In a few short hours it will be the tenth anniversary of my first post on Crushing Krisis.
As you might expect, I have a lot to say about that. Before I do, I wanted to share ten of my favorite posts from this past year. (Actually, it’s 13 posts, but the pairs are pairs for a reason – not out of indecisiveness).
Continue reading ›
I could write a post about each of these links, but in ten years would that be interesting to read? Maybe they need the context of each other to create a narrative beyond their end destinations.
Here we go.
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1. Ever fantasized about being a globe-trotting musician headlining your own tour? Amanda Palmer does just that, and her no-holds-barred look at managing the business of her music while on tour via email will either thrill or terrify you.
2. On the way back from our aborted-by-clouds skydiving attempt Wes played a hilarious NPR show/podcast called Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me, an hour-long quiz show that’s part Daily Show part Whose Line Is It Anyway. As I’ve recently mentioned, I can be a humorless curmudgeon, but the show’s mix of news, puns, and grammatical humor struck a chord with me. Derek Powazek discusses how the Wait, Wait formula is crowd-sourcing done right.
3. Skydiving was my present to Wes for graduating from Temple Law. HuffPost interviewed Nikki Johnson-Huston, who went from homeless to college-dropout to award-winning graduate of Temple Law. (via JoeBeta)
4. My friend and fellow sky-diving companion Chris is the glassblowing apprentice at Old City’s Hudson Beach Glass, where they are having a design-your-own-pint-glasses special through this Sunday to commemorate Philly Beer Week. I’ve been remiss in not dropping by for one of their open-studio days – an issue to be amended soon. (via UWishUNu)
5. Reminiscent of my blog-buddy Unsolicited Analysis, You Are Not So Smart tackles common misconceptions with detailed take-downs. Their recent “Misinformation Effect” addresses a recurring theme of CK, the persistence and reliability of memory. (via Kottke; on a related note, see his post on “mesofacts”)
6. Also in the UnAnal vein, Flowing Data blogs data visualizations, like heat-mapping tourist routes based on the volume of photographs by location.
7. Are you a worry-wart about things like burglaries, shark attacks, and plane crashes? Meg’s Tumblr provides a handy graphic to divert your fears to identity thefts, dog bites, and automobile accidents. The greater, more probable danger is often in plainer sight than the more fearsome, relatively exotic danger.
8. Do you wield your iPhone or iPad outdoors and while mosquitoes enjoy your pale, savory flesh? Grab an anti-mosquito iApp that broadcasts high frequency noise that’s a total buzz-kill for the pests. (via MightyGirl)
9. Speaking of iPad, imagine if every seat at your longest meeting had one. Seth Godin did just that. Would meetings really become more efficient? Seems like it would apply favorably to political processes as well (and I know some congressional or parliamentary bodies use a similar system).
10. Last month Danny Brown presented a post of his 17 top WordPress plugins, many of which I’ve added to CK in the intervening weeks. Now that I see them in action, it turns out they’re as ubiquitous as they are ingenious, and thanks to them my quality of blogging-life has greatly increased – thanks Danny! I’ll add the suggestion ofAfter the Deadline – a proofreading plugin for both WP and your favorite browser.
11. Design blog NotCot presents a detailed look at the farcical Pre-Handshake Handshake Device from artist Dominc Wilcox. I need Dominic to design a body-suit in a similar style for me to wear on the El…
12. … and/or, when I am all hot post-hypothetical-triathlon, I can buying some Matrix-style gear from Ego-Assassin. (via Warren Ellis; I’ve been reading his Planetary)
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Wow, they really did end up as a narrative … for me, anyway.
It’s that time again.
Decades help us mark the time, draw arbitrary lines around styles and changes in our world. Sometimes my memories of “The 80s” are actually from 1992. Sometimes that great 30s pop art I love is from the 20s.
We claim 10 years as something tangible, but can we really understand it? At age 20 it’s half of our lives! At age 30 it’s just the upwardly mobile portion. So when do we understand? 40? 50? Do ten years ever make sense as a discreet, disposable unit the way one, or two, or five do?
I don’t know, and I’ll have to decide in August when this endeavor hits its own decade mark.
