Day five of the 30-apparently-not-consecutive-day song challenge, and I’m tasked with writing about a song that reminds me of someone, so this one's for Dad. I'd like to wish him a happy Fathers' Day. We played this at his funeral. Always one of his fave's, and mine.
A slightly belated, very inebriated happy Fathers' Day to all the dads out there.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Friday, June 10, 2011
All this and brains too.
So the 30-day song thingie I’ve been doing wants to know what song makes me sad. I could easily post a song that evokes painful memories, but I’m more interested at the moment in what makes a song sad.
Here’s a little experiment for all you would-be thespians out there. I’m going to give you a single line to say, and I want you to say it out loud as though you’ve got great news you’re dying to share with someone.
The line is, “We need to talk.”
Go ‘head. Say it again. Repeat it a few times. More excitement. Think of the best news you could possibly receive right now. Method act by winning the lottery if you have to. Ignore your roommates’ cries of, “What? What? What the fuck do we need to talk about? I’m listening. Oh, for Christ’s sake just tell me!”
Now I’m going to give you a little more direction. Say the same line as if you’re about to deliver bad news. You’re about to tell someone her mother died.
So naturally your voice softens, and maybe you talk a bit slower. Maybe you take a slight pause first. The actual pitch is different. Most people lower their pitch ever so slightly, usually at the word “talk.”
It makes sense that we would use changes of pitch in language to convey emotion, but what really puts the zap on my head is how it translates to music. You remember the old, “do-re-me-fa-so-la-ti-do” scale that kinda hot woman taught you in elementary school music class? Turns out that’s not the only scale out there.
If you sing the “me”, “la” and “ti” just semitone lower, you’re switching from a major to a minor scale. It’s the scale that mimics what our voices do when we’re sad. Music betrays is roots as a cousin of language.
Cool, huh?
So here's David Gilmour playing guitar in the key of A minor to make us all sad. Enjoy.
And if you're interested in this sort of thing and you've got an hour to spare, here's the raw footage of Richard Dawkins interviewing Steven Pinker on the origins of music, language and other weirdness. If you need a human brain in a jar at a moment's notice, Pinker's always got one handy.
Here’s a little experiment for all you would-be thespians out there. I’m going to give you a single line to say, and I want you to say it out loud as though you’ve got great news you’re dying to share with someone.
The line is, “We need to talk.”
Go ‘head. Say it again. Repeat it a few times. More excitement. Think of the best news you could possibly receive right now. Method act by winning the lottery if you have to. Ignore your roommates’ cries of, “What? What? What the fuck do we need to talk about? I’m listening. Oh, for Christ’s sake just tell me!”
Now I’m going to give you a little more direction. Say the same line as if you’re about to deliver bad news. You’re about to tell someone her mother died.
So naturally your voice softens, and maybe you talk a bit slower. Maybe you take a slight pause first. The actual pitch is different. Most people lower their pitch ever so slightly, usually at the word “talk.”
It makes sense that we would use changes of pitch in language to convey emotion, but what really puts the zap on my head is how it translates to music. You remember the old, “do-re-me-fa-so-la-ti-do” scale that kinda hot woman taught you in elementary school music class? Turns out that’s not the only scale out there.
If you sing the “me”, “la” and “ti” just semitone lower, you’re switching from a major to a minor scale. It’s the scale that mimics what our voices do when we’re sad. Music betrays is roots as a cousin of language.
Cool, huh?
So here's David Gilmour playing guitar in the key of A minor to make us all sad. Enjoy.
And if you're interested in this sort of thing and you've got an hour to spare, here's the raw footage of Richard Dawkins interviewing Steven Pinker on the origins of music, language and other weirdness. If you need a human brain in a jar at a moment's notice, Pinker's always got one handy.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
A quick one while he's away...
Day three, and it’s become extremely apparent this 30-day song challenge thingie is not for the pedantic, stoned philosopher.
“A song that makes you happy,” it says.
“Happy,” as opposed to what?
In philosophy, we call this sort of thing the fallacy of the complex question. I’ll give you my favourite example, taken from a book I bought when I was 17 entitled,
(This book, by the way, influenced the course of my life more than any I’ve ever read, but that’s a whole other entry. By the way, Ryan Johnson, if you’re reading this, I want my fucking book back. Isn’t there something in that other book you’re fond of about not stealing. You’ve got some repenting to do, my friend. In God’s eyes, borrowing a book and never giving it back is just as bad as abortion, homosexuality and wearing cotton blends.)
But I digress. The complex question goes like this, “Have you stopped robbing banks?”
There’s no right way to answer. It’s a cheat. “What song makes you happy?” presupposes there’s some song that makes you happy.
“If people evolved from monkeys, why are there still monkeys?”* (By the way, if anyone other than your own mother says this to you, he or she is a fuckwit and the only response is to point and laugh hysterically.)
