I have nothing to complain about right now, except for the weather.
How ridiculous is that?!
Okay, yes, it's absurd that it will be 73 degrees here on the 25th, but even more overwhelming is the fact that I AM SO BLESSED! God has placed a tight-knit family all around me and given me hilarious and talented friends who exceed my expectations and keep me ecstatic about each new day. Along with them, amidst early goodbyes with cocoa and coffee, a relationship has mended and I am so full of thank you's that I might explode. Wrapping paper and bows are lovely and adorning, but I can't help the cliche when I positively know that anything truly worth being excited about doesn't come tied up with string. There's so much beauty in conversation- often more so when it's not easy. There's love in words that goes missed too often and there's little sparks in phrases said that resonate for a while and end up keeping me much warmer than my black and white houndstooth jacket. So while I'll catch my breath when I see an impressive display of lights, shake the boxes of presents just to preview them and attempt to imitate Mariah Carey every five minutes when she plays on the radio, there's something bigger at work. I don't think those usual cheesy feelings with Christmas this year are going to end after one night. And, if that is the case, please forgive me ahead of time for continuing to play "Winter Wonderland" in January.
There are literally hundreds of songs that I burst with joy to share with people (and especially since it IS the season of giving), I just thought I'd give you one of my absolute favorites--
I don't trust my own words a lot of times, but I'll trust anything when Sam Cooke sings it. And I couldn't say it better myself; Christmas Means Love!
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Frozen fingers, warm hearts
IT SNOWED IN SAN MARCOS, TX LAST NIGHT!
Current Christmas Excitement Level: 300%
Friday, December 5, 2008
The one who paid my debt
How grateful I am that even though I am messy, indecisive and doubt myself completely sometimes, Jesus loves me. And this LOVE, it's not anything small- it's a all-encompassing force that literally drives out fear.
I think for so long I looked for someone else to wrap me up in their arms and tell me it was all going to be okay and that I was safe again, failing to realize that He's been cradling me all along, waiting patiently and eagerly for me to bring my problems to him and rest in these affections. The LOVE my Savior has for me isn't a fairy tale - it's a sacrificing, deep LOVE that runs so deep in my soul that it hurts sometimes. I'm left in awe that he won't leave me but LETS me run after these fleeting human complications that don't really matter. He doesn't force me to LOVE him, He lets me slam doors in his face and flee from his goodness and yet He is always right near me, pleading with me to come back to the better things he has in store for me. Because of this strong feeling of LOVE, He is jealous for me- how bizarre a concept. He envies my best friends; I often talk to them more than I do him tenfold. He wants to hear about my passions because He put them in my heart and He CONSTANTLY blesses me, even in my rebellion. My Jesus puts people in my life who have become like family and gives me a whole array of sounds to arrange into music that moves me in the best way. All of this and countless other things are done in pure LOVE, even when I throw them away and turn away from him. This LOVE is lavished on me and drenches me daily, but there are times where I don't even realize it.
He woke me up again.
I think for so long I looked for someone else to wrap me up in their arms and tell me it was all going to be okay and that I was safe again, failing to realize that He's been cradling me all along, waiting patiently and eagerly for me to bring my problems to him and rest in these affections. The LOVE my Savior has for me isn't a fairy tale - it's a sacrificing, deep LOVE that runs so deep in my soul that it hurts sometimes. I'm left in awe that he won't leave me but LETS me run after these fleeting human complications that don't really matter. He doesn't force me to LOVE him, He lets me slam doors in his face and flee from his goodness and yet He is always right near me, pleading with me to come back to the better things he has in store for me. Because of this strong feeling of LOVE, He is jealous for me- how bizarre a concept. He envies my best friends; I often talk to them more than I do him tenfold. He wants to hear about my passions because He put them in my heart and He CONSTANTLY blesses me, even in my rebellion. My Jesus puts people in my life who have become like family and gives me a whole array of sounds to arrange into music that moves me in the best way. All of this and countless other things are done in pure LOVE, even when I throw them away and turn away from him. This LOVE is lavished on me and drenches me daily, but there are times where I don't even realize it.
He woke me up again.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Oatmeal or Cereal, Highway or Sidestreets
I think I could make it as a baker.
I'm not saying that I'm extremely gifted with sifting flour or that magic happens when you put a rolling pin in my hand, but I seem to find grating Baker's chocolate over a souffle topping extremely rewarding. Everything has to be done just right, though, or you're stuck with an icing that has a strange resemblance to cheap hair gel. Always flour your surface, use only low heat when you're melting a glaze, freeze the bowl and beaters first when you're making whipped cream- yes, it's all tedious but worth it. Hours spent stirring and steaming all fade away when you see the reaction to that first bite and it's better than warm fuzzies from head to toe. Four pies later and I don't mind the baking powder streaks on my t-shirt as long as the mass of Thanksgiving family-that's-not-really-related is deliciously satisfied. All this to say- a perfect pie crust really does send endorphins through my brain. Who knew? Is this normal? Regardless- Paula Deen, please take me under your wing.
Here you go: I think you might like this song. I keep coming back to it lately- whether the repeated listening is good for my health or not, I can't get away from the melody. It's a cover, but I promise it's still at heartwrenching and true as the first time I heard the lyrics; maybe even more so. He's in this grave, but of course, when Jeff's voice hits those high notes, even the rut he's trapped in seems somehow romantic. And just between us, behind the sarcasm I'm really a sucker for the nontraditional almost-not-in-love love song.
I'm not saying that I'm extremely gifted with sifting flour or that magic happens when you put a rolling pin in my hand, but I seem to find grating Baker's chocolate over a souffle topping extremely rewarding. Everything has to be done just right, though, or you're stuck with an icing that has a strange resemblance to cheap hair gel. Always flour your surface, use only low heat when you're melting a glaze, freeze the bowl and beaters first when you're making whipped cream- yes, it's all tedious but worth it. Hours spent stirring and steaming all fade away when you see the reaction to that first bite and it's better than warm fuzzies from head to toe. Four pies later and I don't mind the baking powder streaks on my t-shirt as long as the mass of Thanksgiving family-that's-not-really-related is deliciously satisfied. All this to say- a perfect pie crust really does send endorphins through my brain. Who knew? Is this normal? Regardless- Paula Deen, please take me under your wing.
Here you go: I think you might like this song. I keep coming back to it lately- whether the repeated listening is good for my health or not, I can't get away from the melody. It's a cover, but I promise it's still at heartwrenching and true as the first time I heard the lyrics; maybe even more so. He's in this grave, but of course, when Jeff's voice hits those high notes, even the rut he's trapped in seems somehow romantic. And just between us, behind the sarcasm I'm really a sucker for the nontraditional almost-not-in-love love song.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
College: In Haiku Form
girl wearing ugg boots
please don't judge my black converse
your feet are in sheep
gray-haired lunch lady
lip-synching to 'low rider'
you have made my day
lonely laundry room
she just added too much soap
instant foam party!
nothing else to do
i think it's time for a nap
or maybe ramen
community bath
somebody left their shampoo
um, finders keepers?
please don't judge my black converse
your feet are in sheep
gray-haired lunch lady
lip-synching to 'low rider'
you have made my day
lonely laundry room
she just added too much soap
instant foam party!
nothing else to do
i think it's time for a nap
or maybe ramen
community bath
somebody left their shampoo
um, finders keepers?
Monday, October 27, 2008
Also useful when decorating a necktie
There's something about piano solos that help me look at my life introspectively. Usually everyday I'm skipping around, talking 90 miles a minute, voicing literally any thought that enters my head and repeating lines from last week's Saturday Night Live skits at a volume that makes people in the library shoot me death glares. I ponder my problems at a fast pace; my brain tries to consider every single solution at once and I start writing scripts of conversations in my head that I want to have later that day before I even talk to anyone. Being indecisive, unfortunately, is like second nature and I wear down the buttons on my TV remote and the dial on my radio by changing channel as soon as my moth-like attention span is lost.
I took piano lessons as a child, but like most failed prodigies, practicing just wasn't as important to me as building mud pies or recording my own 7 year-old talk shows on my Little Tykes cassette player. Sure, there were times throughout my teenage life where I'd spend hours pinching and crushing the neck of a guitar relentlessly or get lightheaded from breathing into a harmonica for a few hours, trying to imitate the latest musician that had struck my fancy, but my deepest envy was always for someone who could sit down on a bench and without even seeming to try, press down a few black and white rectangles and create a masterpiece.
All this is to say that, oddly enough, my whole brain seems to slow down as soon as a IV chord on piano enters my eardrum. Maybe it's the rhythm that calms me down or the steady sound of the hammers hitting the strings, but my focus suddenly becomes far more clear than it normally is when I'm talking like I have to get every word out or I might explode. Granted, a baby grand isn't normally thought of as a hip, new sound, but it's the timeless quality that contributes so much to my peace of mind. There's something soothing in feeling like every song on piano is one I've heard some part of before; that really, there's only 88 keys to choose from, and all of them keep ringing in my brain long after they've been played.
There are a lot of reasons why this song makes me close my eyes and block out everything else but the music being made in front of me, but I don't want to bore you with to many words. In short, it has to do with all the feelings buzzing around in my head that won't go away, the cold weather that makes me much too nostalgic, that part where the rhythm is syncopated, a certain November day and the pure amount of love I hold for this man and his music. Not to mention, this is the orchestra version and I think I got a little misty when it got past the three-minute mark. If you really want to know, just tell me. I'll sit down and tell you all the reasons why I can't get over listening to it, with expressive eyebrow raises and accenting hand movements, too. Promise.
Take it away, Mr. Folds:
I took piano lessons as a child, but like most failed prodigies, practicing just wasn't as important to me as building mud pies or recording my own 7 year-old talk shows on my Little Tykes cassette player. Sure, there were times throughout my teenage life where I'd spend hours pinching and crushing the neck of a guitar relentlessly or get lightheaded from breathing into a harmonica for a few hours, trying to imitate the latest musician that had struck my fancy, but my deepest envy was always for someone who could sit down on a bench and without even seeming to try, press down a few black and white rectangles and create a masterpiece.
All this is to say that, oddly enough, my whole brain seems to slow down as soon as a IV chord on piano enters my eardrum. Maybe it's the rhythm that calms me down or the steady sound of the hammers hitting the strings, but my focus suddenly becomes far more clear than it normally is when I'm talking like I have to get every word out or I might explode. Granted, a baby grand isn't normally thought of as a hip, new sound, but it's the timeless quality that contributes so much to my peace of mind. There's something soothing in feeling like every song on piano is one I've heard some part of before; that really, there's only 88 keys to choose from, and all of them keep ringing in my brain long after they've been played.