By then I’ll have celebrated dozens of other tiny deca-birthdays, as my early songs are all reaching that milestone. I’ve let most of them slip by unnoticed, or unmarked, or just by playing the song once or twice.
“Crashing” marked the beginning of my “modern” era of songwriting, so I marked that one with a recording.
Today marks something else. “Under My Skin.” God, I cannot even believe I am typing this, but I wrote it ten years ago. And, I never stop playing “Under My Skin.” For the first time, this is a song I’ve been living with – regularly, non-stop – for a decade.
So, there’s my measure. This tune took me from 18 having my first kiss to 28 and about to celebrate my first wedding anniversary. 18 and unsure of what life held in store to 28 surer than ever of what I want from it. 18 and barely able to carry a tune to 28 and confidently holding the stage on my own in two gigs in a single weekend.
But, I can tell you all about that this summer. The blog covers that. What does the song cover? Continue reading ›
It’s a new year!
Ten years ago at this moment I was a freshman in college with a totally new group of friends at my first adult dress-up party, about to experience my first kiss. And maybe die in the throes of Y2K.
Tonight I am home alone with my wife, and I shaved off my mustache., so I could give her a unscruffy New Year’s kiss.
There have only been two constants in my life that ten years. Music. And Gina.
“Apocalyptic Love Song” is about loving someone to the end of the world and beyond. I think it’s the best song anyone currently living in Philadelphia has written. Possibly the Eastern Seaboard. And I will not rest until Gina wins a Grammy for it. Sometimes I am brought to tears while we’re playing it, moved by the power of Gina’s lyrics and performance.
Encompassing the two constants in my life, and addressing the unknown the always lies ahead, it seemed fitting to end our concert with it tonight.
The future makes me laugh, the future makes me cry
I can see it all in the reflective square of light shining in my eye
I see ripples. I see waves. I hear cries of despair.
And all I can think to do is go on breathing all this air
But I know that for a while the sun will continue to shine
Just as long as at some point you were standing here by my side
You can download a revelatory version of “Apocalyptic Love Song” from our most recent Live @ Rehearsal CD.
You can watch our entire web concert in sequence via our YouTube playlist.
I don’t want to steal the thunder of the impending essay you’re due for this song in 10 days when I celebrate its tenth birthday. (Hello, this song has it’s own freaking CATEGORY on my blog.)
Suffice it to say that after you’ve been playing something for long enough you stop feeling the feeling that you originally felt and start just feeling the song, because the song embodies the original feeling, and that is beautiful state of affairs to be in as a performing songwriter.
I have been playing “Under My Skin” with Gina since shortly after its writing in January of 2000. Even with a backbone of a mere three chords it keeps getting better, even after we retire it for months or years at a time.
This is as fine a version as any, save for one flat chord and a pair of swapped words. Otherwise, divine.
(The pitter-pattering part of the outro refrain that crests around “just a kiss, and I don’t think that I miss you anymore” has always meant to invoke the Jackson 5 – even pre-dating my more recent obsession with the Jackson 5. I sometimes segue from that part straight into “Never Can Say Goodbye,” but could just as easily get to “I Want You Back” or “ABC.”)
Gina and I haven’t done a proper duo recording of “Under My Skin,” but she did overdub her newer bits of the arrangement onto a recording I love from NaBloPoMo 2006. You can download that here.
The best way to keep up with Arcati Crisis happenings is to become our fan on FaceBook, because I don’t always blog every little thing.
I know, it’s hard to believe.
Tomorrow we will play you our new cover, which will lead either to head-explosions or mocking, but probably not both.
One 20 oz. Beer = Forgetting the first line to every song in my entire repetoire.
One and a half 20 oz. Beers = Note-perfect Kelly Clarkson songs with impromptu djembe.
By way of explanation, there is a standing Thursday night open mic in Philly at Buckets. It’s a small, comfortable room, organizer Josh knows how to mix, and the beers on tap are served in 20 oz. glasses, which slay me every time.
First I joined Lindsay to play an impromptu “Who Will Save You Soul,” followed by a barely memorized “Time After Time” that sorta rocked, and finally our bluesy “Oh, Darlin’.”