The complex question assumes facts not established. I’ve never robbed a bank; we’re apes, not monkeys; and there isn’t a song that makes me happy.
I listen to a shitload of music. As I’m reading this, I’m listening to “When I Get Home” by the Beatles. It’s just kinda on the ol’ iTunes random shuffle. Never to listened to the lyrics before. Kinda typical, early-Beatles, pop filler, but the delivery is killer. Neat structure. And I like that it’s a bit angry. He’s not talking to the girl, but to someone who’s taking up the time he’d rather spend with her, and he wants them to fuck off so he can go get laid. Great song, now that I really listen to it. Don’t know why I never payed attention to it until now. Maybe because it’s followed by "You Can’t Do That," the closest the Beatles ever got to equaling the Stones in terms of playing loose but not sloppy.
Jesus, where was I?
Hey, I ain’t writing for money anymore, and I don’t have a word limit, so you’ll just have to take a few tangents here and there, baby. The herbal jazz ain’t helping matters either, nor is the vintage Jethro Tull that just came up in my iTunes not-so-random setting.
Stream-of-consciousness writing is dangerous territory. Best take stock of possible tangents and save the ideas for later entries I’ll never get around to writing.
Never gonna get around to writing about the time I got my head too close to a piano and Nicky Hopkins did something to my brain.
Jethro Tull were fucking awesome in the ‘60s.
What the two errors in the title of that that (sic) book were, and how the second one changed my life forever.
How I love having friends who are dying to know what the second error is (time to start commenting, folks).
How I, a devout atheist, got to be best man for and best friends with an evangelical Christian.
How great the Beatles were around ‘64-66.
How there are no random numbers, except for all of them.
But seriously, folks, I listen to a shitload of music. If I’m not playing it, I’m probably listening to it. But honestly, I don’t know if music makes me happy. The question doesn’t really specify what I was before I started listening. Was I pissed off? Music isn’t going to make me happy if I’m seriously pissed off. How pissed off was I? Did I just bang my thumb with a hammer, or am I just experiencing a moment of ennui?
What if I was happy before I heard the song, and the song made me happier? Does that count, ‘cause I think that’s exactly the kind of song I’m about to pick.
So, struggling with precise definitions for a third time (but the second day in a row), I’ll once again go with something more or less arbitrary and say, if this doesn’t make you happier, you probably weren’t happy in the first place.
Enjoy, babies.
“A song that makes you happy,” it says.
“Happy,” as opposed to what?
In philosophy, we call this sort of thing the fallacy of the complex question. I’ll give you my favourite example, taken from a book I bought when I was 17 entitled,
There are two errors in the
the title of this book.
the title of this book.
(This book, by the way, influenced the course of my life more than any I’ve ever read, but that’s a whole other entry. By the way, Ryan Johnson, if you’re reading this, I want my fucking book back. Isn’t there something in that other book you’re fond of about not stealing. You’ve got some repenting to do, my friend. In God’s eyes, borrowing a book and never giving it back is just as bad as abortion, homosexuality and wearing cotton blends.)
But I digress. The complex question goes like this, “Have you stopped robbing banks?”
There’s no right way to answer. It’s a cheat. “What song makes you happy?” presupposes there’s some song that makes you happy.
“If people evolved from monkeys, why are there still monkeys?”* (By the way, if anyone other than your own mother says this to you, he or she is a fuckwit and the only response is to point and laugh hysterically.)
The complex question assumes facts not established. I’ve never robbed a bank; we’re apes, not monkeys; and there isn’t a song that makes me happy.
I listen to a shitload of music. As I’m reading this, I’m listening to “When I Get Home” by the Beatles. It’s just kinda on the ol’ iTunes random shuffle. Never to listened to the lyrics before. Kinda typical, early-Beatles, pop filler, but the delivery is killer. Neat structure. And I like that it’s a bit angry. He’s not talking to the girl, but to someone who’s taking up the time he’d rather spend with her, and he wants them to fuck off so he can go get laid. Great song, now that I really listen to it. Don’t know why I never payed attention to it until now. Maybe because it’s followed by "You Can’t Do That," the closest the Beatles ever got to equaling the Stones in terms of playing loose but not sloppy.
Jesus, where was I?
Hey, I ain’t writing for money anymore, and I don’t have a word limit, so you’ll just have to take a few tangents here and there, baby. The herbal jazz ain’t helping matters either, nor is the vintage Jethro Tull that just came up in my iTunes not-so-random setting.
Stream-of-consciousness writing is dangerous territory. Best take stock of possible tangents and save the ideas for later entries I’ll never get around to writing.
Never gonna get around to writing about the time I got my head too close to a piano and Nicky Hopkins did something to my brain.
Jethro Tull were fucking awesome in the ‘60s.