There are a lot of reasons why this song makes me close my eyes and block out everything else but the music being made in front of me, but I don't want to bore you with to many words. In short, it has to do with all the feelings buzzing around in my head that won't go away, the cold weather that makes me much too nostalgic, that part where the rhythm is syncopated, a certain November day and the pure amount of love I hold for this man and his music. Not to mention, this is the orchestra version and I think I got a little misty when it got past the three-minute mark. If you really want to know, just tell me. I'll sit down and tell you all the reasons why I can't get over listening to it, with expressive eyebrow raises and accenting hand movements, too. Promise.
Take it away, Mr. Folds:
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
The only Boss I listen to
He's 59, and still doing backbends over microphone stands. It doesn't matter what it means to other people or whether it is significant enough to make them pop out of bed in the morning dancing to "Tenth Avenue Freeze Out" but for me it's going to be a big day of jumping to some rhythms through the Quad and smiling like I just found out I won the lottery, because in a way, I have. A few hundred songs and a permanent giddy feeling from one night of a front-row connection a few months ago is more than enough to make me feel rich and want to celebrate a lot longer than these 24 hours.
Happy Birthday, Bruuuuuuce!!
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Never was a cloudy day !
It doesn't matter where we are or who may be around- when "September" starts playing, my mom and I can't help but dance. I know for sure that it's happened in department stores, numerous times in the car and a few weddings here and there, but it is and always will be the song that can make my day instantly better and my feet go crazy. It all started when I was younger; I inherited a great fandom of Earth, Wind & Fire, along with passion for all music, from my mother. She'd always turn up the stereo and dance with me and Kyle daily. We blew out the speakers in our '88 suburban from an afternoon of Hall and Oates. There's plenty of home videos of me using our backyard as a Broadway stage and a certain Kirk Whalum song is the reason my parents named my brother Kyle. Music's always been a big part of our family, from my Dad blaring jazz and Genesis every Sunday morning on our gigantic speaker system downstairs to Mimi playing her big band records so loud that she can't hear the phone ring to the obnoxiously giant subwoofer in Kyle's old blazer that could literally be heard 15 blocks away. This blessing of a family I've been given constantly provides a good soundtrack and for that I'm extremely thankful, but I digress.
The opening of "September" stops me in my tracks. There's the intro that starts out quieter and then it starts snapping and I am suddenly moving in my own conga line. The beat makes my hips swing and I can't stop my mouth from singing the words, "say, do you remember?". About a week ago I got a text message that said, "Just heard September....ba di yah. love, mom" and I grinned for a while after. I find it impossible to be in a bad mood when it's playing, and this theory has been tested numerous times. I swear that Jesus decided to intervene one morning when I heard it playing over the speakers before my 8 o'clock class- the horn part was better than a double shot of espresso at waking me up and I am positive that everyone sitting around me thought I was high as a kite or suffering from a really bad leg twitch. It sounds so cheesy to say that it even helps when I'm crying- but it does! I am forever grateful that Maurice White decided one night to write something miraculous and now almost thirty years later I'm still gettin' to feel the rhythm and place it into my own life's playlist. I can't imagine ever getting sick of Ronnie Law's saxophone solo, although my neighbors might as I’ve discovered it’s the reason the repeat button was invented. I can't put my finger on exactly what it is; I know the sound is infectious and downright funky but the way it changes my mood on dime is still ridiculous. The mystery remains as to why it affects me so much, but "September" is one song I can't avoid and the melody that my mom and I go crazy with, singing harmonies and dancing in Target while my Dad pushes the cart alongside, not thinking it's at all strange that we're taking up an entire aisle clapping and shimmying in unison to the trumpets when the chorus comes. Sometimes you don't need a scholarly musical reason to like a song, you know? "September" shakes me up in the best way. I always want it to last longer than the three minutes and thirty-seven seconds, I’m ecstatic and knocked out by the fact of its existence and should we be near each other when it plays, please give me and my hips some room. Thank you.
Do you remember the 21st night of September?!
The opening of "September" stops me in my tracks. There's the intro that starts out quieter and then it starts snapping and I am suddenly moving in my own conga line. The beat makes my hips swing and I can't stop my mouth from singing the words, "say, do you remember?". About a week ago I got a text message that said, "Just heard September....ba di yah. love, mom" and I grinned for a while after. I find it impossible to be in a bad mood when it's playing, and this theory has been tested numerous times. I swear that Jesus decided to intervene one morning when I heard it playing over the speakers before my 8 o'clock class- the horn part was better than a double shot of espresso at waking me up and I am positive that everyone sitting around me thought I was high as a kite or suffering from a really bad leg twitch. It sounds so cheesy to say that it even helps when I'm crying- but it does! I am forever grateful that Maurice White decided one night to write something miraculous and now almost thirty years later I'm still gettin' to feel the rhythm and place it into my own life's playlist. I can't imagine ever getting sick of Ronnie Law's saxophone solo, although my neighbors might as I’ve discovered it’s the reason the repeat button was invented. I can't put my finger on exactly what it is; I know the sound is infectious and downright funky but the way it changes my mood on dime is still ridiculous. The mystery remains as to why it affects me so much, but "September" is one song I can't avoid and the melody that my mom and I go crazy with, singing harmonies and dancing in Target while my Dad pushes the cart alongside, not thinking it's at all strange that we're taking up an entire aisle clapping and shimmying in unison to the trumpets when the chorus comes. Sometimes you don't need a scholarly musical reason to like a song, you know? "September" shakes me up in the best way. I always want it to last longer than the three minutes and thirty-seven seconds, I’m ecstatic and knocked out by the fact of its existence and should we be near each other when it plays, please give me and my hips some room. Thank you.
Do you remember the 21st night of September?!
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
My thoughts were so loud
Sometimes in the middle of a conversation when there's been silence for a while or time to process information, someone will ask me, "What are you thinking about?" I almost always tense up at this question because most likely I haven't been thinking at all- I've just been singing a song stuck in my head. There's always a big important discussion and then time where neither one of us is talking. Sure, during the silence I usually do review my thoughts but then my brain moves too fast and I'm in the middle of the 'doo-doo-doo-doo-bah-doo-doo-doo-doo' part in "Mama Told Me Not to Come" when my own soundtrack is interrupted by actual outside dialogue. Of course, then I have to snap back and remember the last couple of words we said and not blurt out the next lyric. I don't know if this is a good thing or not? Note to self, stay more focused.
Why do I feel like I'm getting younger every single day? Like there's so much I don't know how to do or communicate effectively? I mean, am I not supposed to feel old and on my own in college?! Maybe it'll come in time. Right now I feel about 6 years old. I just feel really young and like a lot of times I'm going through the motions but I really have no idea what I'm doing. It gets awful lonely sometimes walking around here, but the good days balance out the bad. I guess it's just this feeling that I've been dropped in the middle of this new story and I have no idea what I'm supposed to write. It's exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. The other thing with being here is that I have so much free time and I spend a lot of it thinking about my life, but not necessarily the future. I've dug up far too many old feelings and situations for my liking and pretty much run through certain memories in my head daily. I'm reading old letters and listening to old songs and it's almost an overkill of the past sometimes. This all sounds serious and bizarre written out, but I'm alright, really. This will take a while, I know, so I guess I'll just be testing my patience as much as possible and prioritizing on the now.
Wait, no.....I'm feeling at least 8 years old. That's more like it.
I like songs about drifters - books about the same.
They both seem to make me feel a little less insane.
Walked on off to another spot.
I still haven't gotten anywhere that I want.
Did I want love? Did I need to know?
Why does it always feel like I'm caught in an undertow?
I know that starting over is not what life's about.
But my thoughts were so loud I couldn't hear my mouth.
Why do I feel like I'm getting younger every single day? Like there's so much I don't know how to do or communicate effectively? I mean, am I not supposed to feel old and on my own in college?! Maybe it'll come in time. Right now I feel about 6 years old. I just feel really young and like a lot of times I'm going through the motions but I really have no idea what I'm doing. It gets awful lonely sometimes walking around here, but the good days balance out the bad. I guess it's just this feeling that I've been dropped in the middle of this new story and I have no idea what I'm supposed to write. It's exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. The other thing with being here is that I have so much free time and I spend a lot of it thinking about my life, but not necessarily the future. I've dug up far too many old feelings and situations for my liking and pretty much run through certain memories in my head daily. I'm reading old letters and listening to old songs and it's almost an overkill of the past sometimes. This all sounds serious and bizarre written out, but I'm alright, really. This will take a while, I know, so I guess I'll just be testing my patience as much as possible and prioritizing on the now.
Wait, no.....I'm feeling at least 8 years old. That's more like it.
I like songs about drifters - books about the same.
They both seem to make me feel a little less insane.
Walked on off to another spot.
I still haven't gotten anywhere that I want.
Did I want love? Did I need to know?
Why does it always feel like I'm caught in an undertow?
I know that starting over is not what life's about.
But my thoughts were so loud I couldn't hear my mouth.
Friday, August 29, 2008
"If music were a buffet, I'd be Luby's!"
I've been told that I like too much music for one genre heading, much less one person. Okay, you really wanna know why? I'll tell you. I like variety. I like having too much to choose from and getting it all at once. This obsession transfers into not only liking a lot of different styles and artists, but also loving different tones in a single song. That's why I like music that surprises you. I like so many sounds and instruments playing together that it feels like it all won't fit into your ears at once, but somehow it does. I like being able to listen to a song and hear something new every time. Horn sections drive me crazy in the best possible way, because they're so rare and they make my feet instantly start tappin'. A good harmonica riff can stick in my brain and suddenly make me ache in nostalgia about past relationships. There's a distinctive saxophone solo that I and thousands of other individuals cross our fingers for at a certain concert because the beauty and emotion in it is so very rich.
I love when there's momentum in a tune. I like when something builds; when the guitar starts out with some strain and then maybe the bass joins in slowly and before you know it there's drums and harmonica and trumpet out of nowhere! Suddenly all the noise just gets overwhelming and makes you almost jump back at how many melodies are happening at once, yet all satisfy the craving to hear MORE. This sounds incredibly cheesy, but to me, a song is like a journey. You have a start and an end and the beauty, like most travels, is in the time it takes in between both those points. I like a nontraditional trip- often the pattern of "verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-chorusx2" can get boring. I like when you hear something that's completely unexpected and the song takes a new direction that wasn't even audible at the beginning. I like when the end comes and you can't believe how you got there from the first few notes. It feels like it was a lot longer than a 4 minute-and-15-second journey, but then it's over and you either hit repeat, contemplate what all exactly you just heard or move on to the next musical excursion.