A few minutes later (after the euphonium solo) (no, really) (and it was awesome) I played one peculiar set of “Regrets,” “Rehab,” a little bit of “Not So Bad” until I realized that I had no idea what the first line was, “Icy Cold” (during which the first line of “Not So Bad” popped into my head out of nowhere, which was a little distracting to remember while singing “Icy Cold”), following by “Not So Bad.”
Later, after a Jim-Morrison-does-Johnny-Cash-playing-left-hand mindbending set by someone whose name I didn’t catch, we realized we had run out of people, so I went up again for an epic set of “Standing,” “Ziggy Stardust,” “Under My Skin,” “Love Me Not,” “Day 94″ (!), and – by request – “Since U Been Gone.” And, being buzzed and agreeable at that point (enough that I was playing Kelly Clarkson by request in a bar), when I noticed Josh’s drummer tapping along on the bar I recruited him mid-verse into the tune.
And it fucking rocked. It’s nice to be out in the world playing in front of people again.
Trio – the original singer-songwriter web session – returns for its fifth season featuring my own DIY music. This season each trio of songs will have a loose topic to connect them, which I will discuss between songs.
A sample of what I had to say in this Trio…
Re: Things Left Unsaid
The point is that they were all written about feelings I was having (romantic (or otherwise (in some cases))) about somebody that I didn’t feel comfortable expressing to them face-to-face. I guess in that way songwriting is an ultimate form of passive-aggressiveness.
Not So Bad
At the same time that it’s a little bit scathing to somebody else, it’s a little bit of a pep talk to myself. I used to think things were so bad … and now, not so much. Although, I still get very drunk on the sound of my own voice.
Regrets
It’s another one of those wonderful examples where I named a song something that isn’t in the lyrics at all. But, I think you’ll understand why it’s called “Regrets.”I’ve actually written a number of songs about that same person … but ["Regrets"] truly exercised her. She’s not in my head anymore.
Under My Skin
If you’ve listened to me at all through my collegiate career then you’ve definitely heard this song. … It’s so dumb simple. It’s so dumb, and so simple. … But, what it is is a very honest portrayal of an emotion. I think that’s why maybe people liked it. I don’t know – maybe they just heard me play it a lot.
You can download the entire Trio , download the single of “Under My Skin,” or start from a past suite:
If you’re up for a quick chuckle at my expense, have a read of an interview with me from Freshman year where i dish about my songwriting and the deeeeep meaning of my songs.
Actually, in re-reading that i realize that i’ve forgotten where some of those songs came from, originally. They’ve had so many other meanings ascribed to them over the years that their original intent sometimes gets a little lost.
I love that i have so much of my old website archived; my first soundclips were uploaded in 1998. It’s amazing how far i’ve come in just eight years! I don’t know if the then-me would even recognize the songs the way i sing them now.
(An interesting side-note, i have “Under My Skin” as my 84th song on the old site’s discography, but in my spreadsheet it’s 59th. Where did those other 25 songs go???)
Whatever you do, don’t listen to any Real Audio clips. If you think i have my moments of bad singing now…. well, you’ll see for yourself ;)
Packing always makes me feel like blogging, perhaps because my first week of blogging featured ongoing packing.
Packing for me is never just about putting things into boxes. It is about reviewing, reflecting, and reconsolidating. Boxing my CD collection goes fast (four boxes, now), desk stuff slightly slower. Slower still is looking through a box of “peter papers” to see if anything can be disposed of yet. Nothing can be, of course, but i take the opportunity to reread almost everything inside.
At the bottom, wedged beneath a battered purple binder containing a hand-scrawled short story that only Gina has read, is a summary of a day of media-deprivation i did for my first class with Ron Bishop. My sentences are sprawling and glib (a clear precursor to this diarrheal exercise), and reading through their words to their naiveté is pure nostalgia.
I was tempted to throw this paper out, as it was just a glorified diary, but something i say in the conclusion stopped me. Feeling as though all intrusive messaging had been flushed from me at the end of my media deprivation day, i apparently sat down to write a song.
Attached to the back of my paper, for Ron’s perusal, is what had to have been the first ever printed copy of “Under My Skin.” He might have even been the first person to read the lyrics.
