Crushing Krisis

The Newest Oldest Blog In New Zealand

Archives for January 2005

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My iPod, almost completely out of battery power, didn’t seem as if it would want to scroll very far to find an album for my morning commute on Wednesday. I obliged by only descending as far as Ani DiFranco.

As the trolley whisked through its underground tunnel, I marveled that an Ani Difranco album came out on Tuesday. It’s the first one that I haven’t bought on (or before) its day of release. In fact, I used to pride myself on being able to recite Ms. DiFranco’s release dates as if their were birthday’s of favorite cousins, or political revolutions.

As Ani releases an album nearly every year, it’s easy for me to associate every one with a certain bit of my life, as many people as there are songs strewn across her dozens of discs. Standing there on the trolley a line caught my ears, a line I’ve heard so many times before: I owe my life to the people that I love.

It’s a strange concept to me who, by any account, is at least halfway centered on myself. I measure my life in personal milestones and, in Ani’s case, in albums, but rarely by other people. But, as those songs passed by I thought of some of those other people. How Ayelet put an Ani song on a mix tape before I even know who Ani was. How freshman year I sat on Alison’s floor and traded Ani concert stories as we carefully cut out the tray-art of my demo cd. How sitting in Lindsay’s room (really Laurel’s) and singing “Falling is Like This” I realized that I had met someone of a completely like mind.

All of those people, just by invoking Ani DiFranco albums. If Ani’s music has partially made my life, then what about the people who brought me an appreciation for those songs? The people that are unavoidably invoked every time one of them is played.

I am happy to say that I’ve spoken to all of the people in that paragraph since Wednesday, but what about everyone else? What about the ones I associate with Tori, or with the Beatles? I am so eager to cloak myself in a fluency of all things musical that I seem to have forgotten the importance of what allows that music to be meaningful to me.

So, here’s a new initiative. Every time I hear a song for the next week, and it reminds me of someone, or someplace, I am writing their name down. At the end of the week, I’m starting at the top of the list, and talking to one of them every day. Will I have their phone number? Their email address? Will I even know where they live, or if they’re alive? Who knows. But, if an iPod can allow me to appreciate music in a whole new way, maybe it can help me appreciate people again, too.

Do you think I associate you with a song? Do you have one for me? Since my comments are currently irreparably broken, why don’t you drop me a line and tell me what it is.

https://www.crushingkrisis.com/2005/01/110702514846232122/

Something More Tangible

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There are songs that I have been selfishly hoarding from you for quite a while now, content to let you think “Bucket Seat” was the last fully realized piece to emerge from my imagination – almost a year ago.

The reason for this obfuscation isn’t entirely intentional. Gone are the days when I’d pen something and Trio it just to work out the kinks; “Bucket Seat” appeared almost six months after its original conception. The chances of me writing and recording on the same day grow increasingly slim, as lately I’m lucky if I can make it through a full run of a song a month after I complete the lyrics. And, if it takes that long just to play it through, it’s taking me a much longer time to fully realize a tune.

The other result or, actually, causation of the song-drift is that my arrangements are becoming more deliberate. “Bender” languished even after I finished setting it to music because I knew its chorus wanted to be full of chords with non-standard voicings, but I couldn’t discern what they were. It took months of casual stabs, followed by one long night sitting on my bedroom floor, before I found quite how it was supposed to sound.

I have almost a whole album of new material sitting around, in various stages of completion. I’m a bit afraid of it, because its genre has proven to be unpredictable. “Are You” and “A Little Bit” are about as folky as I get, while “Bender” is of a more indy-rock persuasion (especially with those big ascending inverted 5ths at the end of the chorus). “Puzzle” and “Haze” are both straight-forward radio rockers that could probably use some added riffing, but “Crave” and “Caroline” seem to be shaping up to be Tori or Rufus style laments.

The straightforward riff and growl-to-soaring register of the vocals on “Regrets” could be straight off of a PJ Harvey disc, with the oft-played but ne’er recorded “Martyr” close behind on the scathing scale. “What’s the Use,” “Dream About Her,” and “Let It Be” are upbeat and cloying, almost a little too Jewel-like for me to enjoy playing them, whereas “I Would” is so languid that I can’t believe it came from my pen. “Crash Diet” could be country or complete grunge depending on my mood. “Sense” is ripped from those anonymous boy baritone-rockers who keep scoring single hits. Finally, “Ghost” still defies my description after a year of playing it, and “Strong” and “Automated” are too new to have yet settled on a consistent chord progression.