I adore harmony- I like cramming as many voices into one line as possible. Singing along is involuntary sometimes. Anything fresh that I haven't heard before always makes my ears perk up. I can't get over a new instrument- give me more ukelele, harp, hurdy-gurdy, violin, tambourine, sitar, xylophone, banjo, accordion, keytar, saxophone, timbrel, mandolin, washboard, kazoo, ANYTHING! I want to hear it and know how it can create a captivating refrain. I love words and the power they have, but sometimes even good lyrics fall by the wayside in comparison to a single sound that astounds you and leaves you, well, speechless. Originality seems to be key here, but there's something else. Just because something sounds like something you've heard before doesn't mean you'll like it and just because it's original or new-sounding doesn't mean that it's gold. No matter what song, new or old, there has to be some sort of emotion placed carefully underneath all those notes- something that rings true with you and makes you feel something bigger than just rests and rhythm. Maybe it's stupid to think that you can physically hear emotions and feelings, but I'd be willing to place money on the fact that you can, and this fact has shaped a whole lot of decisions in my life.
Almost every time that I get to the end of my spastic thoughts I don't even know if they make sense. Maybe I'll get more confident in time. Music Journalism undergraduate, here I come ?
P.S. Oh yeah, about that. College so far is.....interesting. Everything's new and still takes time to get used to, but I love this town. Sundance Records and a handful of friends that are blessings in my life make the days better. Sometimes I feel small, though. For example, let's just say that you'd rather sip an iced chai latte and read Klosterman instead of filling or your lungs with smoke. This is considered out-of-place. Or maybe you'd rather have a dance party versus a frat party....yeah, you're in the minority. We'll see, though.
I know I'm here for a reason, but I don't know if that reason may ever become known, and right now at this moment I'm okay with that. Currently I'm attempting to figure out how to make this dorm room bed seem bigger. No ideas yet.
I love when there's momentum in a tune. I like when something builds; when the guitar starts out with some strain and then maybe the bass joins in slowly and before you know it there's drums and harmonica and trumpet out of nowhere! Suddenly all the noise just gets overwhelming and makes you almost jump back at how many melodies are happening at once, yet all satisfy the craving to hear MORE. This sounds incredibly cheesy, but to me, a song is like a journey. You have a start and an end and the beauty, like most travels, is in the time it takes in between both those points. I like a nontraditional trip- often the pattern of "verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-chorusx2" can get boring. I like when you hear something that's completely unexpected and the song takes a new direction that wasn't even audible at the beginning. I like when the end comes and you can't believe how you got there from the first few notes. It feels like it was a lot longer than a 4 minute-and-15-second journey, but then it's over and you either hit repeat, contemplate what all exactly you just heard or move on to the next musical excursion.
I adore harmony- I like cramming as many voices into one line as possible. Singing along is involuntary sometimes. Anything fresh that I haven't heard before always makes my ears perk up. I can't get over a new instrument- give me more ukelele, harp, hurdy-gurdy, violin, tambourine, sitar, xylophone, banjo, accordion, keytar, saxophone, timbrel, mandolin, washboard, kazoo, ANYTHING! I want to hear it and know how it can create a captivating refrain. I love words and the power they have, but sometimes even good lyrics fall by the wayside in comparison to a single sound that astounds you and leaves you, well, speechless. Originality seems to be key here, but there's something else. Just because something sounds like something you've heard before doesn't mean you'll like it and just because it's original or new-sounding doesn't mean that it's gold. No matter what song, new or old, there has to be some sort of emotion placed carefully underneath all those notes- something that rings true with you and makes you feel something bigger than just rests and rhythm. Maybe it's stupid to think that you can physically hear emotions and feelings, but I'd be willing to place money on the fact that you can, and this fact has shaped a whole lot of decisions in my life.
Almost every time that I get to the end of my spastic thoughts I don't even know if they make sense. Maybe I'll get more confident in time. Music Journalism undergraduate, here I come ?
P.S. Oh yeah, about that. College so far is.....interesting. Everything's new and still takes time to get used to, but I love this town. Sundance Records and a handful of friends that are blessings in my life make the days better. Sometimes I feel small, though. For example, let's just say that you'd rather sip an iced chai latte and read Klosterman instead of filling or your lungs with smoke. This is considered out-of-place. Or maybe you'd rather have a dance party versus a frat party....yeah, you're in the minority. We'll see, though.
I know I'm here for a reason, but I don't know if that reason may ever become known, and right now at this moment I'm okay with that. Currently I'm attempting to figure out how to make this dorm room bed seem bigger. No ideas yet.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
We never did too much talkin' anyway
I don't even know how to start to explain exactly what I'm feeling right now. The only way I know how to describe it is just this nervous weirdness. I've never done this before- I've never seen almost everything I own packed up in cardboard boxes. I've never not come home. I'm not too worried, but my thoughts just keep racing. There's so much I can't express right now because my mind is going too fast. I keep replaying memories in my head and looking back way too much for my own good. I'm remembering faces and times I don't know how to live without yet, but it's gonna be okay. It has to be okay, right? If anything, I should feel exhilarated at all the newness and fresh scenery and people and go confidently knowing that I am in no way trying to make relationships that replace the ones I currently have. I want to meet new people but never forget or lose touch with the old and I really don't want "staying in touch" to become a cliche phrase. I will honestly miss my bed, my parents and Maggie more than I can think about right now. I'll miss home tangibly and the home that I've made nestled in between a few fantastic friends that truly redefine the word "blessing".
It's 3 AM and of course I can't sleep. I've done this off-to-college-farewell twice before, but never exactly like this. The first time, I hugged two girls that adopted me like a sister sophomore year and promised myself I wouldn't cry until I got out of the car and into my room and I could listen to Ella to soothe me. The second time was, well, a memory that never seems to fade of a couple dozen forehead kisses and running out into the rain early the next morning to get a present left for me bittersweetly. But, you know, I don't think there will be a cd on my windshield and a rainy emotional breakdown-scene happening like the last time. This time it's me leaving and it's not poignant, really, it's just straining and too much and almost uncomfortable at times, like I wish it was just over already. But, on the other hand, I'm a sucker for holding on just a little bit longer. I wish the word "goodbye" took a lot longer to say out loud than it did many times earlier today.
It's going to be alright.
It's going to be better than alright.
It's going to be good.
It's going to be wonderful?
...That last one's a pretty strong adjective. We'll have to wait and see.
You know, I'm not the world's biggest Bob Dylan fan. I understand why he was important and how he revolutionized music and I strongly believe he was essential in a sense. But I find myself struggling to really dig into his music and actually feel something. But for some reason, one of these tracks just cuts into me, you know? It makes sense why it does- it's thick with emotion and this sense that he's looking over his shoulder, but he's leaving regardless. I'd heard it before it was given to me on a cd, but it affected me a whole lot more once I heard it in a certain order. It was probably intentional and the lyrics are blunt enough to burn and stick with me for quite a long time after the harmonica solo. It makes sense that I'd come back to it right about now, this exact same time, whether it's healthy to hold onto it or not. Ha, and I though Dylan could hardly make me feel something, much less tear up? Wrong again.
It's 3 AM and of course I can't sleep. I've done this off-to-college-farewell twice before, but never exactly like this. The first time, I hugged two girls that adopted me like a sister sophomore year and promised myself I wouldn't cry until I got out of the car and into my room and I could listen to Ella to soothe me. The second time was, well, a memory that never seems to fade of a couple dozen forehead kisses and running out into the rain early the next morning to get a present left for me bittersweetly. But, you know, I don't think there will be a cd on my windshield and a rainy emotional breakdown-scene happening like the last time. This time it's me leaving and it's not poignant, really, it's just straining and too much and almost uncomfortable at times, like I wish it was just over already. But, on the other hand, I'm a sucker for holding on just a little bit longer. I wish the word "goodbye" took a lot longer to say out loud than it did many times earlier today.
It's going to be alright.
It's going to be better than alright.
It's going to be good.
It's going to be wonderful?
...That last one's a pretty strong adjective. We'll have to wait and see.
You know, I'm not the world's biggest Bob Dylan fan. I understand why he was important and how he revolutionized music and I strongly believe he was essential in a sense. But I find myself struggling to really dig into his music and actually feel something. But for some reason, one of these tracks just cuts into me, you know? It makes sense why it does- it's thick with emotion and this sense that he's looking over his shoulder, but he's leaving regardless. I'd heard it before it was given to me on a cd, but it affected me a whole lot more once I heard it in a certain order. It was probably intentional and the lyrics are blunt enough to burn and stick with me for quite a long time after the harmonica solo. It makes sense that I'd come back to it right about now, this exact same time, whether it's healthy to hold onto it or not. Ha, and I though Dylan could hardly make me feel something, much less tear up? Wrong again.
Monday, August 18, 2008
But, I do like the baby-sized converse
I wish I liked babies more.
I really do!
It was my New Year's Resolution to like babies more, actually.
It's not that I dislike them or think they're horrible or anything but they just make me extremely nervous. They're always moving and gurgling and taking in the world and I'm afraid I could screw some of that up. I don't mind looking at baby pictures- I mean, that part I like and I can handle. A baby of any species is adorable- giraffe, hippo, duck, etc. They're precious in pictures, yes, but it always happens that I end up being asked to hold one. Some cute mother is holding her bundle of joy and bouncing it so perfectly and then they ask, "Do you want to hold her/him?". Of course, I never know what to say after they ask and are staring back, waiting for an answer and batting their eyelashes and looking at you as if to say "compliment my child's cuteness or I will kill you". Sometimes I oblige and then I'm just panic-striken. I trust myself holding things, but I just don't want to screw anything up. I don't want this little person to be at all uncomfortable and I know I can't do that little rocking-bouncing-mom-arm thing so I lose confidence. And then there's the other thing- the staring. Children can win any starting contest and they just look at you with those big innocent eyes and I, A). Feel like they're secretely judging me or B). Think there is a camera installed in that tiny retina. It's unnerving. I'm not saying BABY-PANIC-MODE happens daily but when it does, I feel part-idiot and part-inept. I just don't want to screw up, you know? I don't want to teach the wrong thing or do something that would cause the little sunshiney face to start to cry. Paranoid much?
You know....I have no honest clue why I am even writing about this at all.
I really do!
It was my New Year's Resolution to like babies more, actually.