Amazing. So, yeah, i’m keeping that paper, and all of Ron’s wry comments therein.
Somehow, this move feels as if it’s already over. Maybe that’s too much faith to have when my solution to every problem so far has just to throw money at things, but the idea of moving into an entire house where Elise and I rule every room and closet is just too tingly and wonderful to be diluted with any anxiety about the move itself.
I keep saying that we’re moving to a house, and i keep wishing that we were buying it instead of renting it. All in good time, though.
As promised, i made my 7am appearance on TDavid’s radio show, complete with an entire verse of “Under My Skin” sung over the phone, and a broadcast of Lindsay and Anthony’s absolutely heartstoppingly good “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” (see below). I think TDavid’s going to keep broadcasting through the end of the ‘Thon, so pay his stream a visit.
Oh my god, David just referred to Judy Garland as “a crushing krisis,” i think i’m going to get cramps from giggling.
Victory! Sweet, sweet, blueberry victory!
In other news: last night i played guitar for what has become a routine four hours, breaking only for the penultimate episode of Buffy and white pizza courtesy of Ross’s new credit card. This morning the skin on my fingers is rind-like and impervious to pain.
You could say that i’ve become a little obsessed with my practice regimen, ostensibly because i’m playing at a backyard festival this weekend and have vowed in public earshot to blow away all of the other performers. Really, though, it’s because i don’t know if i actually can. The recently revealed running order of the event finds me sandwiched between a duo of golden-throated music majors and a terrific a cappella group that i arrange for, with the entire day both book-ended and dotted by talented multi-instrumentalists and Philly pub performers. And in the middle is little old me.
At this late stage drilling finger exercises until i feel as though i’m going to vomit if i have to stretch my pinky to the seventh fret again probably isn’t going to do me much good, which is why i typically leave that until just before bed. The regimen begins as soon as i have stripped out of my corporate skin of shirt and tie, sometimes finding me strumming the opening chords of “Tangling” in an undershirt and low rise briefs. The run through the current iteration of my set quickly (and seemingly inevitably) descends into seething about my inability to pick complex patterns or endless fiddling with my amp tone, and rarely features more than a single complete song. Alternately, i could probably just look in a mirror and scream “you are worthless” for thirty minutes to achieve a similar effect on moral.
After this inevitably crushing warm-up routine, i turn to my Bible, The Complete Beatles Scores. What better comfort could there be to my inability to play my own misbegotten songs than to learn how to play some of the best songs ever written? Last night was a medley of Let It Be‘s A-Side, none of which i can carry all on my own. Still, the practice is useful because i am trying to match a specifically scored and recorded sound rather than some elusive cipher of a rhythm that only plays inside of my head.
After a solid run at the Beatles (always including thirty minutes on the riffing of “Dig A Pony” and at least two renditions of “Blackbird“) I am ready to perform my own set, minus the sniffling and whining. Or, rather, the sniffling and whining is restrained only to lyrical appearances. This set is typically much more affirming, though as a rule “Apart” sounds like utter shit. “Under My Skin” is placed strategically dead in the middle to remind myself that, yes, i can actually (write / play / sing) with some modicum of professionalism on a consistent basis. This is necessary, as my shot at “Seams” typically breaks down shortly after the key change.
I end with “Little Love,” because for a month i had intended to start with it and so bootstrapped it up past all of the intermediate levels of (total shit / shit / lyrical Alzheimer’s / inability to cross bridge / endless descent into ad-lib and riffing / constant Simon-Cowell-ing of vocal performance) to the point where i spent an entire hour last week walking around Center City with a guitar strapped on over my shirt and tie playing it and being asked my name and if i could be heard at any local bars or pubs. It isn’t “Under My Skin,” but it allows me to ignore (or, at least atone for) the two dozen false starts of “Apart” from earlier in the evening. It allows me to believe for a second that the forty or so friends that will be enduring me for a precious half hour on Saturday will perhaps clap out of something other than obligation.
Only after that do i brutally work my pinky fingers until my stomach knots with each effort. And then, sometimes, i go to bed.
