy coat reaches up towards her ears, protecting from the twenty-degree air. She wears two hats: the bill of her beige cap hides one eye, while a dark stocking doubles over the cap for extra warmth. Her lone visible eye smiles in the camera’s direction, right above the slight, dimpled grin. There’s not much of her to be seen, but the small patch of face that shows reveals the gentle, beautiful soul buried within the heavy clothes.

I tell her it is the best picture I’ve ever taken. She shrugs off my comment and keeps walking along the stiff sand, piercing the frigid wind. She acts annoyed; I’ve been running alongside her ever since we punched through the foot of snow at the dune, snapping random shots of her, of us. But she’s not really annoyed.

The wind numbs our faces as we push on towards the setting sun. The departed tide has left pools along the coast, frozen pools now. The thin ice disappears in the dark, only visible when the twilight skates across its surface. The snow has been stolen away by the tide, but the dunes beyond the tide’s reach are still hidden underneath a pile of the previous day’s precipitation.

Though the biting cold threatens to turn us away, we continue on as if there were a final destination within reach. But there isn’t. Maybe we’re just too scared to turn away from that sunset. The quiet colors of the sky and the hushed flow of the ocean have entranced us, such that turning back seems senseless for the moment.

“I love you.” Sometimes we can’t say it enough. But it’s not forced; love is not something to be expressed out of necessity. It’s something that bursts from you because you take such pleasure in saying it, in doing it, in living it. And especially in these moments, there are simply no words to describe what you feel other than “I love you.”

We’ve stopped walking. The rocks loom in front of us, so beautiful despite their menacing stature. Not worth risking it.

She turns to make the trip back along the beach. I grab her sleeve and pull her towards me, not ready to leave this moment. She smiles. She’s used to this. Our lips have been numbed by the wind, their bond absent from our sense. But we simply want to be held by each other.

Cleveland

2009-11-02T16:55:00.002-05:00

I know I'm really late in sharing this video, but I didn't see it until Saturday.

I cried I was laughing so hard. I don't think you have to be a Clevelander or Ohioan to get it, you just have to not take it seriously.

Cleveland really isn't so bad. Of course, some of the things he sings of aren't entirely untrue.

But hey, at least it's not Detroit. (Sorry, Katie.)

How Rick Rubin Destroyed the Avett Brothers

2009-10-06T22:01:00.004-04:00

Forget everything you've read about the new Avett Brothers record. Put down that issue of Paste magazine that gives the record a glowing 96 out of 100 review. Ignore the bloggers and music journalists who are acting like the Avetts are some fascinating project from the hills finally earning their due on the national stage. And heed no attention to a few things I said in my last post.

Why? Because the record is not as good as they say. It is hardly an Avett Brothers records at all; it's a pop record. And I blame Rick Rubin.

If you read my last post, you know a little bit of background regarding my love affair with the Avett Brothers. Suffice it to say, I adore them. Their raw energy, their inspired lyrics, their incredible passion for not just the song, but the performance of the song. Especially now that I've relocated to North Carolina, the Avett's home state and a place that is smitten with the fellas, I am overcome with a sort of pride for them, happy to see them garner deserved attention and fans across the country.

But I was a little wary of their working with Rick Rubin on this latest album, I and Love and You. It just didn't smell right. A grassroots band from rural Carolina working with a man who has produced Jay-Z, Justin Timberlake, Metallica, Linkin Park, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers? Didn't add up.

And now, two weeks and several spins through the record later, I've drawn the conclusion that Rubin has in fact destroyed this Avett Brothers record.

Here me out before you start hatin', because I'm not trying to point fingers, nor am I crying foul of the Brothers themselves. I will remain a loyal Avett Brothers fan, and will anxiously anticipate their future work. I'll continue respecting and loving the Brothers, and I'll shrug this album off as a "Could you refuse Rick Rubin?" career hiccup.

But let's boil it down to this fact: This album is not the Avett Brothers.

What makes the Avett Brothers great is their energy, their carelessness, their imprecision. What makes them great is that they don't have to hit the right note, they don't have to be in the right tempo, and they don't have to be squeaky clean. The thing about the Avett Brothers that has earned them fans to this point is that, in their softest of ballads and most rollicking of hum-dingers, they're always willing to take a chance, unconstrained by the boundaries of sensible music-making.

And I and Love and You reverses all of that. It is careful, precise, calculated. It doesn't take any chances, but instead sticks to the Rick Rubin-penned script. It is a pop record.

I'll try not to stick all of the blame on Rubin. Out of my loyalty to them, I'm unwilling to put blame on the Avetts, but the truth is they did write these songs (though I've heard Rubin was instrumental in several of the songs' creation). Honestly, I just want to blame the piano, because more often than not the primary culprit in making me cringe during some of these songs is the daggone keys.

Let's take a step back and look at the situation: Rick Rubin wanted to produce the new Avett Brothers record. They accepted because it was Rick Rubin. They left their old home at Ramseur Records and joined Rubin's "major label" American Recordings (a sensible career choice; gotta pay the bills). The two parties convened, a lighting storm of the Avetts' incredible folksy talent and Rubin's perfected mainstream production skills commenced, and a lovechild byproduct came out the other end that ultimately had mostly Rubin's features instead of the Avetts', so much so that we're left to wonder if Rubin might not have been entirely faithful.

Oops, just used the word "mainstream." I was trying my hardest not to use the words "mainstream" or "sell out." Shoot.

Okay, my mind is wandering. It's late and I'm desperately trying to piece this all together in my head. Truth is, I really don't want to hate this record. I want to love it like I love the rest of the Avett Brothers' material.

Ultimately, after listening to it over and over and over again, I'll boil the record down to this: "I and Love and You," "January Wedding," "Ten Thousand Words," "Laundry Room," and "Tin Man" are great songs that fit perfectly into the Avett arsenal (despite some overly polished production work on a few of them). "Head Full of Doubt/Road Full of Promise," "And It Spread," "Ill With Want," "Slight Figure of Speech," "It Goes On and On," and "Incomplete and Insecure" are pedestrian indie songs at best, a couple of them with some decent hooks.

And "The Perfect Space" and "Kick Drum Heart"? Well, they would be okay if it weren't for the cringe-inducing piano that sounds like it was pre-programmed onto a toy Cassio. Honestly Rick Rubin, what's the deal? These boys can rock, and you've reduced them to some tinkling toy piano? Where's the banjo?!

I'll conclude with this plea to the Avett Brothers: Don't become the next Kings of Leon. Don't be awesome and then succumb to the desires of a mainstream audienece, letting them make you very un-awesome. The fans deserve better.

Ditch Rick Rubin.

I and Love and You

2009-09-29T20:17:00.002-04:00

Apart from my man crush on Sufjan, there are a couple of other artists whom I go ga-ga for on a pretty regular basis. It is a select group of artists whom I can listen to at any time of day, any time of year and, well, it's pretty exclusive. (No big deal.)

The Avett Brothers are definitely members of this group. I fell for them hard two years ago through their album Emotionalism, and haven't looked back. I (try to) learn their songs on guitar, I (think I) woo Katie with their lyrics, and I find that I (probably falsely) relate to them on some sort of level (what that level is I'm not sure, but a man can dream). Heck, a song from these guys could end up as the first-dance song at my wedding. (At least I'm pushing for it. Stay tuned.)

Regardless, they released a new album today, I and Love and You. It's their major label debut, and was produced by none other than mega-music-producer, I-could-produce-three-platinum-albums-in-my-sleep-using-only-the-skin-on-my-left-elbow Rick Rubin. I haven't purchased it yet (saving it for the record-shopping spree with the boys on Saturday), but I've streamed it a couple of times. Despite this nagging feeling that they should have avoided Rick Rubin (just seems so mainstream) I'm finding that the album is unsurprisingly fantastic.

I'll probably post my track-by-track review of the album sometime next week, after I've bought the vinyl and descended from the Cloud 9 that I'm expecting U2 to perch me atop Saturday night, but in the meantime, this is the music video for first single "I and Love and You." It does a pretty good job showing the world what these Carolina boys are like, and just how beautiful their songs can be. Enjoy.

New Sufjan

2009-09-27T14:07:00.002-04:00

You may know by now that I have, well, a thing for Sufjan Stevens. The man is quite extraordinarily talented, and produces some of the greatest, in my opinion, music of the new millennium.

Of course, he hasn't released a proper album of new material since 2005. There have been b-sides and Christmas albums, and there will soon be a classical re-mix of an old album (Enjoy Your Rabbit) and an album of orchestrated songs about a highway in Brooklyn (The BQE). But the Sufjan of old has been at rest since Illinois.

Which might not be a bad thing. I complain a lot about the lack of new material from Sufjan, but that's because I, selfishly, want him to keep blowing my mind. There can be too much of a good thing, though; if Sufjan put out an album a year, I think we would be overloaded. Plus, you've gotta give the guy some credit - at least he's not been doing nothing for the last 4 years.

Recently, Sufjan has been touring the U.S. in support of The BQE (but of course, nowhere near Durham). My friends had the unbelievable privilege of seeing him in Cleveland, and my sister, brother-in-law, and unborn nephew will see him next week in Portland, Maine (I will never, ever let my nephew live down the fact that he gets to see Sufjan before I do. Well, maybe not see, but at least attend a concert. You know what I mean.) From the sounds of it, Sufjan is impressing once again with his quirky, awesome musical shenanigans.

The video above was posted to the web last week, having been filmed at one of the recent Sufjan stops. It's the performance of a brand new song, "There's Too Much Love." From the sounds of it, Sufjan might be exploring some more, shall we say, experimental sounds in his new stuff.

I was kind of afraid this was the direction he would be taking when I heard his "You Are the Blood" cover on the Dark was the Night compilation. I should say, I'm very biased towards Sufjan's acoustic, hushed songs, like "For the Widows in Paradise, For the Fatherless in Ypsilanti," "Vito's Ordination Song," and "To Be Alone with You." Those songs have pulled me out of some bad times, and never fail to give me goosebumps, even sometimes bringing tears to my eyes. His jubilant, stuff, meanwhile, is still awesome, but sometimes requires a little bit more patience and the proper mood to really appreciate it. "There's Too Much Love" (and some of his other new stuff, according to my friends) seems to hint that Sufjan might be leaning more towards the latter type of songwriting.

But you know, I'm actually really digging "There's Too Much Love." The spastic interlude towards the end gets a little too crazy, but overall this is a really catchy song. Any other thoughts?

This is Durham (Fall)

2009-09-16T20:50:00.012-04:00

(Photo, courtesy Takaaki Iwabu, is actually Durham. Eno River Park. Look it up.)

Tuesday, September the 8th, was the first day of fall quarter at Ohio University, and, effectively, the first time in 18 years that I did not go back to school in the fall. I thought it would be weirder than it was.

Funny thing happened the following Thursday, though. It was 68 degrees here in Durham. Yes, 68 degrees; colder than Athens and even, in fact, colder than Katie's current "home" in Detroit. I imagine it's the last time this year that Durham will be colder than Detroit.

Needless to say, there was a certain "fall air" about that day and it, well, warmed me. Admittedly, fall is one of my favorite times of the year; I love the temperature, I love the leaves falling, I love the excuse to wear jeans. I love Halloween. I love the lead-up to Thanksgiving. I love going back to school.

Oh, wait.

It is a funny thing about fall that is rather hard to pinpoint. I've never tried this experiment - nor will I ever - but if you asked 10 people what their favorite season of the year is, I would put money on at least six or seven of them saying fall. At least, it is my favorite season. I think it's Katie's favorite season, too. Various members of my family might agree as well. But why is it that we love fall? Is it the temperature? The leaves falling? The excuse to wear jeans? Or maybe it's Halloween? The lead-up to Thanksgiving?

No, my friends, I submit that the reason so many of us love the fall is simple: We love going back to school.

As hard as that may be to believe - and perhaps it's just that I, alone in my Durham apartment, am waxing a little on the nostalgic side of late - think of it this way: We are all trained to associate fall with beginnings. Why? Well, for most of us, the first 22 (or 18) falls of our lives (or at least the conscious ones) are spent going back to school, starting anew with a fresh grade, maybe fresh friends, perhaps a fresh environment. Others greet the autumnal beginning of school even more, either spending additional years as an undergrad, dedicating themselves to further degrees, or becoming an education professional. Or, you know, all three (I'm looking at you, Dad).

But even for those of us who don't languish in an educational environment, the fall culture still surrounds us: The kids go off to school. Soccer practice starts. College football is on TV. It is a new beginning. A fresh start.

You have to admit it: there's something fun about going back to school. Or at least living in the culture of it.

And so it is, with these thoughts on my mind, that I've reverted to my autumnal listening habits. Just what, you ask, do your autumnal listening habits look like? And why, you wonder, have you quite abruptly shifted from a discussion on school to a discussion on music? Good questions, the both of them. The short answer would be "awesome" and "because this is my blog, not yours." But there is a long answer, too. There's always a long answer.

The last four falls have been four of the most significant seasons in my life. The fall of my freshman year of college was maybe the most significant of all; few seasons in life feature as much change as the fall of freshman year of college. The falls of my sophomore, junior, and senior years each respectively carried their own twists, turns, and dashes of change as well; each ushered in a new year of school, a new status with friends, a new living scenario, and an overall new environment to adapt to.

Maybe it was because I spent so many of those days walking introspectively about Athens kicking at the fallen, dried leaves strewn across the bricks that those seasons felt so long. Each and every one of them. Felt like entire years in and of themselves.

Considering the great changes that fall brought about in college and the profound immensity by which each passed silently from early September to late November, its no big surprise that the soundtracks that carried me through each of those seasons would be so permanently and remarkably etched onto my brain. Indeed, each fall I discovered new artists, and in turn those artists painted a musical impression upon my brain of what fall is supposed to be. And so those songs came to represent fallen leaves. They came to represent cooler temperatures. They came to represent new beginnings.

My freshman year, it was Sigur Ros, Ryan Adams, My Morning Jacket. Sophomore year introduced Explosions in the Sky, Bonnie 'Prince' Billy, The Decemberists, M. Ward, Nickel Creek, Ray LaMontagne, TV on the Radio. Fall of junior year welcomed the Avett Brothers, Band of Horses, Denison Witmer, and Josh Ritter. Then finally the first season of the last year ushered in Fleet Foxes and Bon Iver.

Whenever I listen to these artists, I feel a wave of nostalgia and memory wash over me, throwing me back onto those leaf-covered brick sidewalks that led to class, or onto my friend-saturated porch where we would watch the leaves fall off that tree between Gam and Tiffin Halls. I'm knocked back into the comforting times of yesteryear, those seasons where everything was fresh, where everything was still ahead of me.

Now here it is: mid-September, and I'm still in Durham. Classes have begun, and I'm still at work. The temperature is dropping, the leaves are starting to change, and I'm inside, sitting at a desk.

Such was the case that Thursday, with the 68-degree day. Overcast, windy, cool - typical fall stuff.

Driving home from work that day, I decided to listen to some Explosions in the Sky. The next day, in my office, I listened through M. Ward's catalog. Same with Josh Ritter, Ray LaMontagne, and Band of Horses. It was almost a natural happenstance; with the arrival of fall, so came the arrival of these artists that have so thoroughly represented the season into my listening habits. And it continued; this entire last week, it was one artist after another that I have either discovered or listened to heavily in the fall. The temperature wavered - in fact, it climbed back to 90 one day and dipped again to the high 60s another - but fall still hung in the air, the leaves still began to shift colors, and college football was still on TV. And so I have comforted myself with my fall music.

It sure does make me miss Athens. And my friends, too.

But you know, I've discovered a lot of new bands recently. The xx, out of the UK, are rocking my world right now. Same with jj, from Sweden. Then there's Megafaun, Bowerbirds, the Felice Brothers, the Duke & the King, and Joe Purdy. All of them, new to my music catalog, new to my music vocabulary. All of them soundtracking the seasonal change here in Durham.

It dawned on me that these bands - the xx, jj, Megafaun, and the like - will one day represent the fall of my first year in Durham. I will listen to them and my drives across the city, my quiet times at the Parkwood Lake or at Duke Gardens, and my exploration of new places and things - with leaves changing and falling - will flood back in a wave of nostalgia. They will come to be comfort bands just as the bands of falls past have. I might not look as fondly upon them as acts like M. Ward or Explosions in the Sky - after all, this is the "fall without Katie" - but they and the bands yet to be discovered in the coming months will still hold a special place in my music library and music memory, if only to represent my first fall in my new home.

Because just like the falls of the last four years, I'm in a new living scenario, with new friends and a new environment to adapt to. It is a new beginning, a new season, and with a fresh start, I still have everything ahead of me to look forward to.

This is Durham (Megafaun)

2009-08-27T20:57:00.003-04:00

The Longest Day - Megafaun

There are many reasons why I find myself falling in love with the city of Durham. The restaurants, the rustic old warehouses, the ultimately humble, easy-going personality that sits unhindered by the fast-paced, modern life that surrounds it (my regards to Raleigh and Chapel Hill, both nice cities in their own right).

I'm sure I'll detail in length, some day, what it is about Durham that I'm falling in love with. For now I'll mention one new reason why I love this place: Megafaun.

On Saturday night I whisked Katie away to my first "real" show down here since moving in late June. Held at the Carrboro Arts Center, the show featured Bowerbirds and Megafaun - the former based in Raleigh, the latter based in Durham - who played a Homecoming show of sorts, as the two bands had been on the road for six weeks prior. I was excited to see the bands on their home turf, but have to admit that while I was already a fan of Bowerbirds, I knew little of Megafaun apart from the fact that they were the former bandmates of Bon Iver (which was a heavy selling point for Katie).

Megafaun played first, and I was shocked. Absolutely shocked. There are few shows I can point to where I felt like I did during their performance. It wasn't just a show; it was an event, a connection of everyone in the room, everyone wholeheartedly participating in the music. It reminded me of the time I saw Man Man at the Union in Athens a couple of years back. No, Megafaun is not nearly as aggressive or intense as Man Man (though they have their moments). What the two shows had in common is that the bands were not merely performing their songs, they were putting forth every last ounce of energy and passion into their music because, well, it's what they do. And they clearly love it.

The song I've posted above would make one wonder how in the hell someone could ever make a connection between Megafaun and Man Man (and really, there aren't many). This song, "The Longest Day," does a good job of showing the band's range; they jump back and forth from folk to bluegrass to gypsy to experimental, and somehow they manage to land here, in the land of crazy awesome Americana ballad.

When they played "The Longest Day" live, they pulled the plugs and did it acoustic, belting to the crowd of 400 or so, all of us dead silent. It was one of those cool moments when you aren't just listening to the music, you're feeling the music and your mind is completely enveloped by it.

I'm not trying to get gushy on Megafaun; maybe I'm just trying to brag that these guys are here, these guys are local for me now.

But that performance of "The Longest Day" on Saturday night, along with the rest of their show, helped characterize the camraderie, the passion, and the life that is this peculiar triangle in North Carolina. And to a large extent, it helped me finally feel like I'm home, because honestly, this is a lot like what I always felt in Athens.

7 South from Burlington

2009-08-08T21:49:00.002-04:00

I'm keeping one eye on the road and one eye on her. If I had a third eye it'd be on what was just beyond her, out the passenger-side window. It'd be on that view of the Adirondacks, the mammoth, forested mountains so immense despite their being 20 miles or so away, on the other side of Champlain.

We're still in Vermont, picked up route 7 back in Burlington, where we stopped for a seafood lunch and gaped at the geologic wonders from the fisher's wharfs on the shore of Champlain. The mountains are bigger than the standard Appalachians we're used to, and we couldn't help but snap some photos. The mountains didn't turn out. Too far away.

Ferries between New York and Vermont were stalled 'til late April on account of Champlain being frozen in the middle, so we had to pick up 7 and haul it down south, where the lake would be narrow enough for us to cross over via a bridge and pick up 9 North to Port Henry. From Port Henry we'd drive northwest, eventually commuting across upstate New York on 73 and 86, passing through Lake Placid on our way to Saranac Lake. Beautiful lakeside towns, popular in summer and winter. It's late March now.

We've got a playlist running, one I'd made up back in Ohio, special for this Spring Break roadtrip. Mix of acoustic and anthemic, roadtrip-worthy tunes. But mostly acoustic. That's what she likes best.

So far we've been through Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Connecticut, where we'd spent three nights with my grandfather. From there it was on through Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Maine. A few more nights spent at my sister's and brother-in-law's, then we'd high-tailed back down to New Hamphire and promptly headed due west, up through Vermont to Burlington.

Now here we are, cruising south on 7 from Burlington, running parallel to the Adirondacks.

She's smiling at me. Glances at the mountains, takes a picture, then turns back to me. Her beaming face is something I'll never grow accustomed to, never grow old of. No, it's new, fresh, lovely, every time I see it. She's looked at me like this many times on this trip as we travel together, discover together. It's a loving face, a content face, a never-wanting-to-leave this-moment face. I love it.

The two-lane road winds up and down over the Adirondack foothills, around sweeping curves and past vineyards, fields, quiet little villages. Some houses perch atop hills along the road, staring blankly at the lake and the mountains on the far side. No matter the cold, cloudy, leaf-less land. We love it here.

The mountains never leave us, firmly and intensely gazing across the lake, taunting us of our drive to come. What lies across the lake is more driving, more gaping, more laughing and carelessly enjoing a new region, new adventure. More singing along to the playlist. More talking about our life together. Of beauty. Love. God. These sorts of things.