It's not that I dislike them or think they're horrible or anything but they just make me extremely nervous. They're always moving and gurgling and taking in the world and I'm afraid I could screw some of that up. I don't mind looking at baby pictures- I mean, that part I like and I can handle. A baby of any species is adorable- giraffe, hippo, duck, etc. They're precious in pictures, yes, but it always happens that I end up being asked to hold one. Some cute mother is holding her bundle of joy and bouncing it so perfectly and then they ask, "Do you want to hold her/him?". Of course, I never know what to say after they ask and are staring back, waiting for an answer and batting their eyelashes and looking at you as if to say "compliment my child's cuteness or I will kill you". Sometimes I oblige and then I'm just panic-striken. I trust myself holding things, but I just don't want to screw anything up. I don't want this little person to be at all uncomfortable and I know I can't do that little rocking-bouncing-mom-arm thing so I lose confidence. And then there's the other thing- the staring. Children can win any starting contest and they just look at you with those big innocent eyes and I, A). Feel like they're secretely judging me or B). Think there is a camera installed in that tiny retina. It's unnerving. I'm not saying BABY-PANIC-MODE happens daily but when it does, I feel part-idiot and part-inept. I just don't want to screw up, you know? I don't want to teach the wrong thing or do something that would cause the little sunshiney face to start to cry. Paranoid much?
You know....I have no honest clue why I am even writing about this at all.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Train table up and seatback in the full upright position
Okay, true story from a few weeks ago.*
(*Actually some of it might be, well, "embellished", but I mean, I promise I would never just lie. Sometimes everyday life just needs a little excitement added. A few well-chosen adjectives never killed anyone.)
I think I like sitting in the airport terminal just as much as I like flying. There's something kind of exhilarating about being somewhere where you're surrounded by strangers and no one quite knows who you are. You're another face in the crowd-- another passenger like them. You could be the ridiculous girl who is wearing sunglasses inside and four-inch heels while going towards baggage claim. You could be the dad with those three screaming kids who just spilled their carry-on snacks on the floor. You might even be the guy with his macbook, paying $24.94 for wireless internet just to entertain himself. I mean, people can see your outward appearance, but they can't discover YOU. Your personality, how you cry everytime you watch Bambi, the most played album in your music collection-- no one really learns that just by looking at you. Unfortunately, appearances aren't always all they're cracked up to be.
He was wearing a fedora. Not one of those oddly-colored ill-fitting ones that you see teenage girls sporting, but a real one. It was brown tweed and he looked like Frank Sinatra. I thought I might melt then and there. I've watched too many old movies, but I swear that a man with a blazer and a hat can do anything and girls will stick to him like velcro. He was sitting in the chair next to mine at Terminal E7 and I was slyly trying to keep looking his way while acting like I was skimming through a magazine. He reached for his bag and took out Nine Stories and I nearly screamed. This man with a hat that for some reason intrigued me was now reading one of my favorite books! It may be my overactive imagination but at that moment I imagined our whole life from his marriage proposal to me at that big tree in Animal Kingdom at DisneyWorld to us having wheelchair races together in the nursing home. I was subconsciously fixing my hair and trying to casually turn his way when it happened. His phone rang and he answered it. No, that's not the crisis- it's what's next. He opened his mouth and spoke.
"OMG no way! You've gotta be JK-ing with me! LOL! XOXO!"
My ears were crying. Not only did he use AIM abbreviations in real life, but he said them in such a way that made it seem like this was just a normal speech pattern. My daydream of DisneyWorld and old people suddenly vanished. How could this happen? He was supposed to be a dapper, suave, literary fellow who ordered champagne and spent summers at the Lourve. Instead, I was sharing my personal space with a twelve year old girl with too much caffeine and text messages. I wanted to say something to him, but the "convo" he was involved in seemed important, so I just said "g2g" with my body language and went to distract myself in the Hudson News stand.
So what did I learn today? Hats are deceiving. Srsly.
(*Actually some of it might be, well, "embellished", but I mean, I promise I would never just lie. Sometimes everyday life just needs a little excitement added. A few well-chosen adjectives never killed anyone.)
I think I like sitting in the airport terminal just as much as I like flying. There's something kind of exhilarating about being somewhere where you're surrounded by strangers and no one quite knows who you are. You're another face in the crowd-- another passenger like them. You could be the ridiculous girl who is wearing sunglasses inside and four-inch heels while going towards baggage claim. You could be the dad with those three screaming kids who just spilled their carry-on snacks on the floor. You might even be the guy with his macbook, paying $24.94 for wireless internet just to entertain himself. I mean, people can see your outward appearance, but they can't discover YOU. Your personality, how you cry everytime you watch Bambi, the most played album in your music collection-- no one really learns that just by looking at you. Unfortunately, appearances aren't always all they're cracked up to be.
He was wearing a fedora. Not one of those oddly-colored ill-fitting ones that you see teenage girls sporting, but a real one. It was brown tweed and he looked like Frank Sinatra. I thought I might melt then and there. I've watched too many old movies, but I swear that a man with a blazer and a hat can do anything and girls will stick to him like velcro. He was sitting in the chair next to mine at Terminal E7 and I was slyly trying to keep looking his way while acting like I was skimming through a magazine. He reached for his bag and took out Nine Stories and I nearly screamed. This man with a hat that for some reason intrigued me was now reading one of my favorite books! It may be my overactive imagination but at that moment I imagined our whole life from his marriage proposal to me at that big tree in Animal Kingdom at DisneyWorld to us having wheelchair races together in the nursing home. I was subconsciously fixing my hair and trying to casually turn his way when it happened. His phone rang and he answered it. No, that's not the crisis- it's what's next. He opened his mouth and spoke.
"OMG no way! You've gotta be JK-ing with me! LOL! XOXO!"
My ears were crying. Not only did he use AIM abbreviations in real life, but he said them in such a way that made it seem like this was just a normal speech pattern. My daydream of DisneyWorld and old people suddenly vanished. How could this happen? He was supposed to be a dapper, suave, literary fellow who ordered champagne and spent summers at the Lourve. Instead, I was sharing my personal space with a twelve year old girl with too much caffeine and text messages. I wanted to say something to him, but the "convo" he was involved in seemed important, so I just said "g2g" with my body language and went to distract myself in the Hudson News stand.
So what did I learn today? Hats are deceiving. Srsly.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Hope is here in a plastic box
There are so many things we spend our existence trying to get people to notice. Outward appearance is so meticulous, with so much of time spent on hair and clothing and the right facial expressions to make at the right place we want to be seen at. Posture and smiles and gazes are all analyzed on a daily basis and apparently seem to reveal so much about a particular individual. If a picture is bad, we delete it; after all, we wouldn't want something tarnishing the way we want to be seen. Someone will wear a certain band's logo or a certain designer label as if to let it speak for them; to say "hi, this is me" without ever becoming audible. Sometimes it's like habits seem perfected by people, as if to appear better on the outside. I've said it multiple times before, but I hate perfection. There's beauty in the breakdown. I thrive truth, good or bad, because it's REAL. It's not a fairy tale or a false facade someone puts on to impress, but it's the gritty reality. And sometimes reality can be beautiful in a way if you look hard enough.
I think the things that speak the most aren't the most obvious, the ones we haven't spent time on, but are just so genuine and unique that you know they had to be natural. The way the last letter of your signature always dips the same amount below the signing line. The way your nail polish is always chipped on one hand more than the other. The way you grip your steering wheel on the turns but the rest of the time use it as a percussion instrument along with the beat of the song that's playing. The way you always pray over your meal, closing your eyes in reverence while we're about to eat fast food, even if no one else does. The way your voice takes this serious tone if you sense that anyone isn't feeling well and you truly want to help them. The way your room looks messy but you can locate everything perfectly. The way you mark your silverware with pink nail polish on the handles so that when we use it at enormous family-reunion dinners, you get yours back. The way you always let that person cut in front of you when driving and you never say anything negative, you just let them. The way you tuck in someone's tag when it's showing. The way that you will leave little notes of encouragement everywhere for people to find. All these things- they're not obnoxious, they're extremely interesting. There's so many more movements that reveal so much to me, I think, and I don't feel "creepy" for noticing. What seem like little gestures are so much more; small impulsive actions really do speak louder than words. Practiced life is so mundane- I'd much rather learn from observation. Perfection is pointless- real life is much more interesting and practical than a happily ever after.
You know, it's funny, but the only thing that's made me feel at all like I am getting older- no, not college, moving out, turning 18, looking the part or taking on responsibilities-- it's the fact that I'm drinking my coffee nearly black now.
I think the things that speak the most aren't the most obvious, the ones we haven't spent time on, but are just so genuine and unique that you know they had to be natural. The way the last letter of your signature always dips the same amount below the signing line. The way your nail polish is always chipped on one hand more than the other. The way you grip your steering wheel on the turns but the rest of the time use it as a percussion instrument along with the beat of the song that's playing. The way you always pray over your meal, closing your eyes in reverence while we're about to eat fast food, even if no one else does. The way your voice takes this serious tone if you sense that anyone isn't feeling well and you truly want to help them. The way your room looks messy but you can locate everything perfectly. The way you mark your silverware with pink nail polish on the handles so that when we use it at enormous family-reunion dinners, you get yours back. The way you always let that person cut in front of you when driving and you never say anything negative, you just let them. The way you tuck in someone's tag when it's showing. The way that you will leave little notes of encouragement everywhere for people to find. All these things- they're not obnoxious, they're extremely interesting. There's so many more movements that reveal so much to me, I think, and I don't feel "creepy" for noticing. What seem like little gestures are so much more; small impulsive actions really do speak louder than words. Practiced life is so mundane- I'd much rather learn from observation. Perfection is pointless- real life is much more interesting and practical than a happily ever after.
You know, it's funny, but the only thing that's made me feel at all like I am getting older- no, not college, moving out, turning 18, looking the part or taking on responsibilities-- it's the fact that I'm drinking my coffee nearly black now.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
I'm a bomb regardless
Maybe something has to be taken away from us in order to realize how much we need it.
Maybe it has to be taken away from us in order to realize how much we really don't.
I'm in love with a lot of things that the world isn't. I spend my time dwelling on things that aren't necessarily best-sellers or critic darlings because to me they mean something more. It's something personal, you know? It's something that stirs in me and my heart and doesn't necessarily knock anyone else off their feet. But I'm finally okay with that. Sure, there's moments where I'm hopeful and I wish that something that moved me would affect someone else in the exact same way so we could share it. But our experiences shape us, and there's not always going to be someone else rooting for the same things I am.
