Shifting the Blog, Folks

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

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...

...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)

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

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)

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)

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

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

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

The Coast

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

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

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

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

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)

(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)

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

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"

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

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