I thought that maybe she had gotten thinner since the last time i saw her, but as i stared at her from across the room the lines on the side of her face slowly began to resolve in my vision. Clever, i suppose, even artful. Not any thinner, though. Still, i would have never thought to so carefully sketch in a smooth jawline with concealer, gracefully feline, to separate my face from my neck. Really they’re still the same, one right after another, but the girl gets points for trying.
I was made to truly shudder by someone talking about how his friends should all switch to a BA program from a BS. Sure, i’ve conducted similar conversations in my day, but his line of reasoning was so incomplete that i think he may have entirely broken his point. Still, it wasn’t my place to interrupt him so that his friends could hear what a BA of Journalism really consists of, no matter how much i might want to.
Days are very systematic, consisting of: waking up, checking rank, working, learning, and walking. There are more repetitions of each depending on the day, and the only way i’ve been able to keep track of where i am or where i’m going are the people that i encounter in between. Last night on the train two girls were talking in Creole, and one of them noticed how my eyes kept peering over my copy of Suicide whenever i could make out a few words of French. They were from Immaculata, and we spoke briefly about Classical Sociological Theory and the continuous length of Lancaster Avenue before i got off … only to find that i had de-trained a stop early. At first i was a little nervous, but i eventually found my way back to Lancaster Avenue and began my walk to the concert.
While life is slowly becoming routine again, dreams are getting more and more disparate with each passing night. At the end of last week i fell asleep with a playlist of music on, and my dream seemed to take place entirely within a single play of “Seams“, though it seemed much longer than four or five minutes. The setting was plain, just walking around in my old house talking to my mother and to Elise. However, at the onset of each chorus in the song i slowly began to unravel — literally to come apart at the seams. At first i hardly noticed, as the first chorus is quite short; the sensation was not dissimilar to stripping off wet bathing trunks. It was during the second chorus that i began to become really alarmed, as with each line some small part of me would loosen and fall to the ground. Skin came unclung from my legs, it unwound from around my midsection, it came off like fallen leaves from my chest and back. My mother and Elise did not notice, though, still blithely talking to me as we walked around inside my house. Each line now was an eternity … long enough for me to lose another part of myself to the inexorable process of coming apart at the seams, and to watch that part turn into so much dust as it hit the ground.
As the final chorus began i was so weak that i could barely support my own weight for the walk into the bathroom to check the scale, and even as i read it the pointer was get lower and lower. Suddenly i was singing too, “i wonder if anyone will notice,” and as i began to move towards the next line i found myself sprawled on out on my back, watching in horror as the last of me fell away to reveal my ribs and the beating red heart within. In just whispers now i was keeping up with the lyrics, endlessly repeating “at the seams” until i saw movement in my peripheral vision. Elise was suddenly there, crouching beside me and reaching out as if to lay a hand against my exposed ribcage.
Instead she extended a single slim finger, which slipped between two bones and allowed her to brush her fingertip gently against my heart. My insides collapsed upon themselves at her touch, unable to properly communicate the feeling i was enduring. At that moment the song resolved, and my eyes opened.
The first thing Elise asked when i told her about it was if the effects were realistic or like stop-motion animation. My eyes must have widened a little — because they were the latter, and it had been the first thing i thought when i woke up.
I do not think we will be making videos for my Songwriting class, but i can ask tomorrow afternoon. Anyhow, that concept would be entirely out of my budget… and, for that matter, so would “Under My Skin.”
Why am i awake, again?
Two years.
Seven hundred and thirty one days, exactly.
Nearly right down to the minute.
It’s hard to say something important or unique about a song that comes up in nearly every conversational context possible. I’ve already described writing the lyrics, talked about the recording process, uploaded take after take of developmental recordings… and here i am two years later at a loss for what i’m supposed to be saying.
All i can say is that i’ve spent one tenth of my life living with “Under My Skin” … not only living with it as a song, but living with having written it and with why i wrote it. Living with the song is sometimes the hardest part; “Under My Skin” is easy to like, even for me, and i feel like it eclipses other songs that i’ve worked much harder on. Living with having written it isn’t so bad: at first it felt like a wall i had built to avoid having to express myself in any other way, but now it stands as an emotional landmark rather than a roadblock.