But then again, that's also why it's so rewarding and astounding when it does happen. When Jacqueline tells me about listening to a live version of some little ditty and it moves her and it moves me and we're together on this feeling it just makes me ecstatic. I'm never alone, really.
Nothing'severgonnastandinmyway (again)!
Maybe it has to be taken away from us in order to realize how much we really don't.
I'm in love with a lot of things that the world isn't. I spend my time dwelling on things that aren't necessarily best-sellers or critic darlings because to me they mean something more. It's something personal, you know? It's something that stirs in me and my heart and doesn't necessarily knock anyone else off their feet. But I'm finally okay with that. Sure, there's moments where I'm hopeful and I wish that something that moved me would affect someone else in the exact same way so we could share it. But our experiences shape us, and there's not always going to be someone else rooting for the same things I am.
But then again, that's also why it's so rewarding and astounding when it does happen. When Jacqueline tells me about listening to a live version of some little ditty and it moves her and it moves me and we're together on this feeling it just makes me ecstatic. I'm never alone, really.
Nothing'severgonnastandinmyway (again)!
Monday, July 14, 2008
Guaranteed
We're driving literally on the edges of mountains in New Mexico, crossing over into Colorado and I'm speechless. We've got no cellphone service, the windows rolled down and the only radio station that's able to come in is playing a static-filled "Sharp Dressed Man" while Kyle is pointing out the fact that there is still snow underneath some of the trees. It's a sweeping landscape that makes me feel so small and awe-struck. It's a scene from National Geographic or Into The Wild for as far as my eyes can see and I'm just so astounded by all the magnitude. Treetops and rolling hills are just the beginning of what my eyes take in and my camera lens is working overtime. There's something so freeing about feeling so very tiny and surrounded by such beauty and I'm starting to understand why so many writers pleaded with the common man to go out into nature and experience it full-on. Realize that something is bigger than yourself and that if you tear your eyes away from an LCD screen long enough you can see something even more glorious or amazing. Realizing that nature reveals so much of human nature and that it's not just a literary device or technique to feel something powerful when you're surrounded by wildlife.
I'm not saying that I'm just running down cliffs with nothing but my sanity at this point, but even without laying on top of a plateau this trip is a spiritual journey. I'm staying in a log cabin, not completely down to the bare essentials of living, but still, being so far away from how I live comfortably allows me to feel this sweeping sensation of LIFE. You know, real life, not just sitting in my suburban at a stoplight. Watching things around you grow and change. I swear, this is when I turn into my grandmother, getting all excited about birds and listening for their sounds. I'm observing all these other woodland creatures that I wish would follow me and help me make clothing and do chores like in Snow White. I try singing but alas, the chipmunks, beavers, hummingbirds and squirrels don't follow me onto the trail near the river and I'm exploring alone. It's refreshing and maybe I've just been breathing in too much thin air, but I really like walking through the woods by myself. It's calm and it's like I'm discovering a secret, some amazing hidden place, the farther I get from the road. I can't see the cabin anymore but I'm in no way worried. I'm alone with my thoughts and the music that I keep replaying in my head, a current mix of Springsteen ("I believe in a Promised Land"), The Hush Sound ("I'll break the sky") and oddly enough, a mass, Festival Magnificat, that we sang in Chorale years before that somehow lodges itself in my brain. "My soul doth magnify the LORD and my spirit hath rejoiced in God, my Savior" is replaying in my head and maybe it's too cheesy, but sitting listening to the rapids rushing over the stones and taking it all in, I take a moment to pray. And it's not an elaborate prayer, just a whole lot of Thank you's. Thank you for all these blessings. They don't belong to me but I get to feel them and drink them all in and for that I should and will be eternally grateful. Thank you for music, both with notes to sing and those melodies I hear made up of wind and water. Thank you for letting me breathe all this in. Don't ever let me downsize these gifts-- let me grasp just the tip of how seriously breathtaking creation is. Allow me to realize there's a whole lot more on this earth than me and my normal surroundings and give me a hunger to always want more of it.
I'm not saying that I'm just running down cliffs with nothing but my sanity at this point, but even without laying on top of a plateau this trip is a spiritual journey. I'm staying in a log cabin, not completely down to the bare essentials of living, but still, being so far away from how I live comfortably allows me to feel this sweeping sensation of LIFE. You know, real life, not just sitting in my suburban at a stoplight. Watching things around you grow and change. I swear, this is when I turn into my grandmother, getting all excited about birds and listening for their sounds. I'm observing all these other woodland creatures that I wish would follow me and help me make clothing and do chores like in Snow White. I try singing but alas, the chipmunks, beavers, hummingbirds and squirrels don't follow me onto the trail near the river and I'm exploring alone. It's refreshing and maybe I've just been breathing in too much thin air, but I really like walking through the woods by myself. It's calm and it's like I'm discovering a secret, some amazing hidden place, the farther I get from the road. I can't see the cabin anymore but I'm in no way worried. I'm alone with my thoughts and the music that I keep replaying in my head, a current mix of Springsteen ("I believe in a Promised Land"), The Hush Sound ("I'll break the sky") and oddly enough, a mass, Festival Magnificat, that we sang in Chorale years before that somehow lodges itself in my brain. "My soul doth magnify the LORD and my spirit hath rejoiced in God, my Savior" is replaying in my head and maybe it's too cheesy, but sitting listening to the rapids rushing over the stones and taking it all in, I take a moment to pray. And it's not an elaborate prayer, just a whole lot of Thank you's. Thank you for all these blessings. They don't belong to me but I get to feel them and drink them all in and for that I should and will be eternally grateful. Thank you for music, both with notes to sing and those melodies I hear made up of wind and water. Thank you for letting me breathe all this in. Don't ever let me downsize these gifts-- let me grasp just the tip of how seriously breathtaking creation is. Allow me to realize there's a whole lot more on this earth than me and my normal surroundings and give me a hunger to always want more of it.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Half-Awake
Done with high school.
...weird.
*I know it's only been a few hours and it seems a bit ridiculous to already be reminiscing but this has been floating around my mind for quite some time.
And you know, it's funny, because there's so many little things I will miss. Side comments and people encouraging me and always being there. I will miss hugs in the morning and dancing at night. It only really hit me when I saw them perform. Knowing that I wouldn't get to be on that stage and probably not even the audience made me upset. There is so much talent I'm surrounded by, but it's more than just a bunch of prodigies...they all are fantastic people. Yes, we learned more from a few thousand three minute records, along with words on a page that became more than that and conversations that I wish we could order transcripts of to this day.
I will miss the sense of family, some from specific classes, but specifically the makeshift one I formed late nights backstage and never ending rehearsals for concerts and contests and pop shows. I will miss singing more than I can even fathom. Not any song in particular or for that fact, any director in particular, but just the times that we spent creating something that was bigger than ourselves...something that was beautiful and communicated so much better than we all could have done individually.
I will miss the laughs more than anything. The people that woke me up and danced with me and knew exactly what to say to make my day ten times better. I have shed so many tears in laughter, literally on the floor gasping for air, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.
It's a big school but I won't miss anything major or necessarily tangible. I won't miss a building or a costume. I won't miss a script or a few measures of music, just the people and the memories. There's a couple dozen faces and brains I'll miss, but I know they won't be gone forever.
I know it can't last forever and it wouldn't mean the same if we could stay. But there are so many people that have changed me for the better (not intentionally connected to Wicked) and I don't think a yearbook message suffices.
I've heard it before many times but it's still true:
"Never say goodbye because saying goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting." -Peter Pan
So I have no intentions of saying any form of goodbye. I don't want any cliched "Good Luck!" messages. I have no intentions of any of this ending...we'll just say it'll be a little different. The passing of time can be a good thing sometimes. I didn't cry at any banquets or ceremonies but I don't think that's always the most sincere and honest expression of emotion. All I can say personally is that I wish all of you exceeded expectations in your future and all the good things about life you can get. I wish you love and more music than you can take in and lots of new discoveries. I'm not worried about staying in touch, because, one, Facebook makes stalkability that much easier and two, because this whole sense of family that I crave doesn't just go away. It won't be far at all.
Holden was right, actually, but I think even the 'missing everybody' part was and will be worth it.
...weird.
*I know it's only been a few hours and it seems a bit ridiculous to already be reminiscing but this has been floating around my mind for quite some time.
And you know, it's funny, because there's so many little things I will miss. Side comments and people encouraging me and always being there. I will miss hugs in the morning and dancing at night. It only really hit me when I saw them perform. Knowing that I wouldn't get to be on that stage and probably not even the audience made me upset. There is so much talent I'm surrounded by, but it's more than just a bunch of prodigies...they all are fantastic people. Yes, we learned more from a few thousand three minute records, along with words on a page that became more than that and conversations that I wish we could order transcripts of to this day.
I will miss the sense of family, some from specific classes, but specifically the makeshift one I formed late nights backstage and never ending rehearsals for concerts and contests and pop shows. I will miss singing more than I can even fathom. Not any song in particular or for that fact, any director in particular, but just the times that we spent creating something that was bigger than ourselves...something that was beautiful and communicated so much better than we all could have done individually.
I will miss the laughs more than anything. The people that woke me up and danced with me and knew exactly what to say to make my day ten times better. I have shed so many tears in laughter, literally on the floor gasping for air, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.
It's a big school but I won't miss anything major or necessarily tangible. I won't miss a building or a costume. I won't miss a script or a few measures of music, just the people and the memories. There's a couple dozen faces and brains I'll miss, but I know they won't be gone forever.
I know it can't last forever and it wouldn't mean the same if we could stay. But there are so many people that have changed me for the better (not intentionally connected to Wicked) and I don't think a yearbook message suffices.
I've heard it before many times but it's still true:
"Never say goodbye because saying goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting." -Peter Pan
So I have no intentions of saying any form of goodbye. I don't want any cliched "Good Luck!" messages. I have no intentions of any of this ending...we'll just say it'll be a little different. The passing of time can be a good thing sometimes. I didn't cry at any banquets or ceremonies but I don't think that's always the most sincere and honest expression of emotion. All I can say personally is that I wish all of you exceeded expectations in your future and all the good things about life you can get. I wish you love and more music than you can take in and lots of new discoveries. I'm not worried about staying in touch, because, one, Facebook makes stalkability that much easier and two, because this whole sense of family that I crave doesn't just go away. It won't be far at all.
Holden was right, actually, but I think even the 'missing everybody' part was and will be worth it.
Monday, April 28, 2008
It feels like years since it's been here
Life is making a lot more sense now.
I'm happy, generally every single day.
I know why I'm going to Texas State, it all makes sense!
