Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

Creative

Something More Tangible

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes Said

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I’ve been having a very inside day. I’ve been inside with my thoughts and for a while I went out walking with flip flops on, but i’m not sure that that was the best idea.

I’ve been reading about Tori. She sent us all this darling little Christmas email in our inboxes where she is obviously being prodded by her website people into saying her little script thing, but she’s obviously having a bit of fun with them at the same time. There’s this very excellent little Tori covers site i just found, but i can’t really see it right in Firefox. You should go download Firefox. But, anyhow, I’m – I’m living Tori’s life in this little two hour microcosm on YesSaid, i don’t think i’ve ever realized what a wonderful little site it is.

It’s just so amazing that you can be so much a public figure that someone is cannibalizing your yearbook, you know, and posting pictures online. That’s the internet. And, reading all these quotes from her, you see this wonderful little progression, from this girl playing piano bars to this astounding woman…

My dear roommate totally lost my train of thought. It’s off the tracks. We’ve sent in the sniffing dogs to go look for it. Sometimes i picture what i would be like if i lived alone; i don’t think it would be very entertaining. As much as i am, um, obviously obsessed with myself, my inspiration comes very much from outside myself. Even if that inspiration is, you know, thinking oh my god would you please shut up or what is that shitty music you keep listening to, go find some taste. Not that those are reactions i need to typically have to any of my roommates. I mean, they’ve all had decent CD collections.

I digress. ‘cuz, i remember where i was: What’s funny is that you can read Tori talking about the same thing so many times in so many different places. And, in a lot of cases, her quote is almost verbatim. But then, others, other stories come out a little different every time. I think i’ve heard maybe two or three distinct versions of the “Playboy Mommy” story, where she falls down the stairs and she thinks of the first line of the song. But, “Space Dog,” i feel like the few times she’s spoken about that she’s said it verbatim. Those same words. (it reminds me a lot of this page, actually)

“Space Dog” is very nearly my least favorite Tori song, though it has its moments, but i can definitely appreciate those emotions. She is… she is calling something in, you know? She has tuned in on something, and is reverberating. I try for that, but a lot of the time when i get there i don’t know where to go. It’s a very… getting there is very holistic experience. Just now i was almost there – you have to engage your attention very steadily, and you into this state – reading without realizing, and just lipping along to the words to the music and running my hand through my hair over and over, and i go into this sort of trance.

I, i get there and I know i’m there and that, you know, just about anything can come out of that. I’m thrumming, i am a pitchfork or something, just buzzing violently. I could just sing, or think of this perfect guitar lick, or write some perfect post.

And then Elise starts fussing around the house and making these little mouse noises and asking why the lights are on. She is, like, foraging in my thoughts, she is just chewing right through my creativity, there it goes, as if it’s some little bolt-hole she’s working on. But, at the same time, it belongs to her in a way, because if i lived alone i wouldn’t have anything to start from at all. Like, striking a pitchfork in the vacuum of space. Would it even vibrate? There would be no sound, so does it even matter if it was even vibrating?

And poof, i get this jumble, mess aborted trance. Some perfect moment interrupted, and all just spilling out at once.

Dear To Me

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I don’t write a lot of open letters.

I remember when I lived on 64th street in that grand, old, dilapidated house. It seemed so vivid at the time, but in retrospect my life there seems so one-dimensional – as if I didn’t begin to be the person I am now until I left.

We used to talk all night on instant messenger. My computer was in the dining room, far away from any comfort at all. It didn’t matter, though. I could sit forever and talk to you. Idle chatter. Guess that Tori lyric. Whatever.

I used to send you songs, especially that one summer when I really started writing them. I’d dash one off and email it right to you. I trusted you so much with them – I don’t think I’ve ever let anyone that close to them before or since. I let you in on these little secrets of mine, and wove some of yours in too, and you always accepted them so graciously, sometimes even replying with another snippet your oblique novella (never finished).

It all got so different when I moved just around the corner from you. I don’t know why. On one hand, it let us be close friends instead of just remote acquaintances. On the other, I was near you so much, being constantly reminded that I was just idle entertainment; I was no main act. I’m always cautious to say that I fell in love with anyone, because it’s hard to love in only one direction, but in my way I know that at the time I was in love with you.

You knew. I know you knew, and knew it then, and would remind you occasionally in case you had changed your mind. You were always quite kind about it, really, because you let me into so much of your life (I’ve never been sure why).

I still hold some of those memories – stupid memories – so close to my heart. The stupid movies we would go to see, the time we put an old shoe into Andrea’s Christmas gift so she wouldn’t know what it was, the time you took that perfect self-portrait of your hair and your bangs and I decided that it had to be the cover of my album. And the music; you made me listen to Rufus Wainwright, and told me how the song was about how his lover had died of AIDS, or the first time you made me listen to Elliott Smith and Built To Spill, or the first time I made you listen to Dilate. So much good music in your room.

I’m really sorry for whatever I did to you. I think I talked about your life too much, as if somehow a tiny piece of it was owed to me. Or, maybe was a little too mean to you in my songs; both are crimes I’ve gone on to repeat. I don’t know; sometime that Winter I did something to erode the closeness, and you just went on living.

I’ve gotten over lots of girls – you’ve seen me do it once or twice. But, you know, I’ve never really gotten over you. I don’t think it’s because I never got to kiss you because, let’s face it, how many of these girls have I gotten to kiss, really? I just think it’s because you always let me feel so safe, and so cool, and I just don’t have that anymore. I guess I’ve never really had to lose anyone else that I’ve loved.

I’m sorry, you probably didn’t need to read any of this. I was just singing one of those songs and I realized that I really do miss you.

I’m sorry.