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.
Friday, December 5, 2008
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.
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