& I'm studying music journalism, which is ultimately a passion of mine.....so we'll just say these next 4 years can be my life's replica of Almost Famous, hopefully
Today is the 2 week anniversary of the best concert and coincidentally the best day of my life!! (more on that later, I'll eventually write something less scatterbrained about it, rather than just typing I TOUCHED BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN in all caps whenever I think about it)
There's so many relationships building me up
It isn't all sunshine and kittens 24/7 but I am learning from all of this
GRADUATING IN A MONTH!
And then there will be summer, long lazy days and freedom, in a sense
Carolyn is okay, and I'm praying for her to heal fast
God is so amazing lately.
I'm so grateful for music and conversation and real feelings and relief and warm hugs. These days really are living up to their reputation, you know.
edit: yeah, i'm listening to atlantic city right now and i swear i still get a lump in my throat hearing it. i no longer think it's a weird thing that music affects me so deeply, i know this is all for a reason, for a love of something that is worth all the love and focus i can give to it. it really is the best feeling when you can feel a song moving through you and becoming bigger than a few pitches playing through your headphones. oh, i can't even put it all down. seriously good goosebumps.
I'm happy, generally every single day.
I know why I'm going to Texas State, it all makes sense!
& I'm studying music journalism, which is ultimately a passion of mine.....so we'll just say these next 4 years can be my life's replica of Almost Famous, hopefully
Today is the 2 week anniversary of the best concert and coincidentally the best day of my life!! (more on that later, I'll eventually write something less scatterbrained about it, rather than just typing I TOUCHED BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN in all caps whenever I think about it)
There's so many relationships building me up
It isn't all sunshine and kittens 24/7 but I am learning from all of this
GRADUATING IN A MONTH!
And then there will be summer, long lazy days and freedom, in a sense
Carolyn is okay, and I'm praying for her to heal fast
God is so amazing lately.
I'm so grateful for music and conversation and real feelings and relief and warm hugs. These days really are living up to their reputation, you know.
edit: yeah, i'm listening to atlantic city right now and i swear i still get a lump in my throat hearing it. i no longer think it's a weird thing that music affects me so deeply, i know this is all for a reason, for a love of something that is worth all the love and focus i can give to it. it really is the best feeling when you can feel a song moving through you and becoming bigger than a few pitches playing through your headphones. oh, i can't even put it all down. seriously good goosebumps.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Hi, I'm Alexander Supertramp
I want to get out of my comfort zone, I really do. I want to give my life to something bigger and better. I know that it seems typical since I'm the suburban upper-class kid who just watched Into The Wild before writing this, but lately, I have this need to get out of my neighborhood. It's probably a culmination of wanting to graduate and get out there and actually see things, but I know it's also in some scary way a call to some sort of mission work. It's intimidating and daunting, but I think that it's also definitely in my future. I want to help other people that can't help themselves so much it hurts. I want to go to Africa eventually, I've said it before, but I don't just want it to serve as something for my own goals; in other words, this trip I hope to take in my future won't be about "discovering myself". I want to discover things that are completely not my own- different languages and cultures and different needs that other people in this world have that I can help. I don't want to go for myself, I want to go because I know I am capable of serving someone else. I'd like to say I'm ready to burn all my money and live in the middle of nowhere, but I'd prefer to take this a little slower. For now I'm just trying to focus that attention and affection for service into my everyday life.
And on a completely different but taking-over-my-life note, I can feel something good ahead. There's something building behind all these melodies. Behind every drumbeat I hear there's this drive and every word sung just seems to get me more excited. My parents just laugh when they catch me dancing and most every class seems to overhear my commotion about what will be happening in exactly one week's time. I think most of my peers think I've gone a little crazy overboard on how much music I can listen to in one day, but I'm finding it essential. I've said before that my dream job would be to get paid to go to concerts and it's sounding better every minute. I'm insatiable for more rhythm right now, I only want more saxophone, more crescendos, more call-and-response. Is this healthy? I'd say based on my walking-on-air-good-morning-world!-how-are-you? attitude, it just might be. I don't even care what the general public's opinion is. It's real to me, it matters to me, and I am literally waiting and counting the hours. It has to be wonderful, I just know it.
And on a completely different but taking-over-my-life note, I can feel something good ahead. There's something building behind all these melodies. Behind every drumbeat I hear there's this drive and every word sung just seems to get me more excited. My parents just laugh when they catch me dancing and most every class seems to overhear my commotion about what will be happening in exactly one week's time. I think most of my peers think I've gone a little crazy overboard on how much music I can listen to in one day, but I'm finding it essential. I've said before that my dream job would be to get paid to go to concerts and it's sounding better every minute. I'm insatiable for more rhythm right now, I only want more saxophone, more crescendos, more call-and-response. Is this healthy? I'd say based on my walking-on-air-good-morning-world!-how-are-you? attitude, it just might be. I don't even care what the general public's opinion is. It's real to me, it matters to me, and I am literally waiting and counting the hours. It has to be wonderful, I just know it.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
"We accept all races of cupcakes!" -O. Simons
(none of this is an april fool's joke, fyi.)
There's a lot of new thoughts and songs buzzing around in my head right now and it's distracting. I used to make a lot of sticky note lists of things to do, songs to download, movies to watch, and it only made me more stressed out when I couldn't cross those things off. I had to hold on to every list, making sure I remembered whatever seemed so important at the time. I sort of went back to that habit at the beginning last week, but instead of to-do lists, the lists were more or less thoughts I was pondering. Apparently I ponder a lot now? I guess so. Anyway, this will probably be really jumpy and random but I wanted to get a few down.
It hasn't necessarily been overwhelmingly stressful, but it has been busy. I've been waking up disoriented and forgetting what day it is and what my schedule is for that day. I've taken to making everyday things "events" on my phone so that an alarm goes off at a certain time and tells me what's going on. Plus, scuba class is so much more exciting to attend when it is announced with the Samson & Son theme song playing out of my phone's speakers! But even with all these insignificant events, there has been a lot of time to do things I've been putting off. Lately I've been turning into a senior citizen. I have done nothing but nap and read lately and I've really enjoyed both activities. I'm conducting a shameless love affair with a turntable and Dean Martin records. Also, I'm baking at least every other day and I'm giving Betty Crocker a run for her money. Yesterday I bought knitting needles and I'm actually kinda excited about knitting things when I get the hang of it.
Let's please just all consider that last sentence. Seriously? Yeah.
I was reading old livejournal entries today (after napping and Oprah) and I think there was so much I missed. Thoughts I had, thoughts other people had-- I think I skimmed over a few or they didn't all make sense at the time. Some of it's intensely bittersweet to read, actually. Things I was so idealistic about suddenly don't seem all they were cracked up to be. There is so very much about life that I've now learned since my older ramblings, and I'm not even talking about looking back so far to the days of my 2004 posts (let's not even go there, actually). The most striking thing is that even now there's some fantastically worded sentences written years ago by other people or about other people that can still tear me up a little or give me butterflies in my stomach. It's weird, you'd think I'd be over these things, but it's like a movie you keep rewatching and cry and laugh every time. Words are powerful even after the hundredth time you say them.
There's one thought that's been in my head for far far too long and I swear if I don't get it down I'll explode. I think what really unnerved me one particular time in recent past was that someone told me indirectly that my affection for something seemed false. That my love for a particular object was not real or it was all a show. That all this energy I had exerted into absorbing this thing, these melodies that were permeating and seemingly stuck in my thoughts, was untrue. I didn't know what to say; I didn't know how to convince someone that I wasn't trying this music out like homework or a task I had to be forced to complete. I wasn't forcing myself to like it and I wasn't grasping onto it because I wanted any form of prize in the end. I remember laying down on my floor, trying to push expectations and preconceived notions out of my mind, and pressing play and really listening. Sometimes I think my musical methods are crazy to anyone else, really, but this is exactly how it happened. I remember laying there and feeling like dancing. I remember almost feeling nostalgic, thinking that I wished I had heard it sooner because each track seemed to feel well worn-in. I wished I could meet the people in the stories and I wanted to hear more of it even after the 47 minutes ended. It was a feeling I'd really only felt a few times before, and feeling that strongly over a few measures of notes always excites me. So, I latched onto those notes and tempos and measures. I found myself talking about the album and playing it for other people. I would hear something that reminded me of a line and instantly I'd be playing a guitar solo in my head. I would sing it and feel amazed that lyrics that seemed so personally written, like a story I'd somehow been dropped into, would suddenly mean something to me personally. I felt this impassioned about it, but then I heard that it appeared like I was just pretending. That maybe I was just halfway sidestepping around this album and really I was only listening to it to make myself seem more likable or desirable. That all this was superficially for someone else. I didn't know what to make of this or how to defend myself or the thing I now loved. Maybe I didn't have pages of history and I couldn't answer every question about it, nor had I even listened to the very tip of the iceberg of an extensive catalog, but I knew it meant a great deal to me. That never fully resolved, apparently, as I'm still talking about it now, but I've just made the decision to drop it. 7 songs in particular are important to me and that's enough.
There's a few future plans I have planned out and heard more on lately, but overall, I'm just trusting God and putting it all in his hands. I hardly know everything, but what do I know? I've got a book list to read and a set of records and box sets of LPs that Olivia is letting me borrow that I can't even believe I am actually hearing and amaze me. There's also a graduation date to look forward to. And larger than that, I've got an intense passion for music that overwhelms me sometimes, a family and group of friends that I run out fantastic adjectives for and a desire to serve in some way. I know that those will be there no matter where I'm living or what I'm doing years from now, and actually, yes, that's very reassuring.
There's a lot of new thoughts and songs buzzing around in my head right now and it's distracting. I used to make a lot of sticky note lists of things to do, songs to download, movies to watch, and it only made me more stressed out when I couldn't cross those things off. I had to hold on to every list, making sure I remembered whatever seemed so important at the time. I sort of went back to that habit at the beginning last week, but instead of to-do lists, the lists were more or less thoughts I was pondering. Apparently I ponder a lot now? I guess so. Anyway, this will probably be really jumpy and random but I wanted to get a few down.
It hasn't necessarily been overwhelmingly stressful, but it has been busy. I've been waking up disoriented and forgetting what day it is and what my schedule is for that day. I've taken to making everyday things "events" on my phone so that an alarm goes off at a certain time and tells me what's going on. Plus, scuba class is so much more exciting to attend when it is announced with the Samson & Son theme song playing out of my phone's speakers! But even with all these insignificant events, there has been a lot of time to do things I've been putting off. Lately I've been turning into a senior citizen. I have done nothing but nap and read lately and I've really enjoyed both activities. I'm conducting a shameless love affair with a turntable and Dean Martin records. Also, I'm baking at least every other day and I'm giving Betty Crocker a run for her money. Yesterday I bought knitting needles and I'm actually kinda excited about knitting things when I get the hang of it.