To this point, there's no telling how many hours I've spent in the car with her. But I know now that I'd gladly spend the rest of time right here in the driver seat. One eye on the road, one eye on her.

Following the road signs, we turn west, heading finally towards the mountains. Another song starts, and we smile at each other for what seems like the millionth time. It's a familiar tune, a slow-walk of a song that drives with some banjo, acoustic guitar, harmonies. It's beautiful and wonderful, and we've sung along to it together several times before. Now here it is, introducing us to the bridge that will carry us over Lake Champlain and into the New York wilderness that lies before us.

Four months later I would propose to her. Four months later we would be separated by miles, by states, by hours of travel. But we'd be committed to more road trips, more talks of beauty, of love. Of God.

She would write to me shortly before leaving for an extended period of time. "I love you more than you know," she'd write. "I will miss you - keep the passenger seat open for me, I can't wait to ride with you again, my dear."

I'll miss her. I'll long for her. I'll cry for her. But I'll know that, just like I did on our trip down 7 South from Burlington, I'll always have her there next to me, enjoying the ride. And I'll always have one eye on the road, one eye on her.

At the "Cemetery Gates"

2009-07-30T23:27:00.004-04:00

In October of 2007 I scored front-row seats for me and Katie to see Andrew Bird perform at Stuart's Opera House in Nelsonville, Ohio. To this day, I cite it as one of the greatest performances I have ever been witness to, and Katie and I generally reference it as one of our favorite early memories together.

I acknowledged in my Athens Insider review of the show that it seemed as if an entire orchestra were performed by one man; Bird uses looping pedals and his violin to quite literally create the sound of a symphony. The absolutely immense musical power that he projected from the stage was hair-raising, goosebump-inducing, stunning.

Recently, Bird performed some songs for Pitchfork inside a little church, a performance that the music site filmed and posted to the web, and which they've called "Cemetery Gates." What you will find in the "Cemetery Gates" is a sample of what I saw Andrew Bird do onstage at Stuart's Opera House: create a gorgeous orchestration that is not just musical, but also ethereal and spiritual in some ways (especially considering the five-song-performance's location).

I've posted below the video of Bird's "Cemetery Gates" performance of "Anonanimal," one of my favorite songs off his latest LP, Noble Beast. Enjoy.

Goodmorning

2009-07-28T18:36:00.002-04:00

The first thing I will say is that I'm incredibly lucky. I know this. I have a job, an apartment, a loving family, and a beautiful fiance. For these things I am very grateful.

So to complain of being alone seems selfish. To say that I'm bored a lot, that I wish I were closer to friends, it just seems mean. I know that a lot of people would trade me spots. Two months ago this was the kind of spot I was dying to be in.

Don't get me wrong. It's the spot that I should be in... the spot I need to be in. And the spot that one day I'll look back and recognize was the most important spot I could've been in.

But still I can't help but feel alone. My friends and family are several hours away. The one person who makes every situation in my life better, no matter the bleakness, will be away from me for several months. So for now, I'm left to be alone.

Of course, I'm not alone. And it's remembering this fact that keeps me hopeful, keeps me happy, keeps me company. Soon enough, I'll truly be in the company of friends, of community, of a home. But for now, I have the company I need.

I find that the mornings are the most difficult to feel this company. It's when I wake up that the loneliness of every day hits the hardest; that moment when I realize that the day ahead of me contains more or less exactly what the day before contained, and what the day after that will contain as well. It is that split second when I open my eyes and turn off my alarm that I most strongly feel the empty hole within that longs for the presence of friends and of family.

But that moment always passes. And for that, too, I am very grateful.

I found a beautiful song today that goes a long way towards fixing that lonely moment I can't help but feel when I wake up in the morning. It's called "Goodmorning" by William Fitzsimmons; read the lyrics, listen to the song, discover the hope that we are meant to feel at the beginning of every day.

Goodmorning - William Fitzsimm...

Moonlight will fall
Winter will end
Harvest will come
Your heart will mend
Good morning
Good morning
You will find love
Good morning
You will find love
You will find love
Good morning
Good morning

"Good Morning" by William Fitzsimmons

To Ohio

2009-07-24T11:15:00.003-04:00

So here I am, in my roughly 6-foot-by-10-foot, no-windowed office, wrapping up my first feature for the magazine in anxious anticipation of the afternoon, when I head home for the first time since moving to Durham. I've got The Low Anthem's album Oh My God Charlie Darwin streaming in the background, my first listen of an album I can tell I'm going to like a lot.

And wouldn't you know it, this song comes on. I got goosebumps.

To Ohio - The Low Anthem

I left Louisiana on the rail line, oo oo
I left Louisiana on the rail line, oo oo
I was trying to get to Ohio
Trying to get to Ohio

Lost my love before her time, oo oo
Lost my love before her time, oo oo
On the way to Ohio On the way to Ohio

Now every new love is just a shadow, oo oo
Every new love is just a shadow, oo oo

'Cause once you've known love you don't know how to find love, oo oo
Yeah once you've found love you don't know how to find new love
All the way to Ohio All the way to Ohio

Heard her voice come through the pines in Ohio
I heard her voice singing in the pines in Ohio

She sang bless your soul you crossed that line to Ohio Bless your soul you crossed that line oo oo All the way to Ohio All the way to Ohio

I'm coming home, Ohio. I'm coming home.

Grizzly Bear, "Ready, Able"

2009-07-19T14:40:00.001-04:00

Killer performance of my favorite Veckatimest song on Letterman.

Out of the Dark

2009-07-09T22:25:00.004-04:00

(Didn't have much to go with in terms of picture, so this will do.)

Graduation. Job offer. Moving. Engagement. My last month has been, well, insane. Between my last post and now, nearly everything in life has changed. And, thanks to the "timeliness" of Time Warner, I finally have cable/internet in my apartment, which means I can once again post to my blog.

I don't have much to say here now. There are many things to say, sure... like how I accepted the position of Associate Editor at QSR magazine, graduated from Ohio University with a degree in magazine journalism, moved to Durham, North Carolina, and proposed to my girlfriend of two years, Katie (she said yes). But those are not things I put here on this blog (at least, not all at once).

So instead, I'll tell you what music has sountracked this entire last month; the best albums and songs that have quite literally been all that I've listened to during this transition:

Best Albums

Grizzly Bear, Veckatimest - Forget Animal Collective; at the end of the year, this will be the album standing as the greatest of 2009. You can hold me to it, trust me; this is a gorgeous masterpiece, one that finds the Brooklyn acoustic mopers turn to a poppier, more "accessible" brand. And it's stunning.

White Rabbits, It's Frightening - Didn't know much about this band when I picked up their latest LP, but opening track "Percussion Gun" immediately hooked me. Maybe I'm biased, but the way these guys lace their indie/garage rock with almost tribal drums really stirs me in way I'm not often stirred (hmm... probably weird imagery).

Phoenix, Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix - Another pick-up on a whim, this electro-pop French rock is catchy and fun to blare on a sunny North Carolina day (lucky for me, that's pretty much been my last three weeks).

Dirty Projectors, Bitte Orca - The only way I know how to explain them is to say that they would be the love child of Vampire Weekend and the Talking Heads.

Passion Pit, Manners - Yeah, I've discussed them already, but so what? Maybe by mentioning them again you can get it through your head - THIS IS ONE OF THE BEST RECORDS OF THE YEAR. Okay, maybe that didn't need all-caps, but I want to drive home the point so you go get it. Trust me.

Best Songs

"Ready, Able" by Grizzly Bear - I'll start by saying that my favorite song off of Veckatimest changes pretty much every day, but for now, I'll stick with "Ready, Able" (with "Two Weeks" a close second and "I Live With You" bringing in the bronze). These guys just found a way to create awesome melodies in every single one of their new songs, and every time I listen to the record, I'm floored.

"Percussion Gun" by White Rabbits - Being a drummer and all, I find this song to be an adrenaline-fueled fist-pumper that demands playing at the beginning of nearly every car trip I take nowadays. Didn't know anything about these guys when I got the new record, and this, track one, sold me instantly. I replayed it about ten times the first day I had it.

Percussion Gun - White Rabbits

"Lisztomania" by Phoenix - Pretty fun electro-pop song from these French dudes, and, I imagine, a lot of fun to dance to (my dancing consists of shuffling about in the driver's seat of my car, and still, this song gets the job done).

Lisztomania - Phoenix

"Let Your Love Grow Tall" by Passion Pit - My favorite song off of Manners is still "Little Secrets" (in fact, not 30 minutes ago I officially anointed it my newest ring tone), but I'll give a shout-out to this track as well. I don't quite know how to explain it - it's catchy, it's anthemic, it's dark, it's dancy... it's got a little bit of everything. All I know is when it goes into the musical breakdown before the chorus, I tend to start driving just a little bit faster.

Let Your Love Grow Tall - Pass...

Mind Your "Manners"

2009-06-01T12:04:00.003-04:00

I have two weeks of college left, and a lot of my life post-June 13 has yet to be determined. I'm swamped this week with tying up loose ends, and am exhausted from, well, the last 4 years of academics.

Needless to say, I've not had time to post to this here blog (though, if I'm unemployed in two weeks, that will change quite dramatically.) I've also been in desperate need of some pick-me-up music.

Killing two birds with one stone, here is a write-up I just completed for the Athens News' Ear Buds section of a killer album I've been listening to fairly non-stop for the last three days. Go buy it and listen to it all summer. It's called "Manners," from the Boston band Passion Pit.

Passion Pit, "Manners": Melodic dance-pop albums are usually not my thing; the sugar coated catchiness of the melodies, the wandering fuzz of the synths and the cliche nonsensical lyrics typically drive me crazy after a third or fourth listen. Such albums are intended mostly for the dance floor, not for an iPod-assisted walk to work, and don't spend too much time trying to chalk up originality points. But "Manners" from Passion Pit is something quite different: a crazy-melodic record from start to finish, it laces each song with a throbbing tempo, inspired lyrics and an eclectic mix of synths and indie rock that avoids any kind of pretentiousness. Imagine mixing the catchy synths of M83 with the dance-rock of Of Montreal, and throwing in some children-choir vocals and fast-forwarded samples-a-la-Kanye West for good measure - that'll give you an idea of what this Boston-based band sounds like. In a just world, this entire album would be the go-to anthem for summer 2009.

Here is my favorite song from the album, "Little Secrets."

Little Secrets - Passion Pit

Snapshot

2009-05-21T16:32:00.004-04:00

I'm currently taking an intro photography class at OU. I didn't need to take it; I wanted to take it. I've always been fascinated by photography, but beyond pointing and shooting, haven't had a clue what to make of it. So now I do. Here are some of my shots that I've taken in the last couple weeks, with some songs to soundtrack. Enjoy.

I Turn My Camera On - Spoon

Kamera - Wilco

Country Mile - Camera Obscura

American Hearts - A.A. Bondy

The Privateers - Andrew Bird

All My Friends - LCD Soundsyst...

Scenic World (Version) - Beiru...

Gentle Hour

2009-05-14T16:02:00.003-04:00

Gentle Hour - Yo La Tengo

It's such a pleasure to touch your skin
To touch your skin
It's such a pleasure to touch your heart
To touch your heart
I can hardly wait

I couldn't bare it, to live for fear
Undressing you
You're in my heart all the time
All the time
I will wait till you arrive
To make it to the grave
And I couldn't have done
Anything else

A gentle love
A gentle heart
A gentle love
A gentle heart

All things that cause you trouble cause pain

It's such a pleasure to touch your skin
To touch your skin
It's such a pleasure to touch your heart
I can hardly wait

And I'm waiting to hear you now
To make it to the grave
And I couldn't have done
Anything else
I couldn't have done anything else

Fresh Ears (Sufjan Stevens)

2009-04-27T23:00:00.022-04:00

I read an article on the A.V. Club's website last week that was basically an introduction to Morrissey. I thought that the concept was clever: give the reader an idea on how to get into an artist you've never really gotten into before. So I decided to kind of steal it. Okay, I decided to make it my own, kind of. Anyway, I'm going to call it "Fresh Ears," for lack of a better name. It's intended to give my readers a very simple introduction into some of my favorite artists, so they can enjoy them as well. There are lots of artists that I've wanted to get into but simply couldn't, as their collections are just too daunting. Like Morrissey. But I digress. This is my first edition, on Sufjan Stevens.

In 2005, Sufjan Stevens released an album called Illinois (or Illinoise or Come on Feel the Illinoise - it's been called all three), a 22-song epic of an album that mashed together several genres and tossed the boy-faced musical wonder into semi-stardom. The album, which was the second in Sufjan's now-famous 50-state project (an album for every state) graced the top of several "best-of" lists and made Sufjan (pronounced SOOF-yan) the go-to name-dropping guy for guaranteed press and indie cred (see Welcome Wagon.) The album also inspired the successes of many an artist who similarly tried their hand at a sort of indie symphonic sound (see The Decemberists, Beirut, or, of course, Welcome Wagon.)

Despite all of the hoopla surrounding "Illinois" and his ensuing B-side releases, there is much, much more to be heard of Sufjan Stevens. In fact, Illinois was his fifth official release, and remains his latest full-length of all-new material. The rest of his catalog is both masterful and confusing, gorgeous and schizophrenic.

So how do you officially "access" Sufjan Stevens? How do you become his next biggest fan? Follow these steps and you'll be obsessed in no time. (But be warned! By following these steps you'll also fall over every tantalizing whisper or hint of Sufjan's next album and obsess over which state he might/should do next.)

Just a Taste: Stream "To Be Alone with You." From Seven Swans, it's one of Sufjan's more recognizable tracks (thanks to "The O.C."), and is a fairly good account of what you'll find throughout the rest of his catalog (though it leans much more on the ballad side.)

To Be Alone With You - Sufjan ...

For Beginners: Buy Sufjan's third full-length, Michigan. It was a tough call between this and Seven Swans, but because of the latter's fairly deep and intimate spiritual leanings, I'm going to suggest you start on Michigan. Released in 2003, this was Sufjan's first step in the right direction, introducing his pallet of instruments that range from the acoustic guitar to the banjo to the glockenspiel to the oboe. For the most part, Michigan is a tame offering of Sufjan's sublime melodies and lovely orchestrations, offering very little of the bombast and energy permeating Illinois. This a very accessible collection of chill songs, boasting (in my opinion) Sufjan's best song - "For the Widows in Paradise, for the Fatherless in Ypsilanti" - as well as other standouts like "Vito's Ordination Song," "The Upper Peninsula," and "Oh God, Where are You Now?" While Sufjan's work before Michigan (which we'll get to later) was fairly insignificant on the lyrics front, his work here bounces back and forth between nonsensical and strikingly poignant (from "Vito's Ordination Song": "I always knew you / in your mothers arms / I have called your name / I have an idea / placed in your mind / to be a better man / I've made a crown for you / put it in your room / and when the bride groom comes / there will be noise / there will be glad / and a perfect bed.")

A Little Further: Stream "Jacksonville," from Illinois. I would have suggested you stream "Chicago" (definitely his most popular track - and one of his best - thanks to "Little Miss Sunshine"), but alas, I couldn't allow you to stream it here on this site. So instead, I recommend you listen to "Jacksonville," which is really pretty similar to "Chicago," if not just a touch more subdued. It introduces you to the full, symphonic, multi-instrumental and multi-faceted sound he managed to record on Illinois. It also gives you an idea of the direction Sufjan went following Seven Swans, and an idea of where he's heading in the future.

Jacksonville - Sufjan Stevens

Going Deeper: Buy Seven Swans, Sufjan's fourth full-length

that was released in 2004. Seven Swans is a bit of an anomaly in Sufjan's catalog. Coming on the heels of Michigan, it was a sharp change of pace that dropped the multi-instrumental sounds he had perfected on that album (and returned to on Illinois) in favor of minimal banjo and acoustic guitar. These 12 songs are also passionately beautiful, loving, and intimate, 12 spiritual songs that Sufjan uses to blatantly express his faith in God, a faith that he always hints at on other albums but never quite commits to as much as he does here. It's been considered Sufjan's "Christian" album, but it's so much more than that; Seven Swans is a legitimate album of worship. The poignant moments Sufjan danced around in Michigan take center stage. Combined with Michigan, you now have a good sense of Sufjan the vocalist and lyricist; now, it's time for you to get a sense of Sufjan the songwriter and composer.

For the Record: Stream "Dumb I Sound." It was featured on Sufjan's very first album, A Sun Came, and was recorded way back when Sufjan was just a college kid with a goofy name. Doesn't say much about his catalog aside from showing the vast talent that the guy can boast of in a song, but it's incredibly fascinating to hear old Sufjan and think about where he went with what he had.

Dumb I Sound - Sufjan Stevens

The Essential: Buy Illinois. Easily one of the greatest albums released this decade, Illinois is a mammoth of an album that is exciting, energetic, fun, purposeful and staggering. It wanders between road trip-worthy anthems and reflective ballads. It toys with a plethora of instruments and comes out the other side a symphony to be reckoned with. Sure, some lyrics stray back to the nonsensical that we heard on Michigan, but when you're writing a full-length album about a specific state, how in the heck do you expect to make sense the whole time? Thing is, even when Sufjan's words aren't exactly the most thought-provoking, somehow he still manages to paint vivid imagery across the entirety of the album. Just listen to "The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades is Out to Get Us!"; the lyrics (ex. "Thinking outrageously I write in cursive / I hide in my bed with the lights on the floor / Wearing three layers of coats and leg warmers / I see my own breath on the face of the door") aren't the most sensible, and yet somehow the song induces this feeling, this understanding of what he's trying to say. It's like that throughout much of the album, from "John Wayne Gacy, Jr." (about the killer clown) to "Chicago" to "Casimir Pulaski Day" to "The Seer's Tower." In my opinion, Illinois is what the term 'Americana' really, truly describes: an ode to the ideas, the lifestyles, the joys of the American people.

Finally, you should know that I held Sufjan's most popular and best album for third for a reason: it's not, in my opinion, his most accessible. Some of the grandiosity takes some getting used to, and hopefully Michigan and Seven Swans weened you to what you find here appropriately.

A Look Forward: Stream "You are the Blood." Released a few weeks ago on the Dark was the Night AIDS benefit compilation, this is a ten-minute Sufjan track that potentially offers a look at where the artist is heading. Mind you, Sufjan hasn't released a full-length of new material since Illinois in 2005, so nobody really knows what he has up his sleeve for the years to come.(Edit: Thanks to Jeff for letting me know that "You are the Blood" is actually a cover of a Castanets song.)

You Are The Blood - Sufjan Ste...

For the Committed: If you've made it this far on your path towards Sufjan fan-hood, I suggest you buy The Avalanche. It's a collection of b-sides from the Illinois recordings that were compiled and released on the coattails of Sufjan's post-Illinois popularity in 2006. Funny thing is, Sufjan's b-sides are ten times better than most artists' regularly released material. If Illinois had never existed, and instead The Avalanche had been the only thing to come out of those sessions, I think the latter would still carry some significant weight. The only reason it's considered as inferior to Illinois is that it basically sounds exactly like Illinois (duh, came from the same sessions) and, of course, Illinois came first. What I'm trying to say is that if you like Illinois, you'll like this. But it's kind of like Illinois-lite (though just now I wonder what the experience would be like if The Avalanche were purchased before Illinois... if it would sound better... no, you know what? Illinois really is a lot better. Start with that.)

Just Casual: Okay, you've made it this far. You're a die-hard Sufjan fan now, owning his last three records and his b-sides collection. So where do you go from here? He has two albums that he released before Michigan, but let's wait on those, at least for the time being. What you want to do now (well, maybe not now; perhaps wait for October or November) is buy his Christmas collection. "Christmas collection!?" you say. "What the f*%&!?" Well, here's the scoop: For five years, from 2001-2005 (I think), Sufjan made Christmas EPs for friends and fami ly only. In the wake of his popularity, the EPs found their way to the internet, and in late 2006, fresh off his b-sides release, Sufjan released a box-set of the 5 discs, called Songs for Christmas. I know, I know, seems kinda kitsch and lame; Christmas releases are usually for yuppies like Michael McDonald and Kenny G. Don't count Sufjan out, though; his collection is, well, awesome (at least, as far as Christmas music goes.) There are a ton of originals, and classics like "O Holy Night," "Amazing Grace," and "Come Thou Fount" are truly beautiful. So if you're into Sufjan and you dig Christmas music, this box-set is a must.

For the Die-hard: Buy A Sun Came. Sufjan's very first album, recorded when he was in college and released back in 2000 on his start-up (and current) label Asthmatic Kitty. Obviously, at this point, Sufjan had yet to find his footing. The album is shaky, and much different and raw from his polished later material. Still, there are some gems on this album, and much to like if you really dig Sufjan's style. Specifically, tracks like "We Are What You Say" (sort of a midieval jamboree) and "Dumb I Sound" (previewed earlier) prove that even early in his career, Sufjan was flashing signs of brilliance as a songwriter. But you'll also find bizarre, lo-fi, fuzz-guitar tracks like "Super Sexy Woman," "Jason," and "Kill." Some strange stuff, but again, you'll dig it if you're a die-hard.