Living with the reason i wrote it is still strange. In the past I would agonize over it, asking myself “how do you kiss someone and then just let it go?” Now i know exactly how, because i’ve done it. It happens. I guess the real question i have is “After life crystallizes for one perfect moment, how do you go on living imperfectly?” I don’t really know the answer to that one, and i don’t expect to find it out any time soon. Sometimes that one moment i lived is almost like a fantasy in my head that never really happened, and sometimes it’s the only thing i can see. It is still both, and all the shades found in-between
“Under My Skin” became more than what i originally intended it to be when Laurel came into the studio to sing it with me last year. Ever since she willingly added her voice to mine i feel as though i don’t wholly own my words… they aren’t only mine anymore. Laurel’s voice singing them on Relief, and any other time i’ve caught her humming along, suddenly transforms “Under My Skin” from a song in the first person to a shared narrative — with its words and all that they are saying awkwardly shared between us both.
It doesn’t bring the moment back. Life doesn’t suddenly make sense the way television does. But, one moment that seemed so selfish and impossible when it first happened is now just a tiny seed that has sprouted into a flourishing garden of songs, friendships, and memories that will last me a lifetime.
And one very good song.
As for resolution… in seventh grade i resolved to be attractive. I was going to pay more attention to what i was wearing and how i brushed my hair, and i was going to make an effort to talk to the girls i liked. I could make it happen. I resolved to make it happen.
Six years later i had my first kiss.
You can’t really resolve to do anything except for those things so explicitly under your own power that you could and should be doing them anyway. I would resolve to see my friends more, or to cook more, or to be more organized … except all three of those things got under way well before the drop of the ball because i realized how easy it would be for me to do them. Other resolutions are less finite… losing weight, seeking out a meaningful relationship, or getting straight A’s. I’d love to do any or all of those things, but they’re circumstantial — i can try my darndest to accomplish them with nary a result if the fates don’t intend it to happen.
So, what am i resolving to do, you might wonder? The only thing i can responsibly resolve to: resolving. I can’t promise myself to make anything happen that isn’t directly within my own power, and i’ve already began to work on things about myself that i’d like to change, so all that is left is to make an attempt to be at peace with all of those nasty circumstances i brought up in my last post so that i can face the new year fresh and ready for anything.
I’ll be sure to let you know how it turns out…
Season 2′s Trio #6 came from an unexpected place; i meant to do some sort of fun event with my newly reclaimed 1960 electric hollow-bodied guitar this weekend but had the bad fortune of losing a solid half of my upper vocal register to the various parties i attended. Tonight i sat down to Trio a new trio of songs and found myself utterly disconnected from all three of them… they were in the wrong range, not the right sort of aggression, and not really what i was feeling. And, so, 4 days of careful planning got the flush as i dropped a D and raised a C, and suddenly i found myself smack in the middle of an unusual fifteen minutes.
I had a similar experience with Trio #5 last fall, where i was too stuck to do anything but meander my way through a familiar group of songs. The difference was that here i was actually reinventing with force rather than meandering aimlessly, and having fun in the process. “Lost” was awarded an extra refrain so it could mold itself to the year and a half since i wrote it, and ends in a mock thrash; “Crashing” akin to its beginnings on my bedroom floor, emerging with the most spectacular ad-lib section i’ve ever mustered (short of when it unexpectedly broke into “Say My Name” last summer); “Under My Skin” was classically playful and free — i even venture into a superbly flat falsetto at the close of the song. Electricity and fun are somewhat unusual feelings for me, but tonight they clicked.
Very unusual. Especially the electricity. Give this a listen… what sounds different to you?
So, we’ve established how pretty much everyone i know has heard “Under My Skin,” right? And, why not? It’s cute, it bops, it’s got some background vocals, and i’m singing it like i mean it (because i do). Tonight as i took a quick scroll through my lyrics folder i had to remind myself that there was life before “Under My Skin,” and that life included writing and singing and playing guitar just as much as this one does. There is one song more representative of that than any other, and that is “Touch.”