Let's please just all consider that last sentence. Seriously? Yeah.
I was reading old livejournal entries today (after napping and Oprah) and I think there was so much I missed. Thoughts I had, thoughts other people had-- I think I skimmed over a few or they didn't all make sense at the time. Some of it's intensely bittersweet to read, actually. Things I was so idealistic about suddenly don't seem all they were cracked up to be. There is so very much about life that I've now learned since my older ramblings, and I'm not even talking about looking back so far to the days of my 2004 posts (let's not even go there, actually). The most striking thing is that even now there's some fantastically worded sentences written years ago by other people or about other people that can still tear me up a little or give me butterflies in my stomach. It's weird, you'd think I'd be over these things, but it's like a movie you keep rewatching and cry and laugh every time. Words are powerful even after the hundredth time you say them.
There's one thought that's been in my head for far far too long and I swear if I don't get it down I'll explode. I think what really unnerved me one particular time in recent past was that someone told me indirectly that my affection for something seemed false. That my love for a particular object was not real or it was all a show. That all this energy I had exerted into absorbing this thing, these melodies that were permeating and seemingly stuck in my thoughts, was untrue. I didn't know what to say; I didn't know how to convince someone that I wasn't trying this music out like homework or a task I had to be forced to complete. I wasn't forcing myself to like it and I wasn't grasping onto it because I wanted any form of prize in the end. I remember laying down on my floor, trying to push expectations and preconceived notions out of my mind, and pressing play and really listening. Sometimes I think my musical methods are crazy to anyone else, really, but this is exactly how it happened. I remember laying there and feeling like dancing. I remember almost feeling nostalgic, thinking that I wished I had heard it sooner because each track seemed to feel well worn-in. I wished I could meet the people in the stories and I wanted to hear more of it even after the 47 minutes ended. It was a feeling I'd really only felt a few times before, and feeling that strongly over a few measures of notes always excites me. So, I latched onto those notes and tempos and measures. I found myself talking about the album and playing it for other people. I would hear something that reminded me of a line and instantly I'd be playing a guitar solo in my head. I would sing it and feel amazed that lyrics that seemed so personally written, like a story I'd somehow been dropped into, would suddenly mean something to me personally. I felt this impassioned about it, but then I heard that it appeared like I was just pretending. That maybe I was just halfway sidestepping around this album and really I was only listening to it to make myself seem more likable or desirable. That all this was superficially for someone else. I didn't know what to make of this or how to defend myself or the thing I now loved. Maybe I didn't have pages of history and I couldn't answer every question about it, nor had I even listened to the very tip of the iceberg of an extensive catalog, but I knew it meant a great deal to me. That never fully resolved, apparently, as I'm still talking about it now, but I've just made the decision to drop it. 7 songs in particular are important to me and that's enough.
There's a few future plans I have planned out and heard more on lately, but overall, I'm just trusting God and putting it all in his hands. I hardly know everything, but what do I know? I've got a book list to read and a set of records and box sets of LPs that Olivia is letting me borrow that I can't even believe I am actually hearing and amaze me. There's also a graduation date to look forward to. And larger than that, I've got an intense passion for music that overwhelms me sometimes, a family and group of friends that I run out fantastic adjectives for and a desire to serve in some way. I know that those will be there no matter where I'm living or what I'm doing years from now, and actually, yes, that's very reassuring.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
"I will be with you when you pass through the waters, and when you pass through them, they will not overwhelm you." Isaiah 43:2
they will not overwhelm you
they will not overwhelm you
they will not overwhelm you
they will not overwhelm you
they will not overwhelm you
they will not overwhelm you
they will not overwhelm you
they will not overwhelm you
Really gotta keep keeping that in mind.
they will not overwhelm you
they will not overwhelm you
they will not overwhelm you
they will not overwhelm you
they will not overwhelm you
they will not overwhelm you
they will not overwhelm you
they will not overwhelm you
Really gotta keep keeping that in mind.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Apply Some Pressure
Dear Mark Ronson,
I would just like to let you know that whenever your schedule is free, I'm here. We can remix a Phantom Planet album or we can maybe take an old Al Green song and give it a new kick. I am not opposed to adding the Dap-Kings in there somewhere, also. Please consider that a) I love you b) I think you're wonderful and c) I would probably do anything you asked of me. I know you've got a thing for Lily Allen and Amy Winehouse, so I can stock up on Nike hi-tops and black liquid eyeliner in a flash if that'll do it for ya. I have your album on repeat and I've had it playing for months now.....in other words, let's duet.
Sincerely,
Kelsey Manning
P.S. I am considering changing my name to Valerie, also. It would be more convenient, I know.
I would just like to let you know that whenever your schedule is free, I'm here. We can remix a Phantom Planet album or we can maybe take an old Al Green song and give it a new kick. I am not opposed to adding the Dap-Kings in there somewhere, also. Please consider that a) I love you b) I think you're wonderful and c) I would probably do anything you asked of me. I know you've got a thing for Lily Allen and Amy Winehouse, so I can stock up on Nike hi-tops and black liquid eyeliner in a flash if that'll do it for ya. I have your album on repeat and I've had it playing for months now.....in other words, let's duet.
Sincerely,
Kelsey Manning
P.S. I am considering changing my name to Valerie, also. It would be more convenient, I know.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Cause Maybe
I heard it for the first time in forever today. I don't think I attached much to the original version of the song. There was a slower cover that I basked in for years and kept to myself and tried to explain to other people but saw they lost interest. It's almost frustrating because the lyrics don't come outright and tell you, and to be completely honest I still have no idea what the entire concept of being someone's wonderwall even means. I know that I want a wonderwall, though. I've heard it a lot, different versions and covers and mash-ups and they all resonate in different ways, but there was this one moment that really brought it all home.
It was last year, five days before I turned 17 and it was humid outside, even more so since we had lawn seats. I wasn't expecting too much other than the simple fact that I knew I'd be entertained. They weren't the greatest band, but they were upbeat and they kept the crowd happy. Jenny was ecstatically multi-tasking-- taking pictures and video while singing along to every word. Carolyn and Laura were crossing fingers that the best songs were played. They last song was 'Look After You' and it turned into one big sing-a-long. The weird part was that the first concert that mattered in my life? Same thing happened, same exact song, only a much smaller crowd and The Fray was the opening band at that time....but, I digress. They were playing 'Look After You' and you could tell that it was the song of the night. The song all the couples swoon to and the song that no one takes a picture during, so as not to break the atmosphere. Suddenly, out of nowhere, this disco ball drops down, the song changes and just when I think they can't make it even more cheesy, Issac shouts out, "Sing it like you're at your high school prom!" Those first few chords and Laura spills her drink and screams. It's the song that mattered to her, to everyone, in high school. We're all singing and you can tell half the place doesn't know the words because they all look twelve, but we're all in this moment because we know it's big. And lemme tell you, the face that Laura made on "Cause maybe you're gonna be the one that saves me" was spectacular. I'm pretty sure we were all off-key but it didn't matter, because it was something that we couldn't have predicted or known and it hit hard, but it felt good.
It always amazes me how a song can hold that much over your life, like it's a part of you. It can matter that much, can wreck you that much, so much so that when you hear it in the car, you have to pull over, because you go back to those memories, that one spot where that song was exactly what you needed. You want to cry and shout and laugh all at the same time for that place in your life that it brings back. You're pulled over and it's a few beats and voices and nothing means more than drowning in that mix of chords. It doesn't matter how popular it is or what it means or doesn't mean to someone else, it still can take control of you for those few minutes and your life is affected by four minutes of sound.
Cause after all, you're my wonderwall.
It was last year, five days before I turned 17 and it was humid outside, even more so since we had lawn seats. I wasn't expecting too much other than the simple fact that I knew I'd be entertained. They weren't the greatest band, but they were upbeat and they kept the crowd happy. Jenny was ecstatically multi-tasking-- taking pictures and video while singing along to every word. Carolyn and Laura were crossing fingers that the best songs were played. They last song was 'Look After You' and it turned into one big sing-a-long. The weird part was that the first concert that mattered in my life? Same thing happened, same exact song, only a much smaller crowd and The Fray was the opening band at that time....but, I digress. They were playing 'Look After You' and you could tell that it was the song of the night. The song all the couples swoon to and the song that no one takes a picture during, so as not to break the atmosphere. Suddenly, out of nowhere, this disco ball drops down, the song changes and just when I think they can't make it even more cheesy, Issac shouts out, "Sing it like you're at your high school prom!" Those first few chords and Laura spills her drink and screams. It's the song that mattered to her, to everyone, in high school. We're all singing and you can tell half the place doesn't know the words because they all look twelve, but we're all in this moment because we know it's big. And lemme tell you, the face that Laura made on "Cause maybe you're gonna be the one that saves me" was spectacular. I'm pretty sure we were all off-key but it didn't matter, because it was something that we couldn't have predicted or known and it hit hard, but it felt good.
It always amazes me how a song can hold that much over your life, like it's a part of you. It can matter that much, can wreck you that much, so much so that when you hear it in the car, you have to pull over, because you go back to those memories, that one spot where that song was exactly what you needed. You want to cry and shout and laugh all at the same time for that place in your life that it brings back. You're pulled over and it's a few beats and voices and nothing means more than drowning in that mix of chords. It doesn't matter how popular it is or what it means or doesn't mean to someone else, it still can take control of you for those few minutes and your life is affected by four minutes of sound.
Cause after all, you're my wonderwall.
I don't know
It's frustrating living through something else, but it's common. It's as if your own memories aren't good enough, aren't shiny and edited well enough, so you cling on and hold tightly to something that you didn't create, but that resonates deeply within you.
Do people that write hit songs really know how big they are going to be? Does someone really wake up with a melody in their ear and write it down and then two weeks later that same melody is in the ears of millions?
It's easy to love an object- it requires nothing back. You can pour into it and it's not going to leave your side. You can be confident that the same few minutes of sound and picture will look and sound the same as it did the day before. That's why loving someone takes a whole lot more. Because that someone could change their mind, could leave or be forced away and you would end up giving all of this to someone that won't give you anything back. It's a scary thought.
Do people that write hit songs really know how big they are going to be? Does someone really wake up with a melody in their ear and write it down and then two weeks later that same melody is in the ears of millions?