For the Obsessed: You've got the rest of Sufjan's collection. You think Illinois is God's gift to indie music, that Seven Swans is a songwriting masterpiece, and that A Sun Came is the greatest songwriter's debut since Jeff Buckley's Grace. Everything Sufjan touches is gold to you, and you just can't get enough. What to do? Well, I guess I can recommend Enjoy Your Rabbit, Sufjan's second full-length album. Why the hesitance, you ask? Well, let's just say that I, fan of all things Sufjan, don't even have Enjoy Your Rabbit. Last.fm tells me that I listen to Sufjan twice as much as I listen to anything else, and still, I haven't bothered to pick this album up. The reason? This isn't exactly classic Sufjan. Basically, it's an experimental electronic album that Sufjan composed after college based on the Chinese zodiac signs. In my opinion, it should hardly count toward his catalog. Not that it's bad (it isn't), it's just, well, weird. And nothing like his other stuff. So this is purely for Sufjan maniacs.

Well there you have it, my friends. The "Complete Guide to Becoming a Sufjan Nut." Hopefully this helps, especially for those of you who haven't had a clue where to start. Trust me, follow this plan and you won't regret it; Sufjan Stevens is one of the greatest modern songwriters, whose current and future material should prove to be legendary. Enjoy!

For further reference:

Sufjan's label

Sufjan's website

Sufjan fan site

At the Movies (My Mission)

2009-04-24T12:31:00.004-04:00

I don't consider myself, by any means, a film aficionado. Don't get me wrong, I love movies, but I don't analyze them and take them as seriously as I do music. Usually I just take them in for entertainment's sake, and rate them on my four-part scale. Let me explain to you this movie-rating scale:

Movies (along with other art forms, but in my opinion most easily done with film) can be divided into four categories, or, as I'll call them, tiers.

TIER I: GOOD and ENTERTAINING. Not only was the film brilliantly produced, directed, acted, etc., but it flat-out held my attention span. Some examples I think of: "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy, "Braveheart," "Gladiator," "The Dark Night," and so on (but it's not limited to epics - this is just a list of some of my favorite movies that were successful at the Oscars as well.)

TIER II: GOOD but NOT ENTERTAINING. I find that many films featured at the Academy Awards fall into this category. Look, I recognize good film making when I see it, but can you give me a plot to hold on to? Something to interest me and keep me talking when I leave the theater? Wanna know what my least favorite movie is? "The Hours." Awful. And that movie was nominated for 9 OSCARS. Yes, 9. It even won Nichole Kidman the Best Actress award. God help me if that movie didn't make me reconsider appreciating the joys of life.

TIER III: BAD but ENTERTAINING. This category is mainly reserved for comedies and action fare. Let me use "Transformers" as an example; the plot was stupid, the lines were cheesy, the acting bad, but doggone it if I didn't leave the theater feeling at least a little exhilarated. See, it's possible to hold my attention span and give me the ride of my life without assuring that the film is going to land in the AFI's Top 100 Films of All Time.

TIER IV: BAD and NOT ENTERTAINING. You know the type. The "Paul Blart: Mall Cop's" of the world.

So there you have it, that's how I rank my movies. I will usually give time to the first three tiers (the second tier if only to see what all the rave is about), but won't touch the fourth tier unless it's Katie's turn for a romantic comedy or I'm just interested in spending time with an old friend for hang out's sake.

This is all to say that I'm really not that picky with films. I know what's good and I know what's bad, but I'm usually pretty lenient and know when not to take something too seriously.

I have two friends who treat movies as I do music: Max and Jacob. Actually, they probably know more about the film industry than I know about music - they're grad students in the film department here at OU. Their knowledge of and appreication for film is really quite impressive, and I can't really keep up when they discuss very aspects of film, various well-known directors, and various pastiche genre masterpieces from the 1940's (that one's for you, Max.)

In order to have a clearer understanding of what the hell Max and Jacob ever talk about, I sent them on a mission: comprise a list of 24 hours-worth of movies that they know I haven't seen (which sorta kinda includes everything made before 1980.) I am to watch all of these films (though not necessarily in a 24-hour marathon, that was just used as a parameter), and report back to them what I think.

Last night I received the list. Below is what I have today added to my Netflix account and what I will be plowing through in the next couple of weeks. Wish me luck.

THE LIST

* "The General," 1927
* "Un Chien Andalou," 1928
* "City Lights," 1931
* "Duck Soup," 1933
* "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington," 1939
* "Rashomon," 1950
* "12 Angry Men," 1957
* "The Seventh Seal," 1957
* "Bande a Part," 1964
* "Dr. Strangelove," 1964
* "Aguirre: The Wrath of God," 1972
* "Taxi Driver," 1976
* "Eraserhead," 1977
* "Days of Heaven," 1978
* "Stalker," 1979

Either Way

2009-04-22T19:40:00.004-04:00

Either Way - Wilco

Maybe the sun will shine today
The clouds will blow away
Maybe I won't feel so afraid
I will try to understand
Either way

Maybe you still love me
Maybe you don't
Either you will or you won't
Maybe you just need some time alone
I will try to understand
Everything has its plan
Either way
I'm gonna stay
Right for you

Maybe the sun will shine today
The clouds will roll away
Maybe I won't be so afraid
I will understand everything has its plan
Either way

- Wilco, "Either Way"

I played this song today and was struck by how adequately it describes my life right now. I originally played it because the sun was shining through some rain clouds (plus I'm on a major Wilco kick right now after I saw them live Friday night - more on that later) and it just seemed appropriate. But as I listened to the words, I realized Jeff Tweedy couldn't be more right.

I've applied to four jobs in the last two days. These four: Raleigh, Austin, Chicago, Portland (OR.) On top of those I've applied to jobs in San Francisco, Washington D.C., and Charlotte. I haven't heard back from anywhere that I've applied to; sure, I didn't think I'd hear back from the jobs I applied to in the last couple of days, but I've applied to three or four things in the last two months, and I haven't heard one single word. Nada. Not even a cordial "No."

I have no idea what my life looks like after June 13, the day I graduate from Ohio University with what more and more seems like a worthless degree in magazine journalism. I might stay in Athens, crash at my parents house. I might move in with my sister in Columbus and find some menial job there. Or I might be adventurous and move somewhere random, then find a menial job there.

Who knows? There are many choices. But you know what? I'm okay with that. "I will try to understand, either way." Because after all, "Everything has its plan."

Just...creepy

2009-04-21T19:21:00.002-04:00

Thanks to Josh Antonuccio for telling me about this video. Crazy the affect music can have...

Happiness

2009-04-20T11:47:00.009-04:00

The song I've posted below is called "Happiness," by Riceboy Sleeps. The band is composed of two Icelandic guys, one of whom happens to be the lead singer of the incredible band Sigur Ros. If you know anything about Sigur Ros, you know they have a tendency of creating ethereal, expansive music that is nothing short of beautiful. The work of Riceboy Sleeps is no different, aside from the fact that there is no singing.

I have many definitions of "happiness," though it's not something easily defined; it looks like many things, sounds like many things, and feels like many things. But Riceboy Sleeps comes pretty close to realizing "happiness" in this song, and in their visual art (see above and below.) Their expression of "happiness" is mesmerizing, yet simple. It's in a sound and it's in a picture, but also reminding that it's everywhere.

I too find "happiness" in art, as I've ma de clear before. I appreciate reminders like these, though.

Happiness - Riceboy Sleeps

This is...

2009-04-16T13:23:00.004-04:00

...a picture of Win Butler looking at me. The Arcade Fire lead man caught site of me taking this shot from the front row of Stuart's Opera House back in March of 2008, when AF played a surprise, free Obama benefit.

That show remains one of my greatest musical memories for many reasons: the fact that I got to sit front row. The fact that Win jumped down into the audience and climbed up into the seats right in front of me. The fact that the band hung out with fans before the show, and when I said "Hey" to Win, he said, "What's up?" The fact that it was an intimate show of only about 300 people, when AF easily plays in front of tens of thousands now. The fact that it was mother-f%&#ing Arcade Fire playing a show in Nelsonville.

Days like that one last March are days that I'll tell my kids about, days that I'll remember forever, days that remind me how much I love life. They're also days that remind me of the power of music, and of why I love the camaraderie and intimacy of live music so much.

I write all of this now because I just watched the AF DVD "Miroir Noir," an incredible portrayal of the band as they recorded their last record, Neon Bible. It too reminded me of the sheer force of a live show and the beauty of music. It allowed a glimpse of a band who is very real, very dedicated, and very passionate about what they do. I highly recommend it.

Just now I think that the drums in the corner of my dining room never looked so lonely. God bless the ability to express oneself through music.

Oh, and another thing: F%*& you, Wayne Coyne of the Flaming Lips. Stop picking fights and start figuring out how to make good music. Sorry, but I took what you said just a little personally; at that show last March, I have never seen a band spend so much time getting to know their fans, even when they didn't have to. They paced the sidewalk for more than an hour getting to know us and thanking us for coming to a show that they drove 13 hours to do, for free. What's with the petty b.s., Wayne?

And one, final thought: my ticket to that show at Stuart's Opera House couldn't have happened without Katie standing in line on a cold Saturday morning for an hour and a half. She deserves that credit.

A Fun Little Video of Spring Break, Woohoo

2009-04-12T17:28:00.000-04:00

(To the sounds of "Epistemology" by M. Ward)

And Finally: My Track-by-Track Review of the New U2

2009-04-09T09:33:00.001-04:00

I had intended to write a track-by-track review of the new U2 record, No Line on the Horizon, about a month ago. But with finals and preparation for my spring break trip (more to come on that, by the way), it kind of fell by the wayside.

And you know what also happened? I kind of stopped listening to it.

Alas, I feel the need to post a track-by-track review because, well, every track has something to say, and with U2's vast catalog, each of these songs deserves to be ranked fairly and accurately. Plus, this will calm my conscience; sometimes the crazy storm of music opinion racing through my head just needs to be cataloged neatly in order to justify itself.

Also, I should note my history with U2 (mostly because one's opinion of a band and that band's catalog always skews their review of anything new issued by that band; if you don't believe me, check out Rolling Stone's reviews of the latest U2 and Springsteen records, then read any other review of those records.)

My first knowledge of U2 and who they were came when they released All That You Can't Leave Behind in 2000; I really liked "Beautiful Day" (as a new drummer back then, I tried to wrap my head around how Larry could play two beats at the same time; of course, as a kid, I didn't realize that there was such a thing as a drum machine loop), but was victim to a constant barrage of U2 on the radio. Truth be told, I didn't much like anything on All That You Can't Leave Behind besides "Beautiful Day," and got sick of the band pretty fast.

I rediscovered U2 during my junior year of high school, about the same time I gave up on the crappy nu-metal I'd listened to during most of high school and started listening to more stuff from the 60s, 70s and 80s. I had just received the then-brand-new How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb for my birthday, and figured I'd dig deeper into this band that so many people were calling the "greatest band on earth." So I purchased Joshua Tree... and fell pretty hard (you may remember that it's my No. 3 favorite album of all time.)

Joshua Tree led to Achtung Baby, and Achtung Baby eventually led to Boy, October, War, and yes, All That You Can't Leave Behind (I still have significant holes in my U2 collection, most notably Unforgettable Fire.) Then, last summer, I read the U2 autobiography "U2 by U2," and spent the better part of a month listening to nothing but U2. So I'd say I now have a respectable opinion of U2, but not nearly the extensive opinion and knowledge of so many other (older) folks (I was a month-and-a-half when Joshua Tree was released, so, considering I don't have the perspective of having listened to this stuff when it was fresh, I usually defer to other people when seeking a U2 scholar.)

Okay, having rambled about all of this and giving you an idea of where I'm coming from, I now take a look at all 11 tracks of No Line on the Horizon:

1. "No Line on the Horizon": Opening with one of the heaviest guitar licks in the U2 catalog, this intro track finds Bono shouting verses above the buzz of the Edge's guitar, capping each with a nice little yo-yo of "oh oh oh oh ohs" before descending into a little bit more of a sober chorus (which just repeats the words of the song title.) Bono strains the vocal chords as he sings some existentially Bono-ish words about a girl (sample: "One day she's still, the next she swells/You can hear the universe in her sea shell/Oh yeah/Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh"). A heavy track and definitely a change of pace for the band, this is one of the album highlights. Does that say much? Read on to find out.

2. "Magnificent": The more blatant "worship" song on the album, "Magnificent" is a driving force of an ode to God, a passionate shout-out from Bono that throws together some of the Edge's jangly guitar, a synthesized something-or-other, and some heavier drums and bass, making this a high-flier rising quickly at the beginning to a rocking plateau that barely lets go. I'm just waiting for some DJ to back this song up with a throbbing dance beat and play it in the clubs. Just wait, it'll happen. Definitely another standout track, competing for my the position of my favorite track on the album.

3. "Moment of Surrender": Comparable to "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" (though miles and miles from that song's brilliance), "Moment of Surrender" is something of a mellow tune backed by an impassioned Bono yelp. At the start, with the sort of synthesized string bit and the Edge's reserved guitar strums, first impression suggests it will be a ballad; then, all of a sudden, Bono comes in from nowhere with those just-perfectly-tainted-by-cigarretes vocal chords. A passionate cry indeed, and again, a stand-out track (don't get too used to this, though; the first three are three of the album's four best songs.)

4. "Unknown Caller": So, you know how U2 is this huge arena band with tons of anthemic songs that thousands of concert-goers shout back at them in every show? Well, with "Unknown Caller," you'd think they were a band with no anthemic experience trying to put together their first go-around at a shout-along. And it's not good; melodically the song is strong, but the chanted lyrics from 1998 immediately destroy any kind of vibe the song creates (sample lyrics: "Force quit and move to trash," and "Restart and re-boot yourself.") It's a throwaway.

5. "I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight": Another example of a not-half-bad song made bad by stupid lyrics. As happens throughout a lot of this album, Bono pushes the boundary of what kinds of strange phrases he can get away with. Sigh.

6. "Get On Your Boots": What I didn't like about this song - the first single off the record - upon first listen was how much it reminded me of "Vertigo," the first single off of How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb. As with "Vertigo," "Get On Your Boots" makes me think U2 is trying to be younger than they really are, ratcheting up the energy and rock fluff in order to score new generations of fans. It worked okay for "Vertigo," but "Get On Your Boots" is too much of a throwaway, despite it's growing on me over the last several listens (I can at least appreciate a hard-rocking song when I hear one, even if I disregard it in the grand scheme of U2-things.)

7. "Stand Up Comedy": Starts with a fun sort of "Immigrant Song"-esque guitar lick before turning into another melodically-decent-but-overall-not-that-great song.

8. "FEZ - Being Born": This track is definitely a change of pace, for the record and band in general. I have a hard time even counting it, though, considering it's a sort of mish-mash of electronic sounds that becomes a very un-U2-like spacey song. It's not bad, but it just isn't... on line with anything I can compare it to. So... yeah.

9. "White As Snow": Whose idea was it to sing an "original" U2 song along with the melody of "O Come O Come Emanuel"? Was it you, Brian Eno? Seriously, dude, what the f@%$?

10. "Breathe": Finally, something to hold on to. "Breathe" is the track competing with "Magnificent" as my favorite on the record. The faux-rap thing that Bono does throughout the verses is a little strange, but it's a good, energetic flow that backs this adrenaline-fueled song well. The chorus is probably the best part of the song, though, an instantly-memorable sing-along that is incredibly catchy. Overall, a great track that stands up to some of U2's best (but if I had to place it on best-U2-songs-of-all-time list, probably wouldn't crack the Top 50.)

11. "Cedars of Lebanon": No idea what they were thinking here. No good melody, no good lyrics, nothing about it that screams, "Hey, listen to me! I have something to say, too!" A sort of crash-to-the-end album capper.

So there you have it, my track-by-track input for No Line on the Horizon. As you can probably tell, I don't think this album is going to be taking by storm any best-of lists anytime soon. It's a decent record at best, one that hardly compares to the some of the genius records U2 has released over the last 29 years.

Going back to my thoughts on "Get On Your Boots," I think U2 is just trying too hard to be "hip" and "relevant." They seem to be over-playing and over-producing their new material, when it might be time to scale back and aim for something a little more on par with Joshua Tree.

Word on the street is that U2 has another batch of songs ready for release later this year, leftovers from the sessions that produced No Line on the Horizon. I've heard the band say it will be the Zooropa to No Line on the Horizon's Achtung Baby, and if that's the case, count me out.

Home (from the road)

2009-04-02T13:25:00.000-04:00

I gotta get home there's a garden to tend,
There's fruit on the ground and the birds have
all moved back into my attic, whistling static
When the young learn to fly I will patch all the holes up again.

So I try to understand what I can't hold in my hand
And wherever we are, home is there too.
And if you could try to find it too, 'cause this place is overgrown
into works and bloom
Home is wherever we are, if there's love there too.

- Jack Johnson, "Home"

The bare trees of Ohio never looked so good, nor the green grass looked so green. Leaving the northeast (Saranac Lake to Watertown, south to Syracuse, west through Rochester, Buffalo and Cleveland, and south to home) and driving back into the confines of Southeast Ohio was like traveling across the line between seasons, otherwise invisible save for the east-west route 70 that practically dispatched us from the gloomy winter of the north into the new life of spring in the south.

And so we arrived home, back to Athens, one week and 1,800 miles later. Spring break 2009 completed.

Sometimes college - and life in general - backs you into a corner, holing you up in one spot that can't easily be escaped. But the world is out there, life is out there, if only you attempt to look for it. Katie and I found it all over the northeast last week.

We found it in Cumberland, Maryland, a big town too compact for more than one hotel - which was fully booked with basketball players.

We found it just across the border from Maryland in Pennsylvania, parked on the side of a winding mountain where we could overlook the sleepy valley below.

We found it in Stamford, Connecticut, in the generosity and companionship found in time spent with my grandfather.

We found it in New York City, where everything seems to be bigger than you and pretends to be more important than you - and you're reminded of the joyous life you live away from the 'epicenter.'

We found it in the welcome center in New Hampshire just across the border from Massachusetts, where we collected enough brochures to wrap Lindsay's birthday present.

We found it in Biddeford, Maine, walking along the pristine, empty beaches with Lindsay, Mark, and Sydney, fighting the biting winds.

We found it in Portland, Maine, in the hard-to-find speakeasy where we could try new beers and find comfort away from the piercing cold winds.

We found it in Burlington, Vermont, in the seafood restaurant on the side of Lake Champlain where we grabbed lunch... and then later, traveling south from Burlington, as we stared at the Adirondacks on the other side of the lake.

We found it in Lake Placid, New York, where we scored a $40 bottle of wine for free (long story) and shared a delicious greek salad and hummus, all while admiring the mountains surrounding the quiet resort town.

And we found it in Saranac Lake, New York, where, despite (or because of?) a hotel straight from "The Shining," we managed to enjoy a trip to the top of a mountain, and saw the beautiful Young Life camp that changed my life.

Now, back at college for our last quarter in Athens, we remember there is life yet to be lived. That one spot that we might end up cornered in needs to be nothing more than temporary; with a curious spirit and a seeking heart, we can celebrate the beauty of life that was intended for us.

I've uploaded the rest of the pictures from our trip; click here to check them out.

On the Road (the cold in Maine)

2009-03-25T11:35:00.000-04:00

Katie and I are currently holed up at Lindsay and Mark's house in Biddeford, Maine, where it's about 50 degrees and sunny today. We've had sunny skies pretty much the entire trip, but it's not been much warmer than it is today (not to mention the wind here in Maine is vicious.)

Above are a few shots of our trip (the great Spring Break Trip to the Northeast 2009 Style) so far. Here is a link to the rest of our photos, if you're interested.

Tomorrow we drive through Vermont, heading to Saranac Lake in Upstate New York. I'm sure there will be many more opportunities for photos, and will add them my Flickr photo stream when I can. Also, I'll be sharing more thoughts from (or about) the road in the near future.

Spring Break

2009-03-18T15:39:00.000-04:00

The above is a rough estimation (thanks to Paint) of mine and Katie's travels in the week ahead. We leave tomorrow for Connecticut, spend the weekend there (and Saturday in NYC), head to Maine on Monday, split for Saranac Lake, NY, on Wednesday, then emerge back in Athens sometime later next week (the travels are fairly flexible, so I'm not locking down an ETA just yet; we'll see how much we like Maine.)

I'm not entirely sure what it is about road trips that are so exciting (this road trip = just over 1,800 miles, 35 hours in a car, and 11 states visited), but Katie and I are both really pumped to get out of Athens, see the country, spend some time together, visit with family, and make some memories.

I'm also really excited to document the trip through writing, photography, and music. I'm going to try to journal every day of the trip, take loads of pictures, and complement it all with a cross-country-worthy soundtrack that perfectly details the journey we're about to go on.

See you on the other side.

March (music) Madness

2009-03-02T13:57:00.000-05:00

March is finally here, and with it a glimmer of hope that warmth is around the corner. Of course, living in Ohio, I don't trust that warmth is here for good until mid-June (I was wearing shorts one day last week, today - Monday - it's 20 degrees. Blast you, Ohio...), so I don't get my hopes too high on days it creeps above 50 degrees.