That’s eighteen songs in various stages of completion and performance. Eighteen! This from the boy who would otherwise have you convinced that he is mired in a year-long dry spell. Obviously this isn’t the case. The transformation in my musicality that I attribute to “Bucket Seat” was not actually from fecundity to drought, but from tossed-off inspiration to obsessed-over dedication – as it recorded it it insisted on being more than just a tossed off set of chords, and now that I’ve heard the results every new song clamors for similar treatment. “Are You” was simple enough to slip through the cracks, and “Blender” condescended to be released since I have no band in sight, but the others are shy and rare, shrinking from my gaze whenever I set about to pound out a new Trio.

Why am I saying all of this? Because, I want to be able to hear these songs, and for you to be able to hear them, and to do that they need to consent to be recorded in some form. Invoking them by name and genre here somehow makes them more tangible – asserting that they definitely do exist, and are waiting in the wings rather than floating like will-o-wisps around my head.

Sucker (OALD-P)

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I had assumed that the squealing coming from outside of my window was one car hopelessly mired in a snowy parking spot, which seemed a little incongruous, as it’s not really snowing hard enough to create mrie. After over an hour of the squealing i decided that i would go and push the car out of the damn spot if that’s what it took, but a look out the window revealed that it was no one car but actually any car that was conscientious enough to stop at the stop sign at the top of the hill of my street. Because, apparently, stopping there in this light dusting enters your vehicle into some sort of anti-gravity zone where traction means nothing and you have to spin your tires for five minutes to get into the intersection.

After ascertaining that it definitely wasn’t the same car squealing (via watching three different cars experience the problem), i decided that the squealing didn’t bother me nearly enough to stand outside for an hour giving the reticent vehicles a push like a short-legged child on a high swing.

Speaking of children (man, can i fucking nail a segueway), i am a sucker for baby blogs. I love’em. Love reading about the too-cute exploits of children who i will never have to interact with (thus making them infinitely cuter). I think it’s PRECIOUS.

(wow, that car sounded really angry. jeeze, even i know gunning it to 60mph isn’t gonna help you in the anti-gravity zone)

Anyhow, child-blogs: hoochie-coochie coo. Yes. Aside from the obvious choice of Melly, who i consider to be queen of the acerbic baby-baring wits, Dooce also has a good bit of baby material (her’s is too young for much mischief, though). If you require some mayhem with your cooing, trying Bairn-Raising, written by longtime member of my extended blog-family/mafia, Funky Helix. And, um… i can’t think of any more, but boy do i read those three a lot.

Also, tiny sorta-ugly dogs are sortof like babies, only i COVET tiny sorta-ugly dogs (only when i see them in pictures, though, as then they are silent).

Damn hill.

Packed Like a Rat

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The only lingering symptom of my sickness is that my ears (well, in actuality, my eustachian tubes) are quite filled with the sort of head-cold detritus that helps to usher out something greater, the result being that when i speak it sounds as though my voice is coming from behind a closed door about ten feet behind me. I’m hoping this little issue will clear up on its own, as the only medical solution i’ve found so far involved putting small holes in my eardrum, which i am not in the slightest bit keen on.

Emerging from sickness makes me want to also, in parallel, emerge from mess – partially because i have a medieval belief that little fever imps tend to emerge from mess, but also because the listlessness of sickness tends to invite messiness. (Thus, if you believe in fever imps, sickness is self-perpetuating). I made a solid run at organizing my desk, which had become even more cluttered than usual with the addition of iPod implements. However, as per my usual failed routine, i have become stuck upon my computer.

The impediment is threefold. First, i never finished transferring Uprush.org to my new host at the end of November, because i was worried that I hadn’t quite backed up my hostees files perfectly. Well, now, $60 in redundant hosting later, i find that i don’t particularly care (and i did it twice, anyhow, they’re probably fine). At worst i stand to annoy two particularly good real friends and one particularly favorite net friend by bunging this up, but seeing as they have been staying for free since various points stretching back to 2000, i think they can withstand this one possible disappointment.

(Did i rationalize that well enough?)

The second impediment is that my once shiny-and-new harddrive has nearly reached a state of teeming density between my compulsive music-collecting habits and my impulsive mixing habits. I have been flirting with buying an external harddrive for several months, but after an extensive web-shopping initiative this week i have discovered that for every two good reviews you read about any of them there is at least one about permanent file loss. Seeing as i’m looking to entrust my precious music collection and my irreplaceable mixing to one of these potential-digital-life-wreckers i find i suddenly have the coldest feet possible. Advice appreciated, via email.

Finally, my bookmarks. Oh, my bookmarks. No matter how tidily i try to organize them the web is vastly greater than my organizational acumen. Not to mention the nearly hundreds of links i have flagged for blog inclusion which in fact saw no such limelight.

So yeah, the point of this post was, here comes a bunch of out-of-date linky posts. Have a nice Saturday.