Life was on a smaller scale when it came to my guitar Senior Year… writing a good song sometimes meant that three or four people might hear it ringing out against the tile of the basement hallway, and “Touch” was my relative success. With it’s nonexistent nonsense lyrics that were practically ad-libbed every time and it’s chiming verses that spun out to the simplest of choruses, “Touch” was just about the utmost of what i could offer, and hardly anyone knew about it. Three years ago this week a mere handful of people had heard it, and two years ago the number had only improved by another couple handfuls. And, now, this once-stalwart of my collection is buried under dozens of songs that i like more with little hope of anyone ever really getting to appreciate it. My life is weird that way… hits rise and fall in my own mind. The chances of “Under My Skin” making a repeat appearance on my next demo recording are slim to none, which means a year or two from now even it’s listening public of over a hundred people will (hopefully) pale in comparison to what songs like “Excuse” or “Tangling” will know.
Radiohead mostly stopped playing “Creep” after everyone screamed for it at every show, and at last month’s Ani DiFranco concert the oldest song she played was from her fifth album. Point being, not even fame necessarily cures the case of lost songs because they are either “Under My Skin” or “Touch” — you’re sick of them, or have too many other songs crowding them out.
And, so, i am almost afraid to write down what i feel, because it will have a life so much shorter than mine despite my attempts to immortalize it. I sang “Touch” tonight because it had somehow slipped through the cracks of Trio for over a year despite its only being two years old last fall. I wonder if it’ll ever appear again…
Somewhere in my Communications Theory book it says something to the effect of art introduces a new or original way of looking at life. Right.
I have been having some fussy bitchy unjustified issues with Laurel lately. Don’t ask me why, because there is no why; any issue i ever have with Laurel exists entirely inside of my own head. But, anyway, the first day she got back i just got this vibe from her that Laurel Had Returned and that i had gotten shuffled way down to the bottom of the deck from where i had been before she left. And, why not? Laurel is the pretty one, the talented one, the intelligent one, the castable one. Of course, i never saw it that way at first; all i knew was that i had a dream where we kissed and that it didn’t seem like such an awful idea.
Two years later, the situation is more tangled in my head, and who knows what the situation is like in hers. Tonight when we started talking in our production class all the petty resentment i was starting to build quickly faded out because face to face there was nothing… only things i had created and surmised.
Before tonight’s round of auditions Laurel gave me a ride to my house, and while we were there i played her some songs … two she already knew and three i wrote while she was away. Sometimes i question whether or not anything i do is vaguely artistic by anyone’s definition let alone by the one i mentioned at the top of the post, and today while i was playing songs for Laurel i was playing all my usual games … glancing up and away, shutting my eyes, carefully watching my picking even though i surely know the patterns tried and true. When i inevitably got to “Under My Skin,” Laurel sang along just like she did on the demo recording, and looking at her she was really meaning something when she was singing the words… not just intonations and syllables, but something beyond. I’m not sure if she’s even applying the lyrics to the same time and place that i wrote them about, but suddenly they have life and meaning for her, and according to my communications book that’s one tangible step closer to art.
Yesterday was impossibly full… two or three different days all slipped deceptively into the packaging of one. Shopping turned into lunch, which turned into a deep conversation about what made me who i am, which turned into a concert for my mom that ended with a concert that pulled out notes and chords from places i’ve never been before. That was one day… happy deep family day. Then there was my day to myself, with guitar and internet and music and napping and food. And, then, came my day with friends, which typically started out happy and fun and quickly descended into misery. I’m usually introverted enough towards the middle and end of big parties, but this time i had headphones with me so i just turned on the good bits and let everyone at the party do their miserable little social dance to the sounds between my ears. Eventually i got tired of waiting for the people i wanted to be with (the story of my life) and i went out on the front step and turned it up all the way until finally i set off for the apartment.
So many blogging things happened in there… things i’ll have to say eventually for me to make more sense. Somehow i explained to my mother exactly why i like to be thin and why i like the girls who i like and why i have to be successful at something and she understood it all with this wane little smile and tears welling in her eyes. I can’t imagine what it must have been like seeing me from the outside… i wanted to thank her for everything and so when she asked me to play “under my skin” i shut my eyes and opened up and poured things into it that she had never even heard before, and afterwards she sortof just stared at me and i was just sweating and breathing and smiling because somehow i opened the song up again just when i thought i had used it all up.