What I do install my hopes in about this time of year, though, is the warmth delivered through music. Around the time the calendar turns to March and spring break is on the immediate horizon (God bless you, March 20), I crank up spring-inspired tunes (as in, anything upbeat and/or involving steel drums), and pack away the droning, mopey stuff (see you in about 7 months, Bon Iver) that I so often associate with the loneliness/introspection of winter. I've noted here before that I'm seasonal with music, but it's worth saying that spring is typically the most drastic evidence of this phenomenon.

(If you doubt my theory, I defy you to catch me listening to Bob Marley in a month that isn't March or April. Seriously.)

What's exciting me right now? The prospect of cranking down my windows and cranking up the new U2 album, "No Line on the Horizon," some good ol' rock 'n' roll running through my hair. Or the thought of sitting on my porch, Animal Collective's "Merriweather Post Pavilion" blaring from inside, sun shining down. (For the record, I still don't have "MPP"; been waiting for the backorder of vinyl. But I'm confident the aforementioned scene will occur.)(Tuesday edit: finally bought "MPP," along with "No Line on the Horizon," today. Super pumped. But it's still cold.)

Anyway, my point here (in case you haven't figured it out) is that my winter-to-spring music listenings transition is under way. A sampling of what sorts of artists ease their way out of hibernation during this transition:

- Bob Marley
- Red Hot Chili Peppers
- Green Day
- The Clash
- Kanye West
- Modest Mouse
- Wilco (coming to Athens April 17, oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh)
- Arcade Fire
- Band of Horses
- Rage Against the Machine
- The White Stripes
- Dispatch
- Beirut
- Ted Leo and the Pharmacists
- Flogging Molly

This spring, as I've incorporated these artists more and more into my daily listening habits, I've also had the (pleasant) distraction of several fantastic albums solidifying themselves in my rotation and proving to be seasonally appropriate offerings. Here's some new stuff I've been listening to (which will, at the end of today, be at least temporarily overshadowed by "MPP" and "No Line"):

Welcome Wagon, Welcome to the Welcome Wagon: I wrote about this late-2008 album a couple of posts back, so I won't waste too much time here rehashing what I said. Suffice it to say, this is pretty orchestral-folk-rock a-la-Sufjan Stevens (who signed the Welcome Wagon to his label and produced this debut effort.) The difference between this and Sufjan's mastery is the directly-spiritual lyrics; while Sufjan is usually ambiguous with his shout-outs to the Almighty, the Aiuto husband-wife tandem (of which Thomas Vito Aiuto is the Reverend Thomas Vito Aiuto) is up front with its odes to the Omega (ha, okay, enough with the clever word play.) Anyway, what you'll find here - and the reason its appropriate for the season - is bouncy alternative gospel, if ever there were some. The tambourines, the horn section, the banjo - it all comes together in a sunshiny way.

Andrew Bird, Noble Beast: Bird's stuff is not so much upbeat as it is, well, optimistic. His epic whistling (he's got to be the best in the whistling biz) combines with sweeping string arrangements (he's a classically-trained violinist) to create alternative rock splashed with classical and jazz, lovely tunes that explore all ends of the melodic spectrum. As the cover of the album suggests, Bird's latest, "Noble Beast," seems perfectly fit for the great outdoors; it's a naturalistic album that paints a musical beauty suited for something we can find, often, ride outside our front door. Or on a cross-country road trip. Or from deep inside a swaying, yard-side hammock. Anyway, you get the point; this is an album (similar to his others, by the way) that longs to appreciate the fresh air and warmth of spring.

M. Ward, Hold Time: Fresh off his stint with Zooey Deschanel as the Him in She & Him (a collaboration that produced an album, "Volume One," which I've grown to appreciate; keep reading this post), Matt Ward - M. Ward on the stage - recently released his sixth solo album, the 14-track LP "Hold Time." Ward's solo stuff (he collaborates with several artists in his off time, like Conor Oberst and Jim James) is a good blend of country, rock, and folk, backed by the songwriter's deep, unassuming croon that explores very little of the melodic spectrum. On "Hold Time," his work with She & Him shows, as the LP is a little more accessible, friendly, and dare I say, mainstream (if you're unfamiliar with M. Ward, this isn't a bad place to start, but I'd recommend his last album, "Post War.") None of this is to say, though, that it's bad; in fact, it's very, very good. Ward bounces out catchy tunes that sing of loneliness, love and God (a perfect rock trifecta) and the end result is a warm, alt-rock record.

She & Him, Volume One: Okay, confession time: I did not want to like this record. Sure, I was curious to know what it was like (big fan of the "Him," M. Ward), but I really didn't want to like it. Why? I guess a part of me felt a wee bit betrayed by Ward; the "She" in She & Him is Zooey Deschanel, an actress best known for her role in the Will Ferrell movie "Elf," and that sure didn't seem very cool to me. One of my favorite singer-songwriters collaborating with a sexy young Hollywood actrees? Puh-lease. I'll take a rain check. Alas, the acclaim poured in; they said Deschanel's voice was silky-smooth. They said Ward's country-rock touches brought out a 60s-rock brightness to Deschanel's lyrics. They said it was one of the best records of the year. Paste went so far as to call it the best album of 2008 (which I noted in my post of the best '08 records), a selection that I deemed nearly blasphemous. I avoided it as long as I could, but in the end, crumbled at my own demise: I bought the album for my parents for Christmas, thinking they'd like it. And they absolutely loved it. Played it during family dinner. Played it while washing dishes. Listened to it all the time. And of course, I realized I liked it too; is it the best record of 2008? No. But it is a fun trip into 60s-pop, a catchy record with some Beatles' covers to boot. So there. I like it. Now let's move on.

MGMT, Oracular Spectacular: You might know this electronic-rock duo as "that one band" that sings "that one song" from "that one movie" or "that one commercial." That's right, MGMT is responsible for "Time to Pretend," a really frickin' catchy dance number that was featured in the movie "21" and, I believe, in some car commercial (at least that's what I was told when blaring the song in my car for my roommates thinking I was hip, a realization that left me sad, confused, and very un-hip.) Anyway, truth is that this 2008 record (remember when I said there were four albums from 2008 that deserved to make my "best of" list? This and "Volume One" are them. Sorry I forgot to keep going with that) has a lot more to like than just that song, especially "Kids" and "Electric Feel," both of which are better than "Time to Pretend," in my opinion. The album gets a little soft in the second half, but ultimately is worth a listen, if only you want to dance around and get a little sweaty in the warm spring air.

Welp, that's all for now, but stay tuned for more.

(It must be noted here that this post took me four days to write. Now here I am, on Thursday, and it's nearly 60 degrees outside. Yes, welcome to Ohio. Anyway, today might be the perfect day to drive around blasting some of these tunes out the window. And I'm listening heavily to "Merriweather Post Pavilion" and "No Line on the Horizon," which I will share my views on soon.)

More on Mumford

2009-02-27T15:56:00.000-05:00

My last post (which was a while ago, I apologize) featured a video by the young British band Mumford & Sons. I had seen the video (a performance of their song "Roll Away Your Stone") only once, but felt the need to share it with anybody who cared; their bluegrass melodies and pained, spiritual lyrics absolutely blew me away.

After I posted the video, I followed up on the band by tracking down two of their EPs - "Mumford & Sons" and "Love Your Ground" - and was stunned by the results. Mumford & Sons are legitimately on pace with some of the best American, modern-day bluegrass acts (yes, the British are once again beating America at their own musical game.) They combine everything you love in bluegrass - four-part harmonies, banjo, mandolin, spirituality - with singer Marcus Mumford's Dave Matthews-like yelp (I say that in a good way, don't fret all you DMB haters) and create something that has been compared to everything from The Avett Brothers to Coldplay.

As I listened to them over and over again, I was struck by how impassioned Mumford's lyrics were, lyrics that he's apparently delivering to God (sorry, but nobody who sings, "It seems that all my bridges have been burned/But you say 'That's exactly how this grace thing works'," is singing to his girlfriend.) Each song presents Mumford's hesitance at giving all of himself to his God, even though he knows it's what he needs to do. His attempts at compromising his love for God and his love for this world are achingly human, and are realized in these beautiful songs.

Below I've posted videos and lyrics of my four favorite Mumford & Sons songs; watch them, hear them, and read their spiritual journeys. It's really extraordinary.

"White Blank Page"

Can you lie next to her
And give her your heart, your heart
As well as your body
And can you lie next to her
And confess your love, your love
As well as your folly
And can you kneel before the king
And say I’m clean, I’m clean

But tell me now, where was my fault
In loving you with my whole heart
Oh tell me now, where was my fault
In loving you with my whole heart

A white blank page and a swelling rage, rage
You did not think when you sent me to the grave, the grave
You desired my attention but denied my affections, my affections

But tell me now, where was my fault
In loving you with my whole heart
Oh tell me now, where was my fault
In loving you with my whole heart

Lead me to the truth and I will follow you with my whole life
Lead me to the truth and I will follow you with my whole life

"Awake My Soul"

How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes
I struggle to find any truth in your lies
And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know
This weakness I feel I must finally show

Lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all
But lend me your heart and I'll just let you fall
Lend me your eyes I can change what you see
But your soul you must keep, totally free

In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die
Where you invest your love, you invest your life
In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die
Where you invest your love, you invest your life

Awake my soul, awake my soul
Awake my soul
You were made to meet your maker
Awake my soul, awake my soul
Awake my soul
You were made to meet your maker
You were made to meet your maker

"Hold On to What You Believe"

I can’t promise you that I won’t let you down
And I
I can’t promise you that I will be the only one around
When your hope falls down
But we’re young
Open flowers in the windy fields of this war-torn world
And love
This city breathes the plague of loving things more than their creators

I ran away
I could not take the burden of both me and you
It was too fast
Casting love on me as if it were a spell I could not break
When it was a promise I could not make

But what if I was wrong?

But hold on to what you believe in the light
When the darkness has robbed you of all your sight

And now this land
Means less and less to me without you breathing through its trees
At every turn
The water runs away from me and the halo disappears
And the hole when you’re not near

So what if I was wrong?

But hold on to what you believe in the light
When the darkness has robbed you of all your sight

So hold on to what you believed in the light

"Roll Away Your Stone"

Roll away your stone I will roll away mine
Together we can see what we will find
Don't leave me alone at this time
For I am afraid of what I will discover inside

You told me that I would find a hole
Within the fragile substance of my soul
And I have filled this void with things unreal
And all the while my character it steals

Darkness is a harsh term don't you think
Yet it dominates the things I see

It seems that all my bridges have been burned
But you say 'That's exactly how this grace thing works’
It's not the long walk home that will change this heart
But the welcome I receive with every start

Darkness is a harsh term don't you think
And yet it dominates the things I see
Darkness is a harsh term don't you think
And yet it dominates the things I see

Stars hide your fires
For these here are my desires
And I won't give them up to you this time around
And so I will be found
With my stake stuck in the ground
Marking the territory of this newly impassioned soul

And you, you've gone too far this time
You have neither reason nor rhyme
With which to take this soul that is so rightfully mine

Can I get an Amen?

2009-01-27T00:09:00.000-05:00

I just discovered Mumford and Sons. Literally have listened to this only once. But I've got to get it out there.

This is a live take on their tune "Roll Away Your Stone."

Whoa.

22

2009-01-22T12:04:00.000-05:00

Well, my friends, it's that time of year again: I am about to become one full year older. This year's magic number is 22, a pointless year to celebrate were it not for the fact that it's the age at which I will graduate college (sigh.)

Anyway, you might remember that for last year's birthday celebration, I honored my 21 favorite albums of all time. I slaved tirelessly over my choices, and came out the other end confident in (most of) my selections.

Of course, only days after the list, I realized that some of it was full of crap. I am, after all, a music journalist, and will never be fully satisfied with my choices.

This year I will attempt to remedy my failed list o' 21, and will issue a list o' 22; my awesomely fantastic totally rock 'n' roll Top 22 Favorite Albums of All Time!!!!!

(pause for dramatic reaction)

Oh, but this time I'm only going to make it as a list. Seriously, finding pictures for all 21 last year - on top of writing a brief blurb about each - took forever. If you want an explanation and/or picture, just ask.

And another thing: last year I was careful to put albums that had significant meaning to me on the list, regardless of whether or not I still enjoy the record. I also tried to avoid repeat offenders. That was dumb. What you're going to get here is my down-and-dirty these-records-rock-my-world-every-time-I-listen-to-them list.

And, finally (I promise): some records are more recent selections, meaning I may be overreacting a teenie bit on them. But if that is true, I will remedy it with my list o' 23.

The Top 22 Favorite Albums of All Time!!!!! list

1. Sufjan Stevens, Seven Swans
2. Radiohead, OK Computer
3. U2, Joshua Tree
4. Sufjan Stevens, Greetings from Michigan!
5. Sufjan Stevens, Illinois
6. The Avett Brothers, Emotionalism
7. Radiohead, The Bends
8. Neutral Milk Hotel, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea
9. The Beatles, The White Album
10. Bonnie "Prince" Billy, Master and Everyone
11. The Clash, London Calling
12. Bob Marley, Legend
13. Bon Iver, For Emma, Forever Ago
14. Arcade Fire, Funeral
15. Josh Ritter, Animal Years
16. M. Ward, Post War
17. Andrew Bird, Armchair Apocrypha
18. Great Lake Swimmers, Ongiara
19. Elliott Smith, From a Basement on the Hill
20. Phosphorescent, Pride
21. The Avett Brothers, Mignonette
22. Coldplay, A Rush of Blood to the Head

Honorable Mentions: Beck, Sea Change; The Shins, Chutes Too Narrow; Band of Horses, Cease to Begin; The White Stripes, Elephant; Weezer, Weezer (The Blue Album); U2, Achtung Baby; U2, All That You Can't Leave Behind

One reason (of many) I'm glad I don't smoke

2009-01-21T11:43:00.000-05:00

Being able to keep the windows of my car completely shut on days like today.

To add some more (Best of 08 redux) pt. 2

2009-01-20T13:03:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I realize I only mentioned in the last post one album from '08 that was left off my top 10 list, even though I said there were four. So sue me. I ran out of time.

Anyway, here's one more album from 2008 that deserves to be mentioned on my "best of" list.

Damien Jurado, Caught in the Trees: The Seattle singer-songwriter's eighth full-length is a rather bittersweet affair, considering he wrote and recorded it after splitting with his wife of 13 years, but Jurado has channeled his pain into a 13-track folk-rock beauty, from angry tracks like "Sheets" ("Is he still coming around like an injured bird needing a nest?/A place to rest his head in a song you'll regret/Lord knows I don't want to compete/But I still sleep in the very sheets he's been in"), to the soul-bearing, cello-laden ballad "Everything Trying" ("And I would come back and admit that it wasn't your fault/But I'm tired and unwilling to be the only one who was wrong/And I would sail back to you.") It's a painful record, but through it all you hear Jurado's attempt at moving on, and in that there is something very raw and beautiful. The building piano, cello, and acoustic guitar don't hurt, either.

Check out more here.

To add some more (Best of 08 redux)

2009-01-16T15:43:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, I posted my overly-extensive Top 10 Best Albums of 08 list. I mentioned in that post how much I labor over my "best-of" choices; I don't want just any albums to be in your Top 10. You gotta make 'em count.

Anyway, since posting that list I've since discovered/rediscovered four albums that I now believe could be included. Two of them were released late in the year (thus not squeezing into many "best-of" lists), and two were released earlier in the year and were staples on several such lists (I just didn't give them a chance until recently.)

The four:

Welcome Wagon, Welcome to the Welcome Wagon: It's no secret that I have a small man-crush on Sufjan Stevens (seriously, the man is extraordinary), so it's no surprise that something he's affiliated with moves me as much as this debut does. The husband-wife duo of Vito and Monique Aiuto, aka the Welcome Wagon, have much to owe Sufjan, their friend who signed them to his label (Asthmatic Kitty), played nearly every backing instrument on the album (which he produced), and then gave them booming publicity simply at the drop of his name. With or without Sufjan, though, the album is remarkable, equating to Sufjan's work on his phenomenal album Illinois, but if all of the lyrics were about Jesus.
Oh Jesus, you say? Yes, Jesus. Vito Aiuto happens to be the Reverend Vito Aiuto, a small-church preacher from Brooklyn with a guitar to strum and wife to croon. The passion and soul that the Aiuto's find in Jesus - the beauty, the love - is dripping from the music, from the intimate ballad "Up On a Mountain" to the stomping gospel tune "But for You Who Fear My Name," probably the best track on the album. Pushing each song are blues guitar riffs, gospel choir praises, and brass instruments to boot, all of which underscore the joyous celebration the Aituo's successfully shout towards the Man Upstairs. This, to me, is true worship music, the kind that doesn't just riff on a catchy melody, but which cries from its knees the power and majesty of our God.

Click here for more.
Also, Sufjan is blogging about the Welcome Wagon over at his website; highly recommended.

The Cold (woe is me)

2009-01-16T01:28:00.000-05:00

Times like these make me really wish that ski masks were socially acceptable.

Oh and happy New Year, by the way.

New Years Resolution(s)

2008-12-31T14:43:00.001-05:00

Commit to a diet.
Lose weight.
Say to myself for the first time, "Damn, you look good."
Figure out how to save money.
Figure out how to earn money.
Combine the previous two resolutions into great wealth.
Donate more money/tithe (so much for that last resolution.)
Learn the stock market.
Avoid the stock market.
Be more helpful for friends/family/employers.
Spend more time with people.
Meet more people.
Stay in touch with past people.
Drum more.
Learn new things on drums.
Figure out how to tune my drums.
Learn new songs on guitar.
Stop playing the same songs on guitar over and over.
Finally write that awesome Number 1 hit that I always swear I'm capable of.
Keep a diary.
Take note of everything going on around me.
Improve my memory.
Combine previous three resolutions into killer essays/books/articles.
Learn new talents.
Commit to new talents I try to learn.
Find confidence.
Be bolder.
Be stronger (physically, spiritually, emotionally...)
Be awesomer.
Create new words like "awesomer."
Find a job.
Find a job.
Find a job.
Define "independent."
Figure out how to say goodbye to Athens.
Do everything I've always wanted to do in Athens.
Cave and finally buy a Blue Eagle t-shirt and Donkey bumper sticker.
Find a new residence.
Figure out my life.

King of the Mountain (Best of 08)

2008-12-16T14:47:00.000-05:00

High Fidelity is one of my favorite movies. I feel like so much of my life is represented in it: record collecting, a life defined by music, romance, Chicago (though not the fact that the lead character is a hopeless, depressive music snob. I like to think I'm not hopeless and depressive.) The part of the movie I find I relate to the most, though, is the lead characters' incessant need to rank everything (mostly music) into Top 5 lists, and to spend a countless amount of time arguing the results.

I do this a lot, usually with music. You never know when someone will ask you what your favorite five records of the new millennium are (Sufjan Stevens' Illinois, Arcade Fire's Funeral, White Stripes' Elephant, Coldplay's A Rush of Blood to the Head, and Beck's Sea Change are my current lineup, for the record.)

So now is the time of year when Top 5 lists (or Top 10, Top 50, Top 100, etc.) are most prominent - the end of the year. "Best of 08" lists are everywhere, ranking everything from the past year that we were all supposed to have loved. These lists will have you believe that their tops are the tops of the tops, and explain in convincing (and often arrogant) fashion that you've loved nothing unless you love what they love.

I used to get upset when I read these lists; I couldn't believe certain publications would have the audacity to leave certain things off their list, while putting others entirely too high. I'd argue and argue until I was blue in the face why they were wrong. Nowadays I don't let myself get too hot and bothered about it; their opinion is their opinion, that's fine. I will, however, still argue their selections. (Heretofore everything else mentioned is regarding music.)

For example, Pitchfork was way too obsessed with disco and dance this year. Rolling Stone had no business putting the Jonas Brothers in their Top 50. And Paste? Making She & Him's
Volume 1 Number 1 when few publications even had it on their radar? And putting TV on the Radio at Number 50? No excuses!

As always, I'm left to create my own "Top" list that rights the wrongs of the "professionals" (whose lists have been accumulated here.) And I'm doing it here because I don't get to do it in the newspaper anymore (RIP, Athens Insider.)

This year is an interesting year for me to pick a "Top" list for music, particularly because not a whole lot completely wowed me (except, of course, for this record.) Last year featured a solid batch that was really tough to choose from; of Paste's Top 25 records, I owned 16 of them. This year, I only own 11 of their Top 50. Alas, I shall try.

Without further ado, my 10 favorite records of 2008:

1. Bon Iver, For Emma, Forever Ago - We can all thank the ex-girlfriend of Wisconsin songwriter Justin Vernon for helping produce the best, most beautiful - and painful - record of 2008. As the story goes, after said ex-girlfriend (Emma?) broke up with Vernon, he retreated to a cabin in the woods of Wisconsin for a winter to create this heart-wrenching, epic confession. It's bare - mostly acoustic guitar and Vernon's sad croon - but the double-tracked vocals and layered harmonies build it into a strong stance of faith for Vernon, a proclamation that through the darkness of loss, there is still light on the other side. All I know is that if Vernon's rebound is this gorgeous, I can't wait to hear what he can create once reconciled from the loss.
This choice is particularly bittersweet for me, considering I was supposed to see him live in Chicago tonight. Alas, money/stress/weather prevented that trip, and I'm left to wait anxiously for his next tour.