It's easy to love an object- it requires nothing back. You can pour into it and it's not going to leave your side. You can be confident that the same few minutes of sound and picture will look and sound the same as it did the day before. That's why loving someone takes a whole lot more. Because that someone could change their mind, could leave or be forced away and you would end up giving all of this to someone that won't give you anything back. It's a scary thought.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
500(+) words about 1.25.08.
I made a playlist for the occasion. It was full of some gems that needed no explanation, some that had been heard before, some that seemed extremely relevant and some that I knew would play in the background while we talked over their meaning. I was pretty jumpy, which probably was a little bit of nerves and excitement and hoping that the concept of will call did really exist in the world. Favorite unbalanced coat? Check. Concert dress code attire of black? Check. Directions? Credit Card? Game Face? Check. Check. Check. The nervous feeling also stemmed a little bit from the fact that I wanted this concert to be wonderful so that it would be worth it; worth the drive, worth the fact that she'd be in Austin the next day. Needless to say, even with a four-lane traffic pile-up, we arrived at what would normally be considered embarrassingly early, but the idea of being ashamed of being there an hour early wore off instantly when we saw her. HER. Miss Sharon Jones, in a baseball cap and glasses, carrying her own monitors inside. The woman packs a serious punch when she's got a horn section behind her, but outside she looked pretty normal. After freaking out and attempting to stay warm in the car for a few minutes, it was time to endure the outside in a maneuver that would be all worth it.
The details until the show started can get boring, but they're still clear: 1) Watching numerous people walk up to the door and then quickly walk back out realizing the doors were not open yet and the show was sold out. 2) Huddling for heat and speculating about the lives and bits of audible conversation from other concert goers 3) Attempting to catch a bit of "Taxes" that was played for sound check and 4) Asking repeatedly, "Can we go inside now?" and being told, "No, we will respect the venue and it will respect us." (Actually, the whole respect thing turned out 100% true. Who would've thought, right? Thank you.)
One x marked on each of our hands in green Sharpie, we walked in to a small room that looked more like a local band stage than anything. Staking claim on stage left, we waited and grooved to the sounds of Otis Redding and Sam Cooke. Normally, Sam and Otis wouldn't even be considered for opening music, as it's universally known that your opening music can't overshadow and outdo your main act, but this show wasn't going to have to compete with anyone or anything. The opening band was interesting, The Ivan Milev Band to namedrop. They were humble and foreign and actually didn't suck, considering they were so different. While accordion solos are impressive and something my ears don't hear too often, I was still nervous and excited, wondering if in a few minutes I really was going to be standing, or rather, dancing 3 feet away from one of the most amazing women to ever pick up a microphone. I took a few pictures and danced as much as you really can to irregular meters and accordion blasts and clapped when they were through, but I was still on edge. We made some conversation and then "A Change Is Gonna Come" permeated the air and it was probably one of the greatest sing-alongs I've been a part of. You could feel the excitement, like something big was looming and it couldn't have been more accurate.
The Dap-Kings took the stage and picked up a rhythm that made even the whitest feet start tappin'. The energy was contagious and every instrument wailed in the best way. We were practically in the laps on the guitar players at some points and I had no objections. The music was loud but not in your face and just enough jazz to start something. And then, of course, after a well-deserved introduction by Binky Griptite, she took the stage.
She's 51 years old and 4'11, but you'd never even know it. She's wearing heels and the same dress she wore on an album cover shoot and I'm nearly melting already at the amount of soul in the first note she sings. Her voice is smooth but it's got this bitterness to it that makes every song feel so raw and funky all at the same time. She can't stay still and neither can I when she asks "How Do You Let A Good Man Down?" and makes Marvin Gaye look like a boy scout. You can tell she's worked at this for such a long time, the way the songs seem so much a part of her personality and the way she brings her past and her life story into her dancing. She belts out "Nobody's Baby" and the crowd is hers. We're singing back-ups and call-and-response and she's overpowering every amazing instrument backing her. Somewhere in the midst of all of this, she decides to invite someone onstage and reaches for Kevin. She's asking him his name and then my name gets thrown into the mix and suddenly she's singing "Be Easy" with the words "Kevin" and "Kelsey" thrown in at appropriate times. I'm yelling and dancing and laughing all at the same time because there's no way this is really happening. She sings with such ease (no pun intended) and every note is like honey. She's dancing and Kevin is dancing and I'm dancing and as cheesy as it is, my heart is happy and I'm so happy that this woman that I love and am inspired by is face to face with the guy that makes me feel butterflies on a regular basis. Kevin gets a kiss on the cheek from her and we haven't even gotten five songs in yet. She treats every word of every song importantly and she connects with every single person there. Not even the drunk girl she invites on stage ruins anything and Sharon is such a little fireball through everything. "100 Days, 100 Nights" gets a good response and my feet can't stop moving and the soul of the song is overwhelming. She ends her set and the band keeps playing, but I know it can't be over. After a few minutes of pleading, she's back on the stage and then she does something that makes all the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end: she nails the first few notes to "It's a Man's Man's Man's World" and tears up the song in a way that would make James Brown smile. I am completely astounded by her. She sings a few older songs and is still as jumpy as ever and then she leaves us on a high note with the band still doing justice.
I can't collect thoughts afterwards except the fact that it all really happened and I see a tiny little crowd around a familiar-looking dress. People ask to take pictures of Kevin and I and I feel a little ridiculous. We make our way over to her and she's the most gracious little woman I've heard in long time, ushering everyone over to the merch table and thanking people for coming. She's tiny and everyone is taller than her but she has an enormous presence about her. We follow her and get pushed to the front of the line where she says, "Kevin and Kelsey!" and I die a little inside. We take a picture and I thank her in words that don't really match up to my real gratitude and she kisses me on the cheek. We take a few more pictures but I'm still in awe of the whole thing and I can't believe it all happened.
The entire way home I can't even handle listening to music but I've got this goofy grin on my face, one hand on the wheel and a soul so full of good music that it could burst.
This Happened:
The details until the show started can get boring, but they're still clear: 1) Watching numerous people walk up to the door and then quickly walk back out realizing the doors were not open yet and the show was sold out. 2) Huddling for heat and speculating about the lives and bits of audible conversation from other concert goers 3) Attempting to catch a bit of "Taxes" that was played for sound check and 4) Asking repeatedly, "Can we go inside now?" and being told, "No, we will respect the venue and it will respect us." (Actually, the whole respect thing turned out 100% true. Who would've thought, right? Thank you.)
One x marked on each of our hands in green Sharpie, we walked in to a small room that looked more like a local band stage than anything. Staking claim on stage left, we waited and grooved to the sounds of Otis Redding and Sam Cooke. Normally, Sam and Otis wouldn't even be considered for opening music, as it's universally known that your opening music can't overshadow and outdo your main act, but this show wasn't going to have to compete with anyone or anything. The opening band was interesting, The Ivan Milev Band to namedrop. They were humble and foreign and actually didn't suck, considering they were so different. While accordion solos are impressive and something my ears don't hear too often, I was still nervous and excited, wondering if in a few minutes I really was going to be standing, or rather, dancing 3 feet away from one of the most amazing women to ever pick up a microphone. I took a few pictures and danced as much as you really can to irregular meters and accordion blasts and clapped when they were through, but I was still on edge. We made some conversation and then "A Change Is Gonna Come" permeated the air and it was probably one of the greatest sing-alongs I've been a part of. You could feel the excitement, like something big was looming and it couldn't have been more accurate.
The Dap-Kings took the stage and picked up a rhythm that made even the whitest feet start tappin'. The energy was contagious and every instrument wailed in the best way. We were practically in the laps on the guitar players at some points and I had no objections. The music was loud but not in your face and just enough jazz to start something. And then, of course, after a well-deserved introduction by Binky Griptite, she took the stage.
She's 51 years old and 4'11, but you'd never even know it. She's wearing heels and the same dress she wore on an album cover shoot and I'm nearly melting already at the amount of soul in the first note she sings. Her voice is smooth but it's got this bitterness to it that makes every song feel so raw and funky all at the same time. She can't stay still and neither can I when she asks "How Do You Let A Good Man Down?" and makes Marvin Gaye look like a boy scout. You can tell she's worked at this for such a long time, the way the songs seem so much a part of her personality and the way she brings her past and her life story into her dancing. She belts out "Nobody's Baby" and the crowd is hers. We're singing back-ups and call-and-response and she's overpowering every amazing instrument backing her. Somewhere in the midst of all of this, she decides to invite someone onstage and reaches for Kevin. She's asking him his name and then my name gets thrown into the mix and suddenly she's singing "Be Easy" with the words "Kevin" and "Kelsey" thrown in at appropriate times. I'm yelling and dancing and laughing all at the same time because there's no way this is really happening. She sings with such ease (no pun intended) and every note is like honey. She's dancing and Kevin is dancing and I'm dancing and as cheesy as it is, my heart is happy and I'm so happy that this woman that I love and am inspired by is face to face with the guy that makes me feel butterflies on a regular basis. Kevin gets a kiss on the cheek from her and we haven't even gotten five songs in yet. She treats every word of every song importantly and she connects with every single person there. Not even the drunk girl she invites on stage ruins anything and Sharon is such a little fireball through everything. "100 Days, 100 Nights" gets a good response and my feet can't stop moving and the soul of the song is overwhelming. She ends her set and the band keeps playing, but I know it can't be over. After a few minutes of pleading, she's back on the stage and then she does something that makes all the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end: she nails the first few notes to "It's a Man's Man's Man's World" and tears up the song in a way that would make James Brown smile. I am completely astounded by her. She sings a few older songs and is still as jumpy as ever and then she leaves us on a high note with the band still doing justice.
I can't collect thoughts afterwards except the fact that it all really happened and I see a tiny little crowd around a familiar-looking dress. People ask to take pictures of Kevin and I and I feel a little ridiculous. We make our way over to her and she's the most gracious little woman I've heard in long time, ushering everyone over to the merch table and thanking people for coming. She's tiny and everyone is taller than her but she has an enormous presence about her. We follow her and get pushed to the front of the line where she says, "Kevin and Kelsey!" and I die a little inside. We take a picture and I thank her in words that don't really match up to my real gratitude and she kisses me on the cheek. We take a few more pictures but I'm still in awe of the whole thing and I can't believe it all happened.
The entire way home I can't even handle listening to music but I've got this goofy grin on my face, one hand on the wheel and a soul so full of good music that it could burst.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Naturally
"Falling Asleep To The Sounds Of Sirens" by Kelsey Manning, avaliable on iTunes next week.
2008: My life is ridiculous and wonderful and insane all at the same time.
Cross your fingers for Friday:
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