my music
My secrets are a set of Russian Dolls that i closely guard; the biggest of the dolls, the exterior one, is a secret in name only. She is a secret i willingly share. If you were to lift her away there is a slightly more secret doll underneath that less people have seen, and she is a more decorated secret that is only smaller through having been kept enclosed for so long; she has shrunk down onto herself, almost distilled down. Lifting her away reveals yet another treasured secret, and so on and so forth. Some of those larger dolls are ones that i just idly pass by to get to the smaller ones, and no one has ever learned to recognize them along the way. Some of the smaller ones i don’t even know the look of anymore — just where they fit into the puzzle. And then, somewhere in the middle of the entire mess, there is one secret so distilled unto itself that it is like a single drop of the purest alcohol in the world: enough to knock me off of my feet.
I let Lindsay have one of those inbetween Dolls last night… one that wasn’t so small but that i had totally forgotten the look of. She smiled a tiny smile as i handed it to her, and spread her fingers over the polished secret surface while i sang the song i had written for it, and when i was done she handed it back to me and asked why i kept such a pretty one hidden away, and i think i said that “i don’t even remember what it feels like anymore; i like that i’ve forgotten. i couldn’t feel this every time i play that song… it’s not the most hidden away, but i usually just skip past it and head towards the smaller ones.”
It is put away now, but i remember it’s shiny features and its beaded eyes and the ribbons in its hair… all things i had forgotten. And it’s song is still ringing in my ears, but i’m afraid if i play it again i might shatter everything entirely.
Lindsay and I sat on the couch last night and revealed things to each other. Lindsay was sick and convinced that the cure was sitting down for long periods of time and having some wine (she’s almost Italian, i know), and i was feeling about to be sick and was convinced that the preemptive cure was lots of vanilla ice-cream and lounging in sexy-but-comfortable clothes. I don’t think either of us was correct in our convictions, because this morning we both appear to be sick, but somewhere along the way we both decided that the television was rotting our brains, and so we shared.
Lindsay is a Digital Media major and total artistic genius. She sings, she draws, she designs, she photographs, she writes, she composes. She brought out three different versions of her creativity in physical form for me to see… an allegory, a play, and a picture-book. And, after having sat there watching her share things to me that she treasured so carefully none were crinkled or smudged, the only thing i could think to give back were songs.
I have songs that have never been crinkled or smudged… songs that i have left alone for so long that i stumble over the words and chords. So, i brought down my poetry book and gave Lindsay three songs, two of which i don’t ever really give… one of which no one has ever really heard before in real life (it was Trio-ed, once). And, i told her the story; my songs are pretty 3-minute tonal pictures without a smudge on them, but saying what it stood for turning some silly little song into something more important than i ever could have intended. Who knew that some silly emotion i felt Senior year of highschool could almost bring me to tears three years later? And who knew that such intentionally silly little words would come off so meaningful when prefaced by an explanation that had never seen the light of day before?
Trio: Season 2, #4
trio: season 2, #4
Unstrung, You Hear Her, Hold On Me
Unstrung, You Hear Her, Hold On Me
Trio: Season 2, #3
My tiny square of a back window is thrust wholly open, and my room has settled into an easy calm of breathe-in breathe-out. My room really does breathe… the drop ceiling slightly expands and contracts with the tidal pull of air in and out of my window.
The roomies are going to the Halloween party this Friday as mythical things, and when i said i might be some sort of woodland faerie L said “Peter, you either can complain about what people say about you, or you can be a fairy for the party. Your choice.” It was funny for a moment and then, well, whatever. Initially we were all going as Greek gods as a injoke about none of us being involved with the production of Lysistrata, but that devolved into anything vaguely fey and now we’ve got an Artemis, a winged nymph, and me. Seeing as the rest of the week shapes up as a hodgepodge of class, work, and concerts i’m not entire sure where i was planning to construct a (manly) costume. Apparently whenever i pick up my guitar from South Street and actually rescue my dry cleaning from across the street. And do laundry. Ha.
I was hoping to do a Trio tonight but first i fell into the deadly Tori-induced clutches of a nap and then i wore my voice out screaming at Monday Night Football (… I’m still undecided on what i liked better… the touchdown pass where the receiver’s knee gouged a giant rut in the endzone dirt and yet the Giants still claimed he was out of bounds or the way the ball slid out from the quarterback’s hands and into those of the Eagles in the last two minutes to ensure the win. But, i digress…). So, despite a lack of official music from me this week, feel free to listen to the practice take from Sunday night. We all know that i do one Madonna cover per Demo cd, so having finally arranged that one it’s suddenly a big contender. As for the last song… just pretend i know what all the chords are and it suddenly becomes much more coherent. I personally find the whole affair to be a painful listen, which is why i’m not posting it as a trio, but you might actually enjoy some of the unrehearsed and unselfconscious bits and pieces of it.
I suppose that’s all i have to say. For a while there i was just aimlessly lying on my bed avoiding my philosophy homework, but when the room started breathing heavy and i thought i should tell you about it. Goodnight.