Best Track: "Skinny Love"
Sample Line: I tell my love to wreck it all/Cut out all the ropes and let me fall
For more: http://www.boniver.org

2. Fleet Foxes, Fleet Foxes - The first sign that the full-length debut from Seattle's Fleet Foxes would be awesome is the album cover art - seriously, whoa. All medieval paintings aside, this 11-song affair harks back to the Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young days of pretty, harmonized folk, as the five dudes (nay, foxes) supply airy, ethereal vocals atop stomping, minimal percussion and bouncy acoustic guitar. All in all it's cheery folk parading lyrics of fantastical imagery - and yet not nearly as jarring and nerdy as that would sound. No, this album is not going to rewrite the books on indie folk, but it is a refreshing take on folk of decades past, when soaring, harmonized vocals were all you needed to hook a listener.

Best Track: "White Winter Hymnal"
Sample Line: Through the forest/Down to your grave/Where the birds wait/And the tall grasses wave/They do not/Know you anymore
For more: http://www.myspace.com/fleetfoxes

3. TV on the Radio, Dear Science - Back in 2006, TV on the Radio topped just about every "Best Of" list with their indie art-rock hit "Return to Cookie Mountain." While that record scored more points with critics than fans with its creative mix of electronics, noise, and rock 'n' roll, "Dear Science" brings it back to the catchy dance-rock we knew they had in 'em. Disguising political, satirical, and all-around down-trodden lyrics with upbeat rock and synthesized melodies, TV on the Radio here further the sexy new chapter of rock they're at the forefront of - indie dance-rock - while bringing it back a little closer to the fans who eat it up.

Best Track: "Golden Age"
Sample Line: Give it up/'stead of grabbing for decay/What we viewed as gold/I believe pollutes this space/And its grace ascending/Like a snake up your tree/Up your happy ending understanding/All your supposed to be
For more: http://www.tvontheradio.com/

4. The Avett Brothers, The Gleam II - While this isn't a popular pick on "Best Of" lists this year (mostly because it's an EP bridging their last phenomenal record, "Emotionalism," with their next, untitled, Rick Rubin-produced effort) the second "Gleam" EP by North Carolina's Scott and Seth Avett had me listening more than almost every other record this year. It's a six-song collection of stripped-bare ballads, veering away from the bluegrass-punk the Brothers specialize in. What you have hear is not a sample of the Avett's down-South acoustic musical wizardry, but rather a showing of their extraordinary songwriting skills. A good sign of things to come.

Best Track: "Murdered in the City"
Sample Line: Make sure my sister knows I loved her/Make sure my mother knows the same/Always remember there was nothing worth sharing/Like the love that let us share our name
For more: http://theavettbrothers.com/site.php

5. Sigur Ros, Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust - Prior to the release of this, Sigur Ros' fifth full-length (translation of title: "With a buzz in our ears we play endlessly"), the word was out that they'd shifted musical directions. While the their previous work had been electric, ethereal soundscapes of epic proportions (not unusual for songs to wander past the 8 or 9 minute mark), this was to be their "indie rock" effort. While that's no more apparent than on opening track "Gobbledigook," with its acoustic-pop brevity (3 minutes!), most of the rest of the album does slide back into old Sigur Ros ways. Of course, that's hardly a negative thing; the warmth of the Icelandic band's soaring songs is always good for a soothing, introspective calm in my ears.

Best Track: "Gobbledigook"
Sample Line: þú hatta fjúka lætur í loft/þú regnhlíf snú á hvolf allt of oft/ó nei, ekki, ó (don't worry, I don't know what it means either)
For more: http://www.sigurros.com/main/home/

6. Vampire Weekend, Vampire Weekend - These Ivy League dudes were all the rage for about two weeks back in January, when they were ushed to forefront of the indie scene as the "next big thing." Of course, it's a ruthless indie world out there, and they were kicked to the curb shortly thereafter, having been dismissed as "sell-outs" at the hands of the blogosphere even before their superb debut LP was released. It was all very confusing, signaling the potential dangers of the blogging world in creating a monster out of something that shouldn't be. This record also introduced the indie world to the term "Afrobeat," supplying yet another word to the dictionary of overly abused genre descriptors. In the end, Vampire Weekend did make a really phenomenal record, and will probably rise again (with or without the bloggers.)

Best Track: "Oxford Comma"
Sample Line: Why would you speak to me that way/Especially when I always said that I/Haven't got the words for you/All your diction dripping with disdain/Through the pain/I always tell the truth
For more: http://www.vampireweekend.com/

7. M83, Saturdays=Youth - French electronic artist Anthony Gonzalez provided this airy synth-pop addition to 2008, a bit more mainstream than his past works. While it still drowns in synth drones from time to time, it also includes more hooks and catchy melodies, like in single "Kim & Jessie." The sound is much more bright and optimistic than his previous records, but don't let it fool you - the lyrics are still hauntingly depressive.

Best Track: "Graveyard Girl"
Sample Line: Death is her boyfriend/She spits on summers and smiles to the night/She collects crowns made of black roses/But her heart is made of bubble gum
For more: http://www.myspace.com/m83

8. Frightened Rabbit, The Midnight Organ Fight - Though this Scottish band has all of the elements needed to become the next Snow Patrol (full alt-rock sound with catchy hooks), they trash them in favor of self-deprecating laments and pessimistic tales about how poor the hand is that they've been dealt. Alas, with the world crashing down all around them, these Scots still manage to pull off a deceivingly uptempo record brimming even with a few dim signs of potential hope. It's as if no matter how many times they get knocked down, they begrudgingly force themselves to get back up again - if only for the sake of getting knocked down once again.

Best Track: "The Modern Leper"
Sample Line: Is that you in front of me?/Coming back for even more of exactly the same?/You must be a masochist/To love a modern leper on his last leg/On his last leg For more: http://www.myspace.com/frightenedrabbit

9. The Walkmen, You & Me - Mixing low-fi indie rock with garage blues, the latest from NYC's The Walkmen has a sexy sort of soul, passion, and desire rolled up into a burst of rock 'n' roll. Lead singer Hamilton Leithauser's distinct warble wails over the simple instrumentation, driving an otherwise straightforward blues-rock record into classic indie rock territory.

Best Track: "Red Moon"
Sample Line: The red moon is rising behind you/The ocean is pounding away/I held up a light to the smoke but/The redness blows it away/And the night is cold/And the clouds go by/Tomorrow morning/I hope to be home/By your side
For more: http://www.myspace.com/thewalkmen

10. Coldplay, Viva la Vida - Okay, I know this isn't exactly a trendy pick outside of the Grammy's/Rolling Stone/every layman music fan, but you have to hand it to Coldplay - they made a pretty good record to follow up their so-so "X&Y." After that record came across as a much-recycled version of their masterpiece "A Rush of Blood to the Head," Coldplay didn't stick to their over-played guns and keep on with the same; they figured out a way to change it up. Now, I'm still weary of what Coldplay has become (success has gone to their heads; Chris Martin may or may not be turning into a wacko), but "Viva la Vida" was an incredibly fresh and enjoyable record.

Best Track: "Lost!"
Sample Line: Just because I'm hurting/Doesn't mean I'm hurt/Doesn't mean I didn't get what I deserve/No better and no worse/I just got lost/Every river that I've tried to cross/And every door I ever tried was locked/Ooh-Oh, And I'm just waiting till the shine wears off...
For More: http://www.coldplay.com/

Some music for your (happy) Thanksgiving

2008-11-27T16:14:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was Thanksgiving Day, and I have a lot to be thankful for. Family. Friends. Beautiful girlfriend. A job (albeit a minimum-wage student desk job.) A forthcoming college degree (though we'll see in seven months how thankful I should actually be for that.)

One thing I am especially grateful for in this world is music. I've said before that there are two things I find constant in life: God and music. I'm not saying that God and music are the only two things worth living for, but they are certainly two things that will never go away (or at least, not until I'm deaf.) When I am down and when seemingly nobody understands what I'm going through, I can always find comfort in them.

So today I honor the music that is defining this period in my life. If you know me you know that my memory tends to work through music; all of the music I own and listen to defines certain chapters in my life. There are the metal stages (high school), folk stages (winters), punk stages (summers), techno stages (long story.) I even keep track on my iTunes individual playlists from the quarters in college, because each one of them tells a story of what my life was like in that time period.

So here we are now, rounding the corner into winter. Athens is dead and will be for the next six weeks, leaving me home alone working and procrastinating on Christmas shopping. This time of year is always very mellow for me, and my listening habits tend to reflect that; slow and melancholy, the only way you can define Athens in the winter.

That all being said, here's a look at what I'm listening to now:

Stars, Sad Robots: Excellent name for this six-song EP, and somehow, when you listen to it, you kind of get the idea why it was named that. Stars tend to create light-hearted indie pop, but this EP is what happens when you drown that in droning synths and sadness. I heard someone say a few months ago it's perfect 'fall music,' but I'd have to argue that the melancholy here demotes it to see-your-breath, leave-less-tree sorts of introspection; in other words, this is good 'winter music.'

Check the album out here.

Joe Pug, Nation of Heat: Another solid EP, this is the debut from young Chicago singer-songwriter Joe Pug. Pug assembles his acoustic-guitar picking, harmonica, and gravelly voice into literary folk music not dissimilar to Josh Ritter and even Bob Dylan (for comparison's sake.) Key track here is "Hymn #101," a sweeping confession of a song that features one of my recent favorite lines: "They say I come with less than I should rightfully possess / I say the more I buy, the more I'm bought / And the more I'm bought, the less I cost."

Check it out here.

Denison Witmer, Carry the Weight: I discovered Denison about a year ago when he played Baker Center here in Athens. I bought two of his records, Safe Away and Are You a Dreamer?, that day, and he has since become something of a favorite for me and Katie. His stuff is the kind of singer-songwriter acoustic pop that you listen to on a cold, quiet day - hushed finger-picking, oft-near-whisper vocals. Though a lot of his stuff is more depressing than I'd usually ask for (there's a reason he's been compared with Elliott Smith) I find I retreat to Denison more than a lot of other artists. His new effort though, Carry the Weight, is something of a change of pace. This album features a full band on nearly every track, as Denison veers more towards indie pop and away from acoustic, maybe in an effort to redefine and recategorize his stuff. It is catchy pop music, but not the Denison I expect. Good stuff, but not necessarily great - and not a good place to start listening to him. (For that, check out this website.)

Check out Carry the Weight here.

The Innocence Mission, Now the Day is Over: I stumbled onto this gem from folk quartet The Innocence Mission while browsing around eMusic. When I played it for Katie, she suggested I don't tell my friends I got it. Why? Because it's an album of 13 lullabies, including classics like "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," "What a Wonderful World," and "Edelweiss." Here they're stripped down about as much as they can be, perfect for the sleeping children this album was intended for - and for the mood I tend mellow into during break. Can't wait to watch the snow fall while listening to this stuff.

Check it out here.

More chill music to come!

Josh Ritter - Literary Folk Genius

2008-10-27T14:53:00.000-04:00

Just as I find myself more and more fascinated with words and the various combinations in which we assemble them, I realize that I'm falling more and more for music with a literary edge. Used to be I just liked music that sounded good; now I'm drawn to the stories artists portray through a combination of lyric and tune (I think I just didn't give enough of my attention to the words of songs when I was younger. My mistake.)

I post on Sufjan Stevens a lot because he is so amazing at this sort of craft. He grabs my initial attention with a gentle hook or a lovely orchestration, but then he wrenches at my gut with soul-stirring revelations and beautiful tales of real, human emotion. This stuff usually captivates me so intensely because it is stuff I can relate to; I see the beauty in the world that some artists sing of. I feel the hope, the longing, the joy, the pain that they sing of.

That being said, I think Josh Ritter is one of the most brilliant songwriters of this generation. His music is wonderful - I think it can be dubbed 'folk,' though musical genre descriptions are way too broad these days - but the real kicker in his music is his words.

My personal association with Ritter began last year, when I bought his latest album, The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter (which I bought, interestingly, because some critics compared him to Sufjan.) I liked it a lot but probably didn't give it the proper attention I should have. Then, this April, I was fortunate enough to meet and talk with Josh after his show in Athens. The guy was so genuine and kind (the dude hugged us all), and his show so incredible, that I started digging deeper into his work.

The more I listened to Ritter, the more I realized that he is a genius (which very well could be true considering, according to his bio, both of his parents are neuroscientists.) His lyrics are mesmerizing, complex tales of hope, loss, love, and so much more, but the words don't get you on first listen; as with poetry, you really have to dissect what he is trying to say. When you do this, you find some startlingly profound stories drenched in raw, human emotion.

I could go on and on about how captivating literary music like Ritter's is for me, but you probably get the idea. It kind of goes back to my theory that the defining characteristics of our world are love and beauty; some artists seem to have figured this out better than others.

I'll leave you, though, with lyrics and a video of one of Ritter's songs, 'Girl in the War,' from his album The Animal Years. I have my own theories on what it's about, but feel free to craft your own; after all, as with poetry, figuring out what it all means is half the fun.

"Peter said to Paul you know all those words we wrote
Are just the rules of the game and the rules are the first to go
But now talking to God is Laurel begging Hardy for a gun
I got a girl in the war man I wonder what it is we done

Paul said to Peter you got to rock yourself a little harder
Pretend the dove from above is a dragon and your feet are on fire
But I got a girl in the war Paul the only thing I know to do
Is turn up the music and pray that she makes it through

Because the keys to the Kingdom got lost inside the Kingdom
And the angels fly around in there but we can't see them
I got a girl in the war Paul I know that they can here me yell
If they can't find a way to help her they can go to Hell
If they can't find a way to help her they can go to Hell

Paul said to Peter you got to rock yourself a little harder
Pretend the dove from above is a dragon and your feet are on fire
But I got a girl in the war Paul her eyes are like champagne
They sparkle bubble over and in the morning all you got is rain
They sparkle bubble over and in the morning all you got is rain
They sparkle bubble over and in the morning all you got is rain."

Smells

2008-10-24T10:13:00.000-04:00

I am fascinated by how smell invokes memory. For instance, just now I was walking across my office and caught a scent that reminded me of a concoction I made with a toy chemistry set when I was a kid. I probably haven't thought of that chemistry set for ten years or so.

And I can't tell you how many times I've smelled something and thought, "This smells like Gak." Remember Gak? Crazy stuff.

sigh

2008-10-22T11:56:00.000-04:00

This was on CNN.com today:

Palin: God will do the right thing on election day
FINDLAY, Ohio (CNN) –- In an interview posted online Wednesday, Sarah Palin told Dr. James Dobson of “Focus on the Family” that she is confident God will do “the right thing for America” on Nov. 4.

Dobson asked the vice presidential hopeful if she is concerned about John McCain’s sagging poll numbers, but Palin stressed that she was “not discouraged at all.”

“To me, it motivates us, makes us work that much harder,” she told the influential Christian leader, whose radio show reaches tens of millions of listeners daily. “And it also strengthens my faith because I know at the end of the day putting this in God’s hands, the right thing for America will be done, at the end of the day on Nov. 4.”

Dobson praised Palin's opposition to abortion rights, to which the governor affirmed that she is “hardcore pro-life.”

She said giving birth to her son Trig, who has Down syndrome, has given her the opportunity “to be walking the walk and not just talking the talk” in her long-standing opposition to abortion.
Dobson — who has never been warm to McCain — asked Palin if her “private conversations” with the Republican nominee had revealed a true commitment to the Republican party’s pro-life platform.

Palin assured Dobson: “John McCain is solidly there on those solid planks in our platform that build the right agenda for America.”

She also thanked her supporters — including Dobson, who said he and his wife were asking “for God’s intervention” on election day — for their prayers of support.

“It is that intercession that is so needed,” she said. “And so greatly appreciated. And I can feel it too, Dr. Dobson. I can feel the power of prayer, and that strength that is provided through our prayer warriors across this nation. And I so appreciate it.”

The interview was taped on Monday by phone while Palin was campaigning in Colorado Springs, where “Focus on the Family” is headquartered.

My words but not

2008-10-17T10:30:00.000-04:00

I like words. It's why I write a lot and am a journalism major. I like the way they fit together and I like thinking of various combinations of them.

But I don't think that all of my words are from me. Ever had a random sentence stuck in your head for no good reason? One that sounds really good or just makes a lot of sense to you? Maybe it's just me, since I tend to think in abstract sentences a lot, but oftentimes deep thoughts seem to pop up out of nowhere.

Anyway, sometimes when I get thoughts in my head like that - ones that pop up seemingly out of nowhere - I like to grab a pen and write them down because I figure they may be important or at least noteworthy. And sometimes I just keep adding to them other words that come to my head, other things that seem to make sense to me.

It's called journaling (journalism? Hmm...)

So here's some stuff that I wrote down in my journal this past (particularly good) Monday... intriguing enough that I felt like sharing in case anybody else feels the same way. I really feel these words and live these words, and I'm thankful for them.

"I'm alive right now. Like, living and loving life... In my heart, in my mind, in my very being I love and am loved.

I like to feel. I like to live. I like to love. And I love life. A life granted and blessed by Jesus Christ. It is beautiful.

Sometimes I think the concept of beauty is the very meaning of life. It is at least the most wonderful thing I can think of.

And this beautiful world deserves more appreciation from me. Satan keeps throwing the pitfalls and despairs of normalcy and simplicity in the way of my path towards life, towards love, towards righteousness. I long to stride across these things and continue to pursue a more perfect being.

I am in love. And I am loved. If this world offered me nothing else, I would still have love, and this love would still offer me joy.

Celebrate the life you live, for there is beauty and there is love.

Praise be to God."

(One result when you type "beautiful" into Google Images)

Red America

2008-10-13T16:07:00.000-04:00

I have seen Red America. And it exists in Lima, Ohio.

I went to Katie's hometown this past weekend to enjoy a relaxing weekend away from the craziness of school. It was a great weekend - albeit rushed - celebrating Katie's mom's birthday. Except for the parts when I was incredibly disturbed.

Lima is northwest of Columbus, south of Toledo - Republican country. I knew this, but I guess I didn't really expect to see what I did, especially coming from a town like Athens. McCain-Palin signs outnumbered Obama-Biden signs probably 100 to 1. Some yards had 4 or 5 McCain signs.

Ok, I thought to myself, so they like McCain more than Obama. They have that right (even if I disagree with them.)

But then I saw one of the scariest things I've ever seen before.

At the Christian book store Katie and I stopped at looking for a devotional to do together (turns out there aren't too many of those for pre-married couples), there was a best-seller shelf right at the front door.

And right on top was the biography of Sarah Palin.

Now, I've resisted from talking about politics here, mostly because I get way too hot and bothered when I talk about politics and I'd rather not have to type it all out. I could write a whole manifesto about what is wrong with our country (hmm maybe manifesto is the wrong word...) but I just don't have the time. And I will continue to hold back here - if you want to know my opinion, feel free to call me or visit me and we'll have a chat.

Suffice it to say, I find the McCain-Palin ticket - and for that matter, the Republican party - incredibly terrifying and divisive, and I find even more terrifying the Chrisitian response to it all. The right-wing, Evangelical sentiment right now is, I believe, the opposite of Christ-like.

Jesus Christ did not teach hate. He did not teach divisiveness. He did not teach what is happening right now in our country.

Did Jesus Christ teach the Democratic platform? Well, duh, of course not.

But I believe He would expect more from the United States of America right now.

OK that's all I'll say now, but like I said, I can go on and on if you feel like debatin'. Just message or e-mail or call or whatever.

I'll leave you with a satisfying clip.

There are better days

2008-09-09T09:18:00.000-04:00

Some days are better than others.

In the days that seem to hold you down and suffocate you - those days where life's cruel sense of humor gets the better of you - you try to claw your way out by distracting yourself, denying that fire of stress, anger, and sadness that burns at you from within.

But that fire can only be suppressed by confronting it. And usually you can't confront it alone.

It's the constants in life that will fight the fire with you. Those things in life that show you nothing but love and peace, tranquility and purpose.

I'm not trying to wax philosophical here, just saying I'm having one of those days. By recognizing the humanness and worldliness of what I'm going through and by turning to my constants (God and music), I was able to turn a miserable 25-minute walk to work into a therapy session.

This song did a world of good to me this morning:

"Oh God, hold me now
Oh Lord, hold me now
There's no other man who could raise the dead
So do what you can to anoint my head

Oh God, where are you now?
Oh Lord, say somehow
The devil is hard on my face again
The world is a hundred to one again

Would the righteous still remain?
Would my body stay the same?

Oh God, hold me now
Oh God, touch me now
There's no other man who could save the dead
There's no other God to place our head

Would the righteous still remain?
Would my body stay the same?

There's no other man who could raise the dead
So do what you can to anoint my head
Oh God, hold me now
Oh Lord, touch me now."

- 'Oh God, Where are You Now?' by Sufjan Stevens

Here's a video of the song, only for the purpose that you can hear the song (not entirely sure what the graphic is all about.)

It's ok, I know you're jealous

2008-09-03T11:12:00.000-04:00

As Democrats and Republicans waged war against each other over the right to be patriotic, the right to be religious, and the right to be a woman or a black man, one group smote the strategists and the naysayers, rising from the ashes of a fallen America, conquering the minds and the hearts of its people while rocking the socks off the children and the elderly. They dazzled common citizens with a dizzying array of ear-splitting guitar riffs, thundering bass notes and crushing machine-gun drum solos. And through it all they delivered their tropical bretheren into the promise land of a hope-filled future.