What the two errors in the title of that that (sic) book were, and how the second one changed my life forever.
How I love having friends who are dying to know what the second error is (time to start commenting, folks).
How I, a devout atheist, got to be best man for and best friends with an evangelical Christian.
How great the Beatles were around ‘64-66.
How there are no random numbers, except for all of them.
But seriously, folks, I listen to a shitload of music. If I’m not playing it, I’m probably listening to it. But honestly, I don’t know if music makes me happy. The question doesn’t really specify what I was before I started listening. Was I pissed off? Music isn’t going to make me happy if I’m seriously pissed off. How pissed off was I? Did I just bang my thumb with a hammer, or am I just experiencing a moment of ennui?
What if I was happy before I heard the song, and the song made me happier? Does that count, ‘cause I think that’s exactly the kind of song I’m about to pick.
So, struggling with precise definitions for a third time (but the second day in a row), I’ll once again go with something more or less arbitrary and say, if this doesn’t make you happier, you probably weren’t happy in the first place.
Enjoy, babies.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
And I suppose you update your blog every god-damned day!
Yeah, the dates between entries show there's a story there somewhere, and I plan to tell it one day, but not right now.
So where was I? Oh yeah, the 30-day song challenge that stumped me from day one. They wanted to know my favourite song, but I had to interpret the question, “‘A favourite of mine.’ One of many. No hierarchy among them.”
So now the bastards want to know my least favourite. Christ, weren’t they listening? The least of a group that has no hierarchy?
I like the wording though. It’s not asking the song I hate the most, but the least of my favourites. At least that means I still get to post a song I love.
I’m gonna have to go with this little gem from 1961, Mr. Roy Lee Johnson with "Mr. Moonlight." Catchy little tune, ruined for me by that diabolical Beatles version on the B side of Beatles for Sale like a giant scratch on a vintage Cadillac. To think Johnson’s minimal, tremelo-laden guitar solo was replace by Paul McCartney clamoring away on that fucking church organ like he’s wearing boxing gloves.
So here’s the original version of another one of my favourites (the least of which is still fantastic). Sit back and dig this...
So where was I? Oh yeah, the 30-day song challenge that stumped me from day one. They wanted to know my favourite song, but I had to interpret the question, “‘A favourite of mine.’ One of many. No hierarchy among them.”
So now the bastards want to know my least favourite. Christ, weren’t they listening? The least of a group that has no hierarchy?
I like the wording though. It’s not asking the song I hate the most, but the least of my favourites. At least that means I still get to post a song I love.
I’m gonna have to go with this little gem from 1961, Mr. Roy Lee Johnson with "Mr. Moonlight." Catchy little tune, ruined for me by that diabolical Beatles version on the B side of Beatles for Sale like a giant scratch on a vintage Cadillac. To think Johnson’s minimal, tremelo-laden guitar solo was replace by Paul McCartney clamoring away on that fucking church organ like he’s wearing boxing gloves.
So here’s the original version of another one of my favourites (the least of which is still fantastic). Sit back and dig this...
Saturday, April 9, 2011
I brought my pencil. Gimme somthing to write on.
Need a reason to keep up with this blog. Been some time since I splattered words on a screen for money. Now the money's coming from elsewhere, I need motivation to keep writing. Gotta get back into the habit. Writing is all about inertia.
So with that in mind, I've decided to do that 30-day song challenge thing that's been going 'round Facebook. Yeah. Kitchy, music-related, a chance to be narcissistic and pretend anyone cares. Count me in. Except, dear reader, I'm going to post it here, for you, by midnight every day.
So here's how it works:
First day: You post your favourite song.
Second day: Y'r least favourite.
Then a song that makes you happy.
Next day: One that makes you sad.
Day five: A song that reminds you of someone.
Day six: A song that reminds you of somewhere.
Day seven: A song that reminds you of an event.
Day eight: A song to which you know all the lyrics.
Day nine: Sumpin' you can dance to. Know what I'm sayin'?
Day 10: A song you can listen to while you fall asleep.
Day 11: A song from your favourite band.
Day 12: A song by a band you hate.
Day 13: A guilty pleasure.
Day 14: A song no one would expect me to like.
Day 15: A song that describes me. (That one oughta be fun.)
Day 16: A song you used to like but now hate.
Day 17: A song you always hear on the radio.
Day 18: One you wish you heard on the radio.
Day 19: A song from your favourite album.
Day 20: A song you listen to when you're angry.
Day 21: When you're happy.
Day 22: When you're sad.
Day 23: One you want played at your wedding.
Day 24: Funeral.
Day 25: A song that makes you laugh.
Day 26: A song you can play on an instrument.
Day 27: A song you wish you could play.
Day 28: A song that makes you feel guilty.
Day 29: A song from your childhood.
Day 30: Your favourite song from last year.
Hang on...
Favourite song is day one? What the fuck