It’s hard to quantify 20 years in any kind of way, but somewhere in between my nearly mathematical proof that i’ve never had a male role model before Peter Mulvey and my gut-wrenching concert i think i was having a happy birthday. The only happy one out of the three.
Wow. I’m of the mind that your first kiss should be set in celluloid in your head to be replayed and replayed until all of the hiss and hum of the wear on the tape overcomes the memory, and you’re just left with a memory of a memory. At the same time, i detest those horrid contrived situations and wish they could all be forgotten about. Of course, if the two intersect…? I don’t know. This whole storytelling binge over at Benjy’s has got me paying rapt attention; and to think he was the one i didn’t like in the first week.
My first kiss was at the bottom of a flight of stairs that reminded me of my childhood house. We had old creaky stairs and wide wooden molding on the doors and the doors were heavy so you could give them a good slam. And that’s were we kissed. In a way it makes perfect sense to me, because it was the only place i was comfortable with the only person i was comfortable with. Sadly, that was only a one-kiss engagement (okay, maybe two), and not a whole ton of things have made perfect sense since then. A thing here and there makes limited amount of sense, or plausible sense, or i want it to make sense, or i just suspend my disbelief. But i just want it to make sense.
By the way, in the paragraph i decided what’s going to be in the after-party Trio recording, so make sure you stick around to see how well i play guitar after being awake for 30 straight hours. Should be interesting.
Um, hi, i forget which request goes to which sponsor, but rest assured i am wide awake and diligently uploading as we speak. Also, don’t ever be so foolish as to search this page for the phrase “under my skin,” because it yields enough separate posts to keep a small tidy log running for half a year. I’ll talk more about that one after i sort out this mess of requests… (yes, i am putting it off)
lazy summer heat is slowly seeping into my pores because it always distributes evenly to where things are cool because that’s how science works. i am listless with heat, waking up abruptly from crucial points in my technicolor-bright dreams to glittering sun bathing my entire bed in gilded rays. last night there were three story double homes with bay windows in the third floor bedroom and i remember hugging someone very tightly to me and something strange lurking in the basement that i knew all about as a narrator but nothing about as a character. and then i was flying, weaving inbetween buildings and up and over and out into sky and that’s about as much as i recall about that.
today i really do have work to do, but the page was looking sort of lonely. read that last post, if you haven’t already. but, anyway i just realized today that i haven’t played “under my skin” since i played it for rabi or at the bar and i think i somehow got past it or something and that scares me, because that song was all about everything. have you been paying much attention to the new songs? they’re conspiring against me and my album and i think they might have kidnapped “relief” because i haven’t heard anything from it for a while. i think “splinter” is in charge of the whole conspiracy even though it doesn’t show up too much, because it’s very jealous about not getting on the album and it knows that gina really likes it and oh god now i’m talking about my songs like they’re people just like tori amos does but i always just explain that away with the fact that she did too many low-quality l.a. drugs in the 80′s but i’ve never even been to nebraska so i’m obviously just crazy to begin with.
the songs are sortof like people though. after you play something enough you begin to develop a relationship with it; some days you dress it up special and some days it barely rolls out of bed and some days it just doesn’t want to have it’s picture taken and it’s holding its hands up in front of its face and complaining. the scary thing is that the new songs are doing this now, as they’re written. that last one flaunted its independence right at me saying “you can’t end me unless i want to be ended, so keep on writing” and i did and it takes up way more pages in my little grey book than any of the other songs do but now that it made me write it all down it doesn’t really seem to want to be played, which confuses me to no end. i don’t think i really realized that all of my songs are relationship songs until gina pointed it, and now i seem to be able to write everything else but it’s like hitting a new note for the first time because i can’t tell if they’re strong or if they just seem very nice because i’ve never heard them before.
if you were wondering, this is just how my head is working lately. i wrote a 2300 word email last night without even really intending to. it’s like when i open up my head things just come pouring out until it’s empty again. but, anyway, this post is just a post for the sake of being here in this little box, so i again defer to the intelligence of the last post and wish you all have a nice day.