That group was Bananarchy.

B-A-N-A-N-Archy from Ryan Schlagbaum on Vimeo.

Mama, I'm comin' home

2008-08-28T10:16:00.000-04:00

Never really read the lyrics to this song, so I now realize how terribly twisted it is. Anywho, here it is for you, by the great Ozzy Osbourne.

To all my friends in Athens, I'm comin' home.

"Times have changed and times are strange
Here I come, but I aint the same
Mama, I'm coming home
Times gone by seem to be
You could have been a better friend to me
Mama, I'm coming home

You took me in and you drove me out
Yeah, you had me hypnotized
Lost and found and turned aroound
By the fire in your eyes

You made me cry, you told me lies
But I cant stand to say goodbye
Mama, I'm coming home
I could be right, I could be wrong
Hurts so bad, its been so long
Mama, I'm coming home

Selfish love yeah were both alone
The ride before the fall
But I'm gonna take this heart of stone
I just got to have it all

Ive seen your face a hundred times
Everyday weve been apart
I dont care about the sunshine, yeah
cause mama, mama, I'm coming home
I'm coming home

You took me in and you drove me out
Yeah, you had me hypnotized
Lost and found and turned around
By the fire in your eyes."

Oh, but it gets better!

2008-08-26T14:07:00.000-04:00

Haha oh man...

God. Have. Mercy.

2008-08-24T18:44:00.001-04:00

Just venting

2008-08-22T13:18:00.000-04:00

Thoughts on life:

Sometimes I hate being a journalist. And now I hate architects (forgive me, Mom; I strongly dislike architects.)

I've spent this summer completing an internship in Chicago, writing for an architecture magazine. Prior to this summer, I didn't know anything about the industry; everything I wrote was a new learning process. Over the course of the last 10 weeks, I've learned plenty (know the difference between an open plenum ceiling and a suspended one? I do), but maybe the most important thing I've learned is that I do not like this industry. And I do not like architects.

The big reason I do not like this industry is that the finer details - which are the details I write about - are just not interesting to me. There is a lot about architecture that is very interesting, and I've had the pleasure of learning all about Chicago architecture in particular. But the little stuff (ceiling systems, glass use, heating/ventilation systems, etc.) is just not that exciting. So I get bored - and distracted - easily.

As for architects, maybe I've just had bad experiences. Either way, every time I've encountered an architect this summer, they seem to look down their nose at me. They think they're something special because they're designing these multi-million-dollar skyscrapers, and apparently I'm nothing but a measly journalist with nothing better to do than to write about what they're doing.

The breaking point was yesterday. I had an interview with two architects that was awkward and embarrassing. The architects acted so perturbed that they had to waste their time with me, and they were so pompous. They made me feel so small, so inferior. And I hated it. Every second of it.

Well I have news for you, architects: I don't give a rat's patoot about what you do. I don't care how many skyscrapers you've designed. You're nothing to me but another Joe Schmo. All I ask is that you look at me the same.

This, on a broader aspect, is the big thing I hate about journalism. There have been so many times that subjects of mine have made me feel like so much less than them. They make me feel so worthless, as if I'm nothing more than an annoying little bug worshipping the ground they walk on by publishing a story on them. I am a waste of their time.

I hate feeling worthless.

I know that part me is just stressing about finding a job that I like and all, but it's legitimately scary that what I want to be when I grow up sometimes makes me feel so...sad. I see a lot of other journalists, and I see that they've just formed a shell to this sort of stuff. They play the role of bully or lapdog and they get the story they need, no big deal.

I don't like being a bully or a lapdog.

Sorry to vent, but this is stressing me out today. And I don't like to stress.

(How I) celebrate our world

2008-08-19T12:22:00.000-04:00

Upon reading over my last post, I guess I should probably clarify in case someone finds it insensitive...

I'm not trying to say that nobody can worship to 'Christian music.' And I'm not trying to say that I've never worshiped to 'Christian music.' AND I'm not trying to say that 'secular music' is always healthy and worshipful. I'm just saying that I usually find God more often in music that is not necessarily considered 'Christian.' That's just how I roll. I'm not trying to say it's fact that 'secular music' is more worshipful than 'Christian music,' I'm just saying that more often than not I turn to certain 'secular music' to connect me more fully with God.

Here are lyrics to another Sufjan Stevens song - in fact, if someone were to ask me what my favorite song were, I'd say it's this one. It's another song that I can find God in, full of hope and beauty.

"I have called you children, I have called you son.
What is there to answer if I'm the only one?
Morning comes in Paradise, morning comes in light.
Still I must obey, still I must invite.
If there's anything to say,
if there's anything to do,
If there's any other way,
I'll do anything for you.

I was dressed embarrassment.
I was dressed in wine.
If you had a part of me, will you take you're time?
Even if I come back, even if I die
Is there some idea to replace my life?
Like a father to impress;
Like a mother's mourning dress,
If you ever make a mess,
I'll do anything for you

I have called you preacher;
I have called you son.
If you have a father or if you haven't one,
I'll do anything for you.
I did everything for you."

- For the Widows in Paradise, for the Fatherless in Ypsilanti

How to celebrate our world

2008-08-12T00:46:00.001-04:00

I don't like 'Christian music.'

I put it in quotations because I don't think there is a such thing as Christian music. A lot of people call certain stuff 'Christian music,' but I don't think there is any kind of music that has a special claim to being Christian. Sure, some artists give a shout-out to God a little more directly than others, but that doesn't mean it's any more Christian than other stuff. It just means they're trying to tap into an existing wealth of 'good' Christians who listen to 'good' music, and by doing so relegate themselves to specific record store sections and radio stations.

But the music we have defined as 'Christian,' to me, too often forgets that you don't have to just regurgitate worship songs to really celebrate God, and you don't have to beat a dead horse by making it all sound the same. We don't need every song to be, 'God is great, God is good.'

Sometimes we can celebrate God simply by suggesting their is hope in this beautiful world, and by crafting beautiful, unique music to support that message. And that's why I love 'secular music.' I find that 'secular music' often celebrates life more than 'Christian music' by creating songs that remind you how wonderful God's creation is.

Mind you, I don't think it's wrong to listen to 'Christian music.' And I don't believe that all 'secular music' is good. I just find that I can worship God more through 'secular' music than I can through 'Christian.' And I think that Christians too often believe that 'secular music' is from the devil, or that the only music that is worthy is the stuff they've been told is 'Christian.'

So, that being said, here are some of my favorite 'secular' records that offer a message of hope - records through which I find myself connecting with God more than I ever could through any 'Christian' record:

- Michigan by Sufjan Stevens
- Seven Swans by Sufjan Stevens
- Cease to Begin by Band of Horses
- Joshua Tree by U2
- Emotionalism by The Avett Brothers
- Legend by Bob Marley
- A Rush of Blood to the Head by Coldplay

There are more that belong on this list, but for now, this is what I've come up with. These albums are full of hope but also love, beauty, justice, glory, and redemption, and celebrate God even if they don't always credit him directly.

I'll dwell on this topic more in the near future, because I know there is a lot that I'm missing. These are just my thoughts right now. I want to close, though, with the lyrics of a song by Sufjan Stevens. Stevens is, as many folks know, my favorite artist, because he creates songs that are immense and powerful even when they are gentle and vulnerable. He uses entire orchestras of instruments to celebrate life, but his music does not blatantly say, "Hey God, you rock." Rather, Stevens explores the beauties of life through mostly ambiguous messages, because he is trying his best to explain God's glory in the most humanly way possible.

"I'd swim across lake Michigan
I'd sell my shoes
I'd give my body to be back again
In the rest of the room

To be alone with you
To be alone with you
To be alone with you
To be alone with you

You gave your body to the lonely
They took your clothes
You gave up a wife and a family
You gave your goals

To be alone with me
To be alone with me
To be alone with me
You went up on a tree

To be alone with me you went up on the tree

I'll never know the man who loved me."

- To Be Alone With You

Lollapalooza Part 3 (and final reflections)

2008-08-10T17:50:00.000-04:00

Sunday
Sunday was much more chill than Friday and Saturday, as Ben and the gang had gone home and I was left to wander alone among the festival's final acts. I really only had two bands that I cared to see that day - Iron & Wine and Flogging Molly - and was planning to go home before the final headlining acts, Kanye West and Nine Inch Nails, took the stage.

So I took the train in (God bless the weekend passes that let you ride an unlimited amount for $5) and made it to Grant Park just before Iron & Wine took the stage.

Iron & Wine - I&W is a moniker for songwriter Sam Beam, a small man with a lumberjack (or Viking?) beard whose recordings gained popularity because of their uber-hushed, gentle tones (rumor is he recorded his early stuff in a room next to that of his sleeping child, thus the hushed-ness.) Beam's last record, 'The Shepard Dog,' was a change of pace from his previous work, employing more percussion and instrumentation that gave it almost a Mediterranean feel, a move that was neither selling out nor overachieving - it was just good. And proof that the man is one of the best modern songwriters. His live show, I found, must be a change of pace from what he used to do as well: his set at Lollapalooza, as best I can describe it, was jam-band-ish. Which isn't a bad thing, but it also wasn't the greatest. I realize it was Lollapalooza, and a festival of that caliber requires something with a little more pep than your recorded material, but I found that I got kind of bored with the set from time to time (of course maybe I was just distracted by the annoying stoned dude next to me who kept writhing around in some sort of way that I'm sure he considered dancing.) Either way, I was glad to see it, and in all honesty, was impressed that Beam had more tricks up his sleeve than what his early material may have implied. Can't wait to see what he does with it next.

Thankfully, Flogging Molly was playing on the stage closest to Iron & Wine, and right after them (literally right after the last note of Beam's set, Flogging Molly took the stage and kicked off their set) so I didn't have to go far to catch my next desired show.

Flogging Molly - Ah, Flogging Molly - proof that sometimes music is meant to be nothing more than just a ton of fun. These dudes - nay, in the Irish spirit, these bastards - throw one heck of an Irish rock (or Celtic Punk, as it's been called) jamboree, and I was happy to be a part of it. They ripped through a set of fast-paced, fiddle-and-accordion-and-banjo-laced rock tunes, with lead singer Dave King expertly handling the crowd between songs. The crowd was digging it, as I could especially tell following the show, as fans departed literally drenched in sweat. Honestly, I probably would have enjoyed it more if I'd had friends their to dance with (and if I'd put a few back before the show) but I still had a blast, and will happily see them again next time they swing through Ohio. As for their recorded material, I strongly recommend it for those times that you just want to celebrate life, dance, and pump your fist in the air.

After the masses scattered following Flogging Molly's rollicking set, I made my way over to the stage for Girl Talk, a DJ who is huge on the indie circuit and who specializes in mashing up hundreds of popular songs into dance tunes. When I got to the stage, however, I realized it was surrounded by maybe 10,000 ecstatic fans (the stage was set up in an area for maybe half that) so I didn't stick around for long. I heard people danced around stage and had fun though. Oh well.
So I walked back over to the stage Flogging Molly had played on and waited for the next band, The National, to start. The National is a group out of Cincinnati who had their 15 minutes of fame, receiving rave reviews for their album 'The Boxer,' which really is quite good, if you're into that piano-driven alt-rock kind of thing.

The National - Another set that just didn't translate well from record to Lollapalooza stage; these guys are good at what they do, but I got really bored. Maybe it was because I was exhausted from the three-day weekend. I don't know. Either way I just lost interest. They're a great band, but I need a little energy to keep my attention; I need a little something different than what I'm expecting.

And that brings me to my final reflections on my Lollapalooza weekend. Basically, my ticket was paid off from seeing Radiohead and Rage Against the Machine alone. Like I said before, that crossed two bands off of my 'see-before-I-die' list, leaving only U2 left (though I'm sure I'll add more; for instance, I know I have to see Sufjan Stevens live someday.) So I don't regret spending $200 for the weekend, not in the least (though my bank account is aching right now; darn you Perry Ferrell for charging so much!) But I couldn't help but think about Athens as I went from stage to stage last weekend.

You see, I saw a lot of great bands at Lollapalooza, sure, but I guess I found myself expecting to be more impressed by the bands I was excited to see. It wasn't the bands' faults, though; rather, I think it was the fact that I was seeing the bands with 75,000 other people, most of whom were drunk or stoned. It was the fact that the shows weren't personal in the least because every single one of them was crowded by thousands upon thousands of folks, many of whom were there for other bands (or to just get stoned in public without getting in trouble for it.)

For me, a concert is an experience. It's about connecting with the band and all of the other people surrounding you, who are witnessing what you're witnessing. It's about an energy, be it a adrenaline-fueled one or a toned-down emotional one. It's about the setting - the way you feel crowded in with the sound and surrounded by it. And honestly, I just couldn't really get those feelings at Lollapalooza. It had it's moments, but I just couldn't connect with the bands in the setting I was in. I couldn't feel that energy that I love to feel at shows. Like I said in this post and others, I really did enjoy a lot bands. But I would have rather seen them all play in a bar.

Which brings me to my point on Athens. Lollapalooza reminded me how truly great the Athens scene is, and how much more appreciation it deserves. Great bands play at several bars every weekend. They cost a couple bucks to attend, and you crowd into a small venue with other people who came to catch a good show. Not all of the bands are great, but you usually can find an energy to feed off of, be it from the band or the crowd. Every show you go to is an event, not just a performance. And that's where Lollapalooza lacked.

Plus, in Athens, you don't have to run 2 miles to try to catch another band. Everything is right there for you.

Ultimately, as I said, I don't regret going to Lollapalooza. But it has helped me appreciate how lucky I am to have Athens. It's a mini-Lollapalooza in my own backyard, only for way cheaper.

May I take advantage of it all the more this year.

Lollapalooza Part 2

2008-08-07T21:12:00.000-04:00

Saturday (remember that bit about almost not surviving? Yeah...)
Following the crazy bliss of Friday night's Radiohead show (and the 2 a.m. arrival back at my place, having missed the proper train back) my friends and I slept in Saturday. Ben and I were to be the only ones heading back that day - a ticket mix-up left me with both a three-day pass and a Saturday pass, so I gave him the Saturday pass - and we decided to head downtown later in the day, meet up with some other friends, and tour the city a bit.

Ben and I eventually made our way into Lollapalooza on Saturday around 4:30 in the afternoon. We were both pumped - Rage Against the Machine was scheduled to hit the stage at 8:30 that night, and we were both anxious to experience that show (because we're huge fans and because we didn't know what to expect, considering they are a bit, well, heavy.)

The afternoon and evening preceding RATM was a blast (and again, these are not my pictures, just some I borrowed from Lollapalooza reviews on the web.)

Explosions in the Sky - The first band we saw Saturday. These atmospheric prog-rockers are one of my favorite bands; their instrumental tunes are absolutely beautiful, ranging from gentle melodies to heavy riffs. When I think of the term 'soundtrack to my life' literally, these guys come up - their songs often seem to be the perfect musical accompaniment to life's simple moments (and of course, they actually have done a soundtrack, the gorgeous one for 'Friday Night Lights.') Their live show translates their sounds well, which means a lot of head-bobbing and swaying - then the occasional head-bang when they burst into a heavy jam. The great thing about this band, I believe, is that they are universal; they're simple yet complex, and their music can impact literally anybody.

Following Explosions in the Sky, Ben and I sprinted to the other end of the park (maybe 2 miles?) to try to catch Brand New, but apparently they had wrapped their set 20 minutes early. So we ended up trekking back to the North end to catch Okkervil River.

Okkervil River - I really don't have a ton to say about these guys. I have some of their material, and I'm guessing I'd like it better if I gave it more attention, because they're what I would describe as literature-indie-folk-rock. They're live show was good, but nothing ground-breaking. I bet if I saw them in a bar they would really rock.

Battles - We hauled it back to the other side after Okkervil River to catch Battles, a band that many describe as 'math-rock.' I guess that's pretty appropriate; they combine complex rhythms and synthetic beats to create a sort of rock-techno amalgamation. I got their record last year when it came out because critics went gaga over them - and it's pretty good stuff. Some more stuff to bob your head to. These dudes are some kind of talented though. Those rhythms and beats are way over my head.

Following Battles, the only other act Ben and I really cared to see was Rage Against the Machine. So we wandered around during sets by rapper Lupe Fiasco and old Texan rockers The Toadies. We wanted prime position for RATM - somewhere close to the exit so we could make it to our train, away from the mosh pits, but still fairly close - so we about an hour before the set we hit up the porta-potties in preparation for the show. And we waited. And we waited. Ever waited 20 minutes in line to pee? I have now. It ain't fun.
After we relieved ourselves, we managed to get the perfect spot for Rage: about 100 yards from the stage, stage right, away from the mosh pits, with a decent view if we stood on our tip-toes. The people around us seemed chill, too, which is a huge factor for me at a concert, so my neighbors won't distract me.
I should preface with my relationship with Rage Against the Machine, the rap-rock foursome who ruled politico-airwaves in the 90s before breaking up in 2000 (seriously, if only they had been a band for the Bush administration...bad timing I guess.) I had heard their stuff and knew what they were all about back in high school (I even wrote a paper about them in 9th grade), but didn't really ever get into them. Then I started listening to their song 'Guerilla Radio' for whatever reason, and it became my 'pump-up song.' As in, play it and I go wild, adrenaline pumping, air-guitar in full glory. My friends all know this; sometimes they play it just to mess with me. Anyway, I started getting more of their stuff, and they became my go-to band when I really needed some energy. Plus, because of their crazy-awesome ways, I declared them a 'must-see' live band.
And I got to see them!

Rage Against the Machine: The show started with the wail of a siren, which relayed into their bombastic opener 'Testify.' As soon as that electric guitar kicked in (guitarist Tom Morello is quite literally one of the best at what he does) the crowd went nuts, jumping up and down and shouting. I expected it; like I said, they're really heavy, and fans have been waiting years to see them play live again (they're on a reunion tour.) Since folks around me were pretty chill, I didn't realize just how crazy the crowd really got, but at the end of the second song, singer Zach de la Rocha cut it short, and pleaded with fans to step back because people up front were literally getting crushed. This was the first of three times he made the plea; apparently it was some pretty serious stuff down front. Throughout the show streams of people were passing us as they made their way towards the back, and it was kind of creepy to look at them - a distant look in their eyes suggested it was truly wild up front (or they just had a concussion.)
Funny thing is, as the show went on, Ben and I were probably going the craziest amongst the people around us (given the circle they formed around us). Like I said, RATM pump me up, so I my adrenaline was really kicking (especially during 'Guerilla Radio.')
Rage's set was awesome, and considering I was in the comfort of a fairly laid-back section of the crowd, I was able to appreciate just how rocking it was to be there. But alas, Ben and I had a train to catch, so we decided to leave a little early.
Problem was, when we left just so happened to be the end of Rage's regular set. So thousands of other fans decided to leave too. And when we reached the exit, we discovered that hundreds of people were blocking it. So push came to shove.
Remember the bit about not knowing if I was going to survive? This is where that came into play; it wasn't from some dangerous mosh pit. It was from exiting the show. Basically, you had thousands of people pushing on one side, and hundreds - maybe thousands - pushing back on the other, waiting for the encore. And what's worse, we were going up steps. And Ben and I were in the middle. I kid you not when I say I wondered if I would make it out alive. I was crushed between people, couldn't budge. I felt claustrophobic. And I kept wondering what would happen if this mass became panicked.
In the end, my side pushed harder. Ben and I came out the other end alive, and as soon as we tasted free air, we bolted, hardly stopping before we reached the train station (on time, I might add.)
So the show was a crazy experience. And I had a scary moment, but when I read the news reports the next day, maybe not as scary as others had. The dangerous Lollapalooza crowd at the Rage show made national headlines, with many reports of people going to the hospital, as well as reports of boneheaded fans making the show a hostile environment. Even the bottleneck I got caught up in is in some of the reports. Click here to get a report and pictures of the insanity.

Overall, my experience at the Rage Against the Machine Lollapalooza performance was exhilarating, and the scariness of the end didn't ruin it at all - just gave me an interesting story I survived to tell my kids some day.

Also, here is some video of the night. The first is of the beginning of the show, the second an idea of what the streets of Chicago became after each night (this particular night being after the Rage show.)

Lollapalooza Part 1

2008-08-05T23:24:00.000-04:00

So I survived Lollapalooza 2008. Act surprised, go ahead - there was a time when I didn't think that first sentence would be true. It's a long story. So I'll tell it.

A blow-by-blow of my three-day weekend in Grant Park, Chicago (in three parts to break it up a little; and these aren't my pictures, just ones I stole off the internet - wasn't willing to bring my camera with me):

Friday
I ditched work early in the afternoon so I could start my Lollapalooza weekend early. Upon meeting some friends back at my place, the four of us took a train into the city and hauled it over to Grant Park, about 10 blocks east of the train station. We passed through the front (and only) Lollapalooza gate around 5:30, joining roughly 75,000 other people at the glorified county fair (call me a cynic but the only thing separating Lollapalooza from the Athens County Fair is the band lineup...haha ok, couldn't say that with a straight face. And I guess it was a lot more than a glorified county fair. But you get the idea.) We shuffled through the masses to the north end of the park to catch a few bands before Radiohead went on at 8.

Cat Power: I'm not a huge fan of Chan Marshall aka Cat Power, but I've been known to listen to her stuff from time to time, and I bought her CD for my Mom for her birthday. It's alternative-indie-soul, and in the right mood is the right stuff. Lollapalooza is no place to set that right mood. We only caught about half of her set, but it was uninteresting, mostly because there were several thousand (drunken beligerent) people crowded around the stage waiting to be impressed. Cat Power gave her all, but there was nothing much more to it than what you could find on her CD.

The Raconteurs: Following Cat Power's set, we pushed through to get a good spot at a nearby stage for The Raconteurs, Jack White's band that isn't the White Stripes. I have their two CDs, and listen to them from time to time (another mood thing; they're good for the energetic need-something-in-the-background mood) so I was excited to see them play. They didn't disappoint; their set was energetic and rocking, mostly because Jack White is an absolute beast. We left early though, because Radiohead was playing at the exact opposite end of the park, about 2 miles away, and we wanted good positioning.

Giving ourselves a full hour before Radiohead took the stage, we abondoned The Raconteurs with 20 minutes left in their set, assuming we were ahead of the game by heading to the other stage early. Well, we weren't alone. As we left, the mass exodus had already begun. Everybody wanted a prime position for Radiohead.
The stage Radiohead was playing on was at the head of Hutchinson Field, which is a huge lawn filled with baseball diamonds, surrounded on each side by a small mound. As soon as we crested that mound, I was astonished; people everywhere. Literally a sea of people.
Lucky for us, the sea of people didn't stop us from getting close to the stage. By rounding the outside of the crowd and sticking with an off-center position, we managed to get within about 50 yards or so of the stage. I was pumped.

Radiohead: If you've ever asked me who my favorite band is, my answer was probably Radiohead. My history with them started begrudgingly; I used to hate them in high school, but upon reading so much great acclaim about them, I decided I should give them a shot, buying OK Computer and Kid A. I figured I'd force myself to like them. In the end I didn't need to force it; they quickly became my favorite. If you've never listened to them, do so. Anyway, the show was incredible, despite my being pressed tightly against the sweaty bodies of strangers, loud talking from uninterested fans, and the constant waft of weed smoke. I wasn't about to let any of that bother my witnessing one of the greatest bands ever.
The band ended up playing, I think, 24 songs, one regular set and two encores. The set featured material from nearly all of their albums, and included some of my favorite songs: 'Idioteque,' 'Fake Plastic Trees,' and 'Paranoid Android.' A six-by-two grid of screens displaying the band flanked the stage, and long pillars of light hung from the stage roof. Thom Yorke wailed in all his glory, Johnny Greenwood bobbed his head toward the floor the entire time, and the rest of the band played accordingly. It was beautiful. Fireworks even erupted during 'Fake Plastic Trees,' a novelty that I thought would ruin the song, but which was surprisingly fitting in the end. A wonderful concert experience (though next time, I'll hope to see them play a smaller venue.)

The rest of Friday didn't go as well. Because we filtered out with 75,000 other people, we missed our train, and had to spend 2 hours exhausted in Union Station waiting for the next. But the day was well worth it, and the ticket price ($200 for a weekend pass!) was pretty much paid off in my eyes. But there was much more to come! More on that (and pictures, not that I took, but some to give you an idea) in another post...

Headed to the 'Palooza

2008-08-01T10:11:00.000-04:00

I once established that there are three acts I want to see perform live before I die: U2, Radiohead, and Rage Against the Machine. This weekend I'm going to knock out the latter two at Lollapalooza, held at Grant Park downtown.

If you know me well then you know I tend to clam up around big crowds. This weekend I'll be shoving in with 75,000 other people who have come from across the country. So it should be a good time.

I'll have more to report on Monday I'm sure. For now, I have to devise a way to leave work early. I can't believe I'll be watching Radiohead live tonight...

Old-timey

2008-07-31T11:17:00.001-04:00

Ok, I like to brag about this girl a lot. So sue me.

I mentioned in an earlier post how I've recently begun a foray into photography. The reason for this is that I came into possession of my mom's old Nikkormat camera, from the early seventies (if you're reading this mom, sorry for aging you.) When Katie was in town back in June, we were able to play with the camera and see what it could do.

We got a lot of great shots (on the rolls that worked; unfortunately, I'm still learning how to load the film, and two rolls turned up blank) and a lot of shots that proved I'm no expert photographer. I am, however, learned on the Photoshop, so I managed to save a handful (like the one above; originally really bright, but I restored it to its rightful greatness.)

Anyway, the thing that has struck me the most about playing with a nearly 40-year-old camera is how cool the pictures look. The pictures actually look like they're from the seventies. And to me, that makes them better.

Why do I think this? I don't know. I don't have a super-awesome-modern digital camera, so most pictures I usually take with my digital camera are pretty basic.

But I think there is something about nostalgia that makes things cooler. There's something about that old-timey feel that brings out a joyful sensation, like, 'ah, those were the days.' Sure, you can look at any picture and feel nostalgic for the memories, but when the pictures are older (or look older, in this case), you almost feel transported to a whole new world, a whole new time.

Some random thoughts, maybe it's just me that thinks that; anybody else get that sense?
Oh, and here's another for good measure :)

Where we tend to vent

2008-07-29T23:22:00.001-04:00

Last weekend I went to the Art Institute of Chicago with my parents while they were in town to visit. I like museums, but I don't actively seem them out - I was glad to have a reason to go.

The Art Institute is a fairly famous museum, home to such paintings as Grant Wood's 'American Gothic' and Georges Seurat's 'A Sunday on La Grande Jatte,' and our trip was pretty fun, especially considering I took an art appreciation class in spring and recognized some of the work.

The part about our trip to the Institute that caught me off guard was how much my mom knows about art. Maybe I'm just a terrible listener, or maybe it was just never brought up, but apparently she studied art in Paris when she studied abroad there. (Who knew?) As we walked the halls of the institute, she went from painting to painting commenting on the artist or movement each piece of work reflected. I was impressed.

No work at the museum excited my mom more than those from the Impressionist period. She happily described how the movement was a change from the clear-cut, hard-edged depictions of life to softer, looser, more expressive depictions (from this to this.) It gave her great joy to go from piece to piece detailing her thoughts on each, and I found myself sharing in that joy.

The joy I found mostly stemmed from discovery - as I viewed each painting, I searched the canvas for some sort of deeper meaning, some lost emotion that the artist was trying to share with me. It was fun, it was refreshing, and it reminded me why I love music - and for that matter, most art.

You see, the way I see it, art is a reflection of the collection of thoughts, emotions, pains, joys and wonder that we all experience within ourselves. Art is a reflection of what makes us each unique; it is our representation of what we can not put simply into words, of those things that constantly weigh on us and excite us and drive us to live life. Every being experiences love, joy, pain, anger, humility, sadness - it is how we handle those experiences that sets us apart from each other. And in art we have a way to vent, to organize those experiences and create something physical, something real out of them. By doing this we are able to make sense of our feelings, and we are able to connect with others who can relate.

Artists like Seurat and Monet and DaVinci have done this. So have Lennon, Dylan and Hendrix. Same with Hitchcock, Scorsese and Tarantino. For some it is painting, for others film, for others maybe Play-doh.

For me, I find solace in writing, and I find solace in music. I try to vent through the writing, and I try to connect through the music. And if you're reading this now then you know how bad I am at keeping up with the writing.

So I usually clasp to music. There are songs that describe my every emotion - whether I'm sad, happy, angry, or simply in love with life, there is music that I can turn to that does a better job describing that emotion than I could ever do. Music takes the weight of my pent-up emotions and releases it by making form of it.

I find it in music in two forms that so beautifully intertwine with each other: in the musicianship and in the lyrics. The musicianship is what tends to catch my attention first; be it tender guitar picking or killer riffs, the right tempo and right melody set the mood for the story a song will tell. And the lyrics tell that story through words big and small, through sentences long and short. When these two elements are put together, they transport me to another place and help make sense of this life I'm living.

Mind you, I don't just listen to music that describes exactly what I'm feeling. For example, I still listen to sad break-up songs, even though I am so much in love with Katie that I could never understand the pain those songs describe. Denison Witmer is one of my favorites, but his songs are clearly influenced by at least one painful break-up. And a lot of stuff I listen to doesn't even have sensible lyrics; Sufjan Stevens, my favorite artist, usually sings of imagery I can relate to, but his state albums have a lot of lyrics that come across as nonsense. Not all of the music I listen to perfectly describes my life, but there is something in the way they create it that makes me understand what they are feeling, that transports me to their shoes, and I am able to find joy in discovery.

Kind of like when I was looking at the paintings at the Art Institute.

There is much more I could say about this; I've written about it in the past and I'll write more in the future. It was the reason I started this blog - to talk about the music that is describing my life. But for now, I'll sign off with the lyrics of one of my favorite songs. It's one of those songs that rocks you to your core because you understand it; you can feel it, you have lived it. The song is called "The Ballad of Love and Hate" by The Avett Brothers. The last verse has brought me to tears more than once. I could tell you what the song is about, and what I think it really means, and why I am so moved by its tale, but I'll let you discover that for yourself (and I highly recommend listening to the song as well.)

~
Love writes a letter and sends it to hate.
"My vacation's ending, I'm coming home late.
The weather was fine and the ocean was great
and I can't wait to see you again."

Hate reads the letter and throws it away.
"No one here cares if you go or you stay.
I barely even noticed that you were away.
I'll see you or I won't, whatever."

Love sings a song as she sails through the sky.
The water looks bluer through her pretty eyes.
And everyone knows it whenever she flies,
and also when she comes down.

Hate keeps his head up and walks through the street.
Every stranger and drifter he greets.
And shakes hands with every loner he meets
with a serious look on his face.

Love arrives safely with suitcase in tow.
Carrying with her the good things we know.
A reason to live and a reason to grow.
To trust. To hope. To care.

Hate sits alone on the hood of his car.
Without much regard to the moon or the stars.
Lazily killing the last of a jar
of the strongest stuff you can drink.

Love takes a taxi, a young man drives.
As soon as he sees her, hope fills his eyes.
But tears follow after, at the end of the ride,
cause he might never see her again.

Hate gets home lucky to still be alive.
He screams o'er the sidewalk and into the drive.
The clock in the kitchen says 2:55,
And the clock in the kitchen is slow.

Love has been waiting, patient and kind.
Just wanting a phone call or some kind of sign,
That the one that she cares for, who's out of his mind,
Will make it back safe to her arms.

Hate stumbles forward and leans in the door.
Weary head hung, eyes to the floor.
He says "Love, I'm sorry", and she says, "What for?
I'm yours and that's it, whatever.
I should not have been gone for so long.
I'm your's and that's it, forever."

You're mine and that's it, forever.

God Bless America!

2008-07-17T12:30:00.001-04:00

Ah, the fourth of July...

So, one of the more interesting things I've had the chance to do in Chicago while living here for the summer is church-shop. Growing up in Athens, Ohio, I've attended one church for 21 years - yes, all 21 years of my life spent at one church. And I've loved every bit of it (ok, maybe not every bit; going to church as pre-teen is pretty uncool). Sure, I've never really seen what other churches are like, but I think my church is the perfect fit for me. So I never looked for another one.

That being said, finding a church outside of Athens will be something of an interesting journey. I've been spoiled with a great church, and I expect great things from whatever church (or churches) I call home in the future.

So, like I said, I've never really had the opportunity yet to actually church-shop. Living in Chicago by myself all summer provides the opportunity, and I've been pretty excited about it.

The first church I knew I wanted to see was Willow Creek Community Church. I'd heard a lot about the place - pastor from home church (hi Paul) speaks highly of it, and it's a fairly famous church, what with its 20,000 attendants and all. Turns out, Willow is about a 15 minute drive from my place, too. When Katie was in town my first weekend here, we decided to hit it up and see what kind of church could possibly have 20,000 attendants.

If you grow up in a church with about 300 weekly attendants, going to Willow is something of an experience. The sanctuary is a 7,000-seat arena, with fancy lights and electronics, a huge stage, waterfalls outside the windows surrounding the stage. From the road the place looks like an airport - it even has its own lake. Inside, you think you're in a mall; there's a bookstore, a coffee shop, a fountain, and escalators (escalators in a church?!)

I wanted to hate it.

I have a problem with corporate America infiltrating the Church. In my eyes, church is a place to build community and worship God - not a place to sell a latte and the youth pastor's latest book. I've been to big churches - what I like to call airport churches - before, having visited the Vineyard churches in Columbus and Cincinnati on different trips to those cities. And I did not like them, not one bit. So I had my doubts about Willow.

Turned out, Willow is ok. The worship is eh (granted I may be a little picky when it comes to worship music) and the congregation is slightly unwelcoming. Plus I feel about as tiny and unimportant as can be in that sanctuary. But the teaching - whoa. Pastor Bill Hybels has a gift. I was sold on my first visit.

So I figured I'd go back to Willow. Not like I'm lining up become a member or anything, but it's a decent place to frequent when you're living in a place for 12 weeks.

Alas, I wanted to church-shop, not just settle with my first choice. My friend Tom told me about this other church in Chicagoland, called Harvest Bible Chapel. He and his girlfriend a branch of that church in Rockford, and he swears up and down by it (praises? Hmm...)

Because I enjoyed the teaching at Willow so much, I decided I'd hit up the 9 a.m. service at Harvest, and then head over to Willow for the 11:15 - the two churches are fairly close to each other. This was the weekend of Independence Day. I should have been prepared.

I arrived about 5 minutes late to Harvest, and the worship had already started. The band was energetic, and the songs didn't totally suck (sorry Willow, but seriously, "I am a Friend of God"? Somewhere God is saying, "That's what you came up with? Those are the lyrics you're writing? I gave you the gift of music and the best you can do is say 'I am a friend of God?'") The sanctuary was no arena, just a former warehouse with seating for maybe 1,000. I thought it was a pretty comfortable place.

Then the worship was over.

A man took to the stage, and said, "There are three things we need to pray for today. Thanks to God for our freedom, wisdom for the president, and safety for our troops!" He suggested we get in groups of three to pray for these things. I kept to myself.

Following the prayer, the man proceeded to explain how happy he was to be an American. I decided I was never going back to Harvest (and I even decided that before the pastor took to the stage - via satellite. From some other church).

I was happy to hit the road and head to Willow. I needed to feel like I wasn't insane, like I was truly a loving Christian who followed God's principals and who didn't worship any idols and who belonged in a loving, righteous community. I needed to get away from America.

Upon walking into the sanctuary at Willow, my heart sank. Red, white and blue lights filled the stage, in front of a billowing flag graphic.

Am I the crazy one? I thought to myself. Am I missing something?

I didn't leave, but I thought about it. I took a seat and hoped for the best. The Australian-accented emcee came out onto the stage and announced that he had recently become an official U.S. citizen, and the place cheered wildly. I gagged. Thankfully he didn't dwell on it.

And praise God, that was it. No more mentions of America. No more mentions of our freedom blah blah blah blah blah blah. Willow, in my eyes, was redeemed. I shrugged off the lights and flag, assuming they felt like they had to accomodate their patriotic members with some mention of the holiday. It was excessive, but it could have been worse.

I left Willow with a lot on my mind about America. Frankly, I was disturbed that day from the church's obsession with our nation. And I was sad for what we call 'Christianity.'

I should preface at least a little. I've grown up something of a cynic towards America, having been raised by lovingly liberal - Christian - parents. I didn't care about politics until George Bush became president, and, with the help of a.) actually paying attention at church for once, b.) going to high school social studies classes, c.) doing some soul searching and d.) being raised in a highly-liberal town with liberal-leaning mentors, I realized that our country was totally f-ed up. The Republican administration was represented by corporate America, the population concerned only with making themselves richer and protecting their right to do so. Millions of people were going hungry, working three jobs, struggling to get by. People were dying, overseas and at home, in the name of honor? Vengeance? Petty issues like gun rights, gay marriage, and whether or not a politician wears a flag lapel dominated air waves. Hatred was brewing, people were dividing. And what's worse? Said Republican administration was claiming it was doing it all for our Christian God.

I'm no divine power, but hatred, killing, greed, and ignorance don't seem like something God would support.

So I started to care - maybe too much - about politics. The 2004 presidential election rocked me to my core and made me question my Christian brothers and sisters. I adamantly decried the Bush administration and its claim on Christianity, even wrote a 10-page paper about how Bush's policies contradict the Bible. I fought with friends. Good Christians that I knew called me baby killer, even though I don't support abortion. I didn't feel loved, and worse, I lost hope in the Church.

The last four years have been ok; the world realized how awful the Bush administration really was, Republicans (even the Chrisitians) realized what a terrible mistake they made (for the most part), and I forgot (mostly) about the how harshly politics divide religion. Meanwhile, our country digressed further and further into a hellish mess, far from what God would want of us.

And then my Independence Day church foray reminded me how misled Christian Americans can be.

According to BibleGateway.com, there are 532 mentions of the word 'nations' in the Bible, and - surprisingly! - not one single mention of America. Here are some passages: "In his name the nations will put their hope.," "And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached in the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come," "All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats," "Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit..." and those are just a couple from the book of Matthew.

What's my point here? My point is that 'America' is nothing more than borders. It is a group of people and laws that, praise be to God, is fortunate enough to be free. But it is not the chosen nation. It is not the most righteous. We are not God's designated cheerleading section. We are just one nation in many that God loves. So when I see people celebrate this nation so powerfully - even more powerfully than their celebration of our God - it makes me kind of sick. It makes me sad. If you want to be patriotic and love this nation, go right ahead. But to somehow believe that it sets you apart for God, or to believe that these borders somehow make you better than others, then you're dead wrong.

America needs to bless God, not the other way around.

God loves Iraq too.

As I sat in Harvest Bible Chapel on the Sunday of Independence Day, after the man on the stage told me to pray for freedom, our president, and the troops, here's an idea of what I prayed:

Father God, thank you for blessing me, for delivering me into a free nation in which I am wealthy and live comfortably. I pray that I would appreciate these blessings, and never take them for granted; help me to remember that very few in this world have as much as I. I pray that I will have a heart to give back, and that I will remember that it is all yours. Allow me to use my blessings in some way to reach the unfortunate, or those who don't know you.

I pray Lord that our president will have a heart for the needy. Soften his heart and open his eyes to the hungry and the poor, so that he may do what is in his power to follow your word and help the needy. Help him respect those in other nations, and to do what is in his power to love on other nations.

Lord I ask that you watch over our troops, but also watch over Iraqi troops. As these men and women kill each other in the name of freedom - and in the name of some god - I pray that you will show yourself, comfort them, and love on them. I pray that we may always do what we can to bring peace to this earth, and turn our other cheeks to our enemies.

Amen.

That's Chicago

2008-07-17T12:05:00.000-04:00

I’m finishing week five as a resident of Chicago (aka Chi-Town aka the Windy City aka the Second City.) It’s been something of a whirlwind month – I promised myself I’d post more upon settling here, and obviously I’ve not had the time to do that yet – and I now find time for reflection on my great adventure to the third-biggest city in the U.S.

Let’s start with the set-up. Here I am, small-town boy born and raised in South Detroit (wait, that’s something else…) Ok so I’m born and raised in small-town Appalachia. Never left home for more than a few weeks at a time in the course of 21 years. Preparing to graduate college with the intense desire to finally get out and find somewhere new (not because I hate home, but simply because I want to see/know more of the world.) Land a paid summer internship in Chicago that has nothing to do with what I want to do in life, but alas, it’s paid. Ship off all starry-eyed and alone to the ‘big city’ so’s I can ‘make it.’

Ok, so maybe I’m sounding cynical. It’s probably because I don’t want to over-hype this adventure; so I’m living in Chicago for the summer, big deal. Making it up to be some huge thing – which most people do – makes it sound like they never thought I could have made it here in the first place.

I’m a country boy. How could I ever survive in this setting?

Yes, I am being too cynical. I concede, it’s a big deal that I’m here, and whenever people sound all excited about it, I get pretty excited too. I’m just trying to neutralize it, because I’m not some poor country boy who didn’t have a hope in the world. I’m accustomed to cities. I trusted I’d make it just fine.

Still, Chicago is a whole new level than Athens. And I'm learning to adapt.

I've had a lot of adventures here since arriving last month. Katie visited for a few days early on, and we hit up a nice restaraunt ($75 for two entrees, an appetizer and a tip), went to the top of the Hancock, walked around Wrigleyville and Lincoln Park (Wrigleyville for end of Cubs-Sox game = whoa), discovered a great park in my borrowed-home suburb of Schaumburg, and took a bunch of pictures with my mom's old camera (view pictures here.) It was so great to explore the city together.

But of course, it's still Chicago.

The first night in town, Katie and I walked about ten blocks from the restaraunt to my car at 10 p.m. You think you know a place, and then darkness falls. It was not a fun walk - neither of us felt safe. Scary stuff - so we learned not to spend too much time in the city at night.
Then there are the prices. As with the nice restaurant we went to, everything here costs a TON of money. Gas, food, you name it.
And the traffic. Bumper to bumper, hour-long-trip when it's normally 20 minutes. A lesson in patience.

Katie and I learned all of these bad aspects of Chicago together. I have to admit, before I came here, she and I both had pretty grandeur visions of what Chicago would be. So this other stuff caught us off guard and left something of a sour taste in our mouths.

Of course, we should have expected it. This is Chicago.

I've had other adventures since that first week, when Katie came. Sister Kristi and bro-in-law Lee came, we took the train in, walked around, played tourist for a day. Another time, met up with friends downtown one evening and walked around Taste of Chicago, a huge food festival in Grant Park. I've also driven around the 'burbs, checked out the sites (malls, parks, etc.)

It's fun to see the city. It's fun to discover all these new things. Yet something about Chicago just hasn't screamed 'home' to me. Try as I might to settle in here, I just can't seem to do it.

Guess I'm too much of a country boy.

I'll post more about thoughts, experiences, and music(!) since coming here in a series of posts...

Intermission

2008-07-15T15:09:00.000-04:00

So I missed June and a lot of July. Ugh, I'm bad at this.

BUT I am not really to blame. In Chicago for the summer, and my apartment doesn't give me internet access (darn wireless router says limited or no connectivity?!?!) So, it's been a lesson in patience (pretty pathetic how hooked to the web I am.)

Anyway, I will update very, very soon.

Chicago

2008-05-14T13:39:00.001-04:00

One of my favorite songs. Seems so much more relevant now. (I'm living there this summer.)

~

I fell in love again
all things go, all things go
drove to Chicago
all things know, all things know
we sold our clothes to the state
I don't mind, I don't mind
I made a lot of mistakes
in my mind, in my mind

you came to take us
all things go, all things go
to recreate us
all things grow, all things grow
we had our mindset
all things know, all things know
you had to find it
all things go, all things go

I drove to New York
in the van, with my friend
we slept in parking lots
I don't mind, I don't mind
I was in love with the place
in my mind, in my mind
I made a lot of mistakes
in my mind, in my mind

you came to take us
all things go, all things go
to recreate us
all things grow, all things grow
we had our mindset
all things know, all things know
you had to find it
all things go, all things go

if I was crying
in the van, with my friend
it was for freedom
from myself and from the land
I made a lot of mistakes
I made a lot of mistakes
I made a lot of mistakes
I made a lot of mistakes

you came to take us
all things go, all things go
to recreate us
all things grow, all things grow
we had our mindset
all things know, all things know
you had to find it
all things go, all things go

you came to take us
all things go, all things go
to recreate us
all things grow, all things grow
we had our mindset
(I made a lot of mistakes)
all things know, all things know
(I made a lot of mistakes)
you had to find it
(I made a lot of mistakes)
all things go, all things go
(I made a lot of mistakes)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rDRrqcZbdPU

Guacamole

2008-05-06T14:15:00.000-04:00

I really wanted to make some guacamole.

I don't know if I can rightfully explain it to you. There was a time when I really, really hated guacamole. Might have been the color - puke green - or it could have been the texture - thick and slimy, with chunks. Either way, I didn't eat the stuff until recently.

Thankfully, food preferences have a tendency to change with age. For instance, there was a time that I didn't eat mustard. Now I have honey mustard on nearly every sandwich I eat. I also used to hate tomatoes. I'm weening myself on them now, trying them out on sandwiches too. Feel like I'm finally becoming an adult. Though God help me I will never ever care for mushrooms.

As my culinary willingness has matured, guacamole has become more and more attractive to me. I've gotten over the color and texture - well, mostly - and realized that the stuff makes a fine dip. Turns out it's a pretty good spread too; trust me, try it on a turkey sandwich. And it works wonders with Mexican food, what it was originally intended to complement.

At some point I simply fell in love with guacamole.

But eating it was not enough; I knew I could also create it. I've only recently learned how to cook, and I'm enough of a rookie not to tackle anything too complicated. Guac presented to me a chance to make something simple of my own that couldn't be too easily screwed up. So I excitedly made plans to conduct my first guacamole preparation; Katie's roommate Lauren lent us her recipe, and we made the trek to Kroger - and, sigh, Wal Mart, when Kroger didn't have the seasoning mix - to pick up ingredients.

Mush up two avocados in a bowl. Stir in a fourth of a cup of sour cream. Add the seasoning pack. Zest a lime - shave it, essentially - and then juice it into the bowl. Mix. Guacamole.

Serve with chips. Or a turkey sandwich. Or some Mexican food.

At some point in the course of my guacamole night, my friend Taylor called me up to see what I was doing.

"I'm making guacamole," I said.

"Why?" he said.

"Because I can."

People didn't really understand why I was so excited to make my guacamole. And like I said, I'm not sure I can rightfully explain it all to you. But I can try.

Anybody can grill a chicken breast. Anybody can toss a salad. Anybody can throw frozen cookie dough on a tray and stick it in the oven.

Heck, anybody can make guacamole. The thing is, you have to create guacamole. It is the sum of its parts. I did not just add water; I mushed the avocados, I stirred in the sour cream, I zested and juiced the lime.

I was its creator.

And this, this is why I was so excited to make my guacamole - because I got to create something.
And I was proud of my work, too. Even though it was puke green and thick and slimy, it was really delicious.

Though next time, I might add tomatoes.

(This is not my guacamole. But it is a lovely picture of guacamole.)

Light

2008-05-03T15:21:00.001-04:00

This picture has been the background of my computer for a couple of years now.

It was taken on North Manitou Island in Lake Michigan on a backpacking trip I went on. I'm the silhouette in the middle.

On my background, under this picture, it says:

GRACE: "I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness." John 12:46

Sometimes it's tough to fight your way out of the darkness. But the light is there. It will always be there.

Hooked

2008-05-02T09:38:00.000-04:00

Ever have those times in life where you get completely addicted to something? You know, where every day you wake up looking forward to partaking in that one thing? I'm not talking about life-controlling sin-like stuff - surely all of us have those downfalls. I'm talking about the silly, meaningless stuff that God probably just laughs at us about (as in it doesn't dictate our life, it's just a colorful quirk.)

This one time, freshmen year, I had to have at least one bowl of fruity pebbles every night. Swear to you.

Another time, I had to watch an episode of 'Futurama' every day at lunchtime. Seriously.

Recently I picked up doing crosswords. I don't really know how it came about; Katie and I got a book of them for spring break, and I never looked back. I do at least one every day; I am literally, at this moment, itching to get a hold of today's Post so I can do the crossword. Kind of pathetic.

But it gets worse. At work, we have a stack of old Posts from the last quarter or two that we save. I kid you not, I've taken to digging back in the archives for old crosswords, so long as I've completely spent the current day's edition.

I do them at work, I do them in class; I've even been finding corners of baker to hide in between classes to sit and enjoy my crossword.

We are creatures of habit.

I just can't figure out why I don't habitualize myself to more beneficial activities.

What they don't tell you...

2008-04-26T11:02:00.000-04:00

This is an essay I wrote for my creative writing class. Hope you like it.

~

What they don’t tell you about attending college in the same town you grew up in is how painfully set apart you feel, no matter what outsiders might tell you. You will always feel different than them; that empty feeling of regret in the pit of your stomach reminds you every day.

Growing up, your backyard is littered with foreigners – folks from the cities, folks from out-of-state, folks from other countries. They’re all after the same thing, a plaque on their wall and a line on their resume. You get to know many of them, through church, through friends, through school, but most are gone in four years, maybe five. Relationships are recycled, new faces applied to the skeletons of old.

Your parents were foreigners once too – Dad from Cleveland, Mom from Detroit. The Appalachian university sucked them in like it sucked in the others, but refused to let them go, even after 30 years. They are not Appalachia and they did not raise you to be Appalachia. But they sent you to school with Appalachia and 21 years in Appalachia will make at least a small part of you Appalachia.

You become divided. Part of you begs to relate more with your poverty-stricken farm-friendly deer-killing high school peers. The other part, the part you eventually allow your college friends, feigns innocence to the local culture. Either way you feel judged when you move in with the foreigners. They have a name for you: townie.

What they don’t tell you about attending college in the same town you grew up in is how difficult it is to leave. Dad’s job gives you free tuition – end of story. Two of your sisters went to private college and your parents deserve a favor. Besides, they say, the field you’re interested in has a great program there. Top five in the country, they say.

You knew your whole life you would end up there anyway so you don’t put up a fight. The small percentage of your high school peers that moved on to college figured the same.

What they don’t tell you about attending college in the same town you grew up in is how incredibly bored you become with your supposedly wonderful surroundings. Such a beautiful campus, they tell you. Such a unique culture, they say. But when day after endless day is spent in this environment and your 21-year history knows nothing but, its value fails to impress. The lush greenery has always been there. The historic red brick is just a building. And your older sister made sure the whole “streets flowing with booze and debauchery” thing was old by sophomore year of high school.

What they don’t tell you about attending college in the same town you grew up in is how much you want to be like everyone else. You want to be experiencing a new town, a new surrounding. You want to have taken some chances. You want to see to the world. But so far your world consists of one town.

What they don’t tell you about attending college in the same town you grew up in is that all you ever wanted is to see the beauty everyone else got to see. Because no matter how much you complain, you still love it as home.

Define pt. 4

2008-04-22T14:33:00.000-04:00

Embrace your identity. Take advantage of the gifts God has given you - he gave them to you for a reason.

Never regret your past, because your past made you who you are. To regret your past is to suggest you do not like what you've become.

And remember, though you may envy what others have, there will always be someone who envies what you have.

Define pt. 3

2008-04-22T12:24:00.000-04:00

Trumpet or snare drum. Trumpet or snare drum. Trumpet or snare drum.

I'm sitting restless on the cafeteria bench, pondering a bright future with both instruments. The music man hammers out a beat on the snare, then rises slowly up a scale with the trumpet. I'm supposed to listen to them both and pick one to play in band class. I knew I could succeed with both.

My friend John is there too, joining me on the bench, our backs turned to the music man. Listen, don't look. It's all about how the instrument sounds.

We had been waiting for this moment for a while, that moment when they call you out of your fifth grade class, play you some instruments, ask you to pick one, then suggest your parents fork over hundreds of dollars to buy you one brand new.

Music does not come cheap.

That in mind, I know my sister has a trumpet available to me if that's the path I choose. Would save my parents some money. And maybe my sister could teach me a few things. Not that it mattered, my sisters had played through to high school band, but it was never anything very serious to them. Just another activity to excel at in school.

I liked the snare drum's dominance - nice and masculine-sounding - but what kind of music is a simple '1,2,3,4' tap on a drum head? That doesn't impress the ladies, not even fifth grade ladies. I needed to sing with my instrument.

I go with the trumpet.

John ends up choosing the snare drum. No matter that his brother played trombone and has one ready for him, he wants to rebel. We head back to class talking up the future band we'll surely start.

Nobody in my family is very surprised I chose the trumpet. I had been thinking about it for a while. It was the easy choice.

That year, while John is taken out of band class to learn beats and rhythms for his drum, I'm stuck with the other instrumentalists in the band room learning basic notes and songs like 'Hot Cross Buns.' My friend Will is there too, he also chose the trumpet. We goof off most of class; teacher has only so much time and 20 other beginning musicians to teach. Regardless, turns out I'm ok at the trumpet. Top three musicians in the class, they claim. They stick me in front of a gym full of parents with Will and another trumpeter to play some silly song that we manage our way through.

Middle school presents some changes. Band class doubles, songs get harder. Sometimes the songs are fun, but for the most part it's all kind of boring. As long as we don't have to slog through music class, the alternative to band. Will and I try to make the best of it and compete to be the best in class. For the most part we just keep goofing off.

Our band teacher tells us about jazz band and we get pretty excited about it, but it falls apart when John moves to Los Angeles. Nobody to play the drums.

I keep up with band class because I don't know how to quit. Truth is I don't like it at all. I don't even practice at home.

A new band teacher is introduced when the other gets pregnant; I like him and he likes me. I'm the top trumpeter in class - Will finally quit - and he gives me some solos on cool songs. I like the attention but the trumpet doesn't really have a future for me. There is no trumpet in rock and roll. And it turns out ladies don't really care much for trumpeters, not even middle school ladies.

I quit the trumpet after the eighth grade. High school is approaching and I have a reputation to maintain.

High school is a lesson in laziness. I'm not athletic, so I don't play sports. I like watching TV, playing video games, listening to loud music; I thought it was kind of fun to be the standard rebellious teen. I hang out with my friends on weekends, get my sister to buy us beer. We listen to loud music together and talk about cool it would be to be in a band.

I pick up guitar, borrowing a friend's and teaching myself simple chords. Guitars are too expensive to buy and my parents aren't convinced enough I'd practice to buy me one. They were right, and I eventually give up. So much for the major record label waiting for me after college.

Somewhere around the time I get my driver's license I stop going to church with my parents. Just isn't holding my attention anymore. I believe in God but I also believe in sleeping in Sunday mornings. I stop going to youth group too; I'm different than those other students, and I know they know that. Don't much care for judgmental stares.

I keep up my good grades, but my teachers know I'm lazy. Not quite like his sisters, they say.

I graduate near the top of my class, but my resume and extracurricular activities are blank. I'm lucky I can get into college just with my grades.

College is the same as high school. I make friends in my dorm, party with them - alcohol but not drugs. Drugs scare me. Every weekend becomes a blur. We go to concerts uptown and admire the bands, thinking how cool it would be to be one of them. Too late now to learn guitar though.

Grades become less of a priority for me, though I hold my own. For the most part I hang in my room playing video games. College life becomes a routine of food, video games, partying, skipping class.

My parents say they're proud of me but I don't think they are.

Even though I'm in the same town I grew up in, I don't ever see my old friends. Not even old family friends I grew with. They stayed on the straight and narrow. From time to time I see old church friends or old school friends, but we both pretend not to notice each other.

Sometimes I regret the decisions I make. I know I'm lazy. I know I'm a bum. I know I'm out of shape. I know that my life has nothing to revolve around, nothing to identify with. But somehow I never find the time to care.

I just keep going with whatever life throws at me.

Define pt. 2

2008-04-10T12:03:00.001-04:00

Practice started to pay off.

I quit band after eighth grade. I was making the transition into high school, and that transition did not include band. Too geeky. My friends weren't doing it. John had moved to Los Angeles.

Performance recitals did not hold a future for me. I had discovered something else: jazz band. Still a band, yes, but it was different. It was popular music. It was a chance to shine on the drum set. It was freedom.

We had a new band director - he liked me, and I liked him. He let me do whatever I wanted on the drums so long as it kept the right tempo. So jazz songs became rocks songs. Salsa songs became rock songs. And funk songs became funkier. Couldn't do much past a 4/4 beat but I sure as heck could do that well.

The drums became the centerpiece of the band.

Attention and compliments followed, even as John moved back and took over on some songs. He played the jazzier stuff, and I was happy to let him have those tunes. I liked the heavy, thumping, fast-paced stuff. More of an exclamation point. Folks like exclamation points. I trusted that high school girls especially did.

I was becoming 'the drummer.'

I was practicing every day at home. Things I couldn't do before were becoming easier. With the jazz band I was learning how to follow other musicians and how to let other musicians follow me. College was becoming less of a reality because I knew I would have a major-label deal with a popular band by then. I was a freshman in high school.

About the time I got my driver's license a new musical arena entered my world. The worship band at my church was well-known for its rocking contemporary style, I had known that my whole life. Soon as I got my first set, folks at church started talking about how I was their drummer of the future. Wasn't until they absolutely needed a drummer on the team that I was brave enough to give it a go.

I was timid at first. Playing in front of 100, 200 people Sunday mornings is scary, especially when you're thinking the wrath of God will smite you if you mess up. Keep it simple, keep it simple, I reminded myself. Eventually I eased into it. It became natural. The nervousness I originally experienced before services went away. Best part of all, I actually started to enjoy church for the first time.

After awhile I was a worship team mainstay. Folks I had known my whole life complimented me time after time. Folks I had never seen in my life approached me to compliment me. I liked the attention. I thought I was a star.

Life was the drums.

Life is the drums.

I stuck with jazz band until senior year, when it dissipated after several members graduated. I went strong with the worship team for about five years, playing almost every Sunday. I was the only option at church and I was happy to oblige. Nowadays I still sit in on some Sundays, but there are other drummers and I take my turn.

Now in college I have two bands. We've played some shows, not a lot but enough to get some attention. No major-label deal yet though.

A funny thing started to happen about the time I came to college, though. More than once people recognized me around town as 'the drummer from Central.' People at church wanted to talk to me about the drums but not about my life. I was drumming for various projects, but only when they needed me. I was just a 'drummer.'

Compliments and praise can only get you so far.

The drums can only get you so far.

I'm 21 now. I've played the drums since I was 12. Almost half of my time on God's good earth has been spent pouring myself into the drums.

My main band, though talented and worthy of fans, will probably not get a record deal or national tour. We'll play around Athens for awhile but it will go away eventually. I'm staring at graduation, and too often I feel like I don't have enough experience in journalism to land a good job.

I don't think I'm good at anything else.

I noticed a couple of days ago that my wrists hurt sometimes when they shouldn't. Same with my lower back. And my girlfriend does not like it that I say 'Huh?' so much. First three years I played I didn't wear ear plugs.

So what have the drums made of my life? After nine years I'm left with an aching back and the near-certainty that I will be deaf someday. And people know me just as 'the drummer.' They don't even know my name.

Drumming became my identity.

(to be continued)

Define

2008-04-01T12:59:00.000-04:00

Man I am bad at this. Sorry, March.

Anyway, I'm taking a creative non-fiction writing class. Here is my attempt at some. (For fun.)

~

Trumpet or snare drum. Trumpet or snare drum. Trumpet or snare drum.

My back turned to the music man, legs straddling a cafeteria bench, I am listening to the two instruments, trying to imagine myself skillfully performing in front of thousands of people with both. I knew that I could succeed at either. Fact was I had to pick one and only one, then and there, and tell the music man.

I was eleven years old. Fifth grade is a crucial time in a child's search for identity. Of course, I didn't know that at the time. All I knew was that the letter 'A' was becoming more prevalent to my vocabulary and that it needed to stay that way, my older sisters had seen to it. I also knew that chasing girls on the playground was a thing of third-graders; fifth graders held girls' hands and wrote them innocent love letters.

To me, this day was just another part of my advancing childhood, another part of growing up. It was expected. I could never have known then, in my elementary school cafeteria, that I was staring down two separate paths, two separate identities by which I might define my entire life.

They had called me and my friend John down to the cafeteria to listen to a selection of instruments, from which we would choose one to stick to in band class. All fifth graders had this opportunity, few went for it. John and I weren't like most fifth graders. So together we sat there, on the bench, listening - but not looking - to the company musician sampling a half-dozen or so instruments.

John narrowed his choice down to the trombone and snare drum. His older brother had played the trombone.

I narrowed my choice down to the trumpet and snare drum. My older sister had played the trumpet.

We had to pick one.

Part of me thinks we both just wanted to rebel from our families' expectations. Maybe we were just incredibly bent on our parents' paying extra cash to acquire new instruments. I'm not even sure now if we peer-pressured each other into it. To me, all I remember was how dominant, how masculine that snare drum sounded. It didn't have a range of pitches, but it had a world of rhytmic potential screaming at me to give it a go.

We both went for the snare drum.

His parents picked up a used one from a family friend. I snagged a hand-me-down from another fifth-grader who went with the trumpet.

That year we had a private teacher who took us aside during band class, clapping out rythms. 1,2,3,4...1,2,3,4 - it's incredible how hard that can be. Then there was sheet music, only now we weren't counting, we were reading. A couple months of that and we were backing up the rest of band class. Practices turned to recitals.

Turned out I was ok at the drum. Top three musicians in my class, they claimed. They stuck me in front of a gym full of parents, hammering out a simple song with the other two elites, both trumpeters. To this day I don't think anybody knows how badly I screwed that song up. Somehow I managed to stop when the other two did, even though I was still a half-page of music behind my finish.

Elementary school turned to middle school. A new teacher, younger and more idealistic. Snare drum, apparently, was only the beginning. Now I was playing bongos, tambourines, and other percussive instruments with a band twice as big. Band was becoming more and more fun.

Seventh grade presented even more of a change. Percussion became a separate class, devoting more time to the drummers and helping to expand our musical boundaries. Xylophone, marimba, kettle drum, all entered my musical world. The snare drum, to me, was becoming increasingly boring. I wanted the good stuff, the difficult stuff.

John found it before I did.

He found the drum set in the classifieds. It was old and beat up; a led weight held down the floor tom. The mounted toms were different colors. The cymbals were cracked, the high-hat broken. He showed it off to me and our friend Will, delicately slapping the cymbals and thumping the kick as he tried to coordinate his limbs. The set, to us, was the king of percussion. We were more than jealous. I asked my parents for one for Christmas that year. I did so half-heartedly, knowing deep down what kind of investment it was.

Come Christmas morning, a heavy wrapped box sat in my lap. As the wrapping paper peeled away, my mind couldn't process the contents beneath. Cymbals. What am I supposed to do with cymbals? But no, Dad says, there is more, in the basement. Sure enough, in the back corner under the window, a sheet covers the rest. My first drum set.

Mom and Dad have a disclaimer: I have to practice. It is a huge investment, and they want it to count. I agree, and set about justifying their purchase.

It takes a month for me to coordinate my limbs so they don't all play the same thing. I experiment with beats and rhythms, starting with the easy stuff. I have a music book and CD, but I don't use them. I have a teacher, but he moves to Nashville. I'm on my own.

Days, weeks, months go by, every day practicing the drums. I've had hobbies before - could you have guessed I played Little League? - but they always faded. I was determined not to let that happen with the drums...

(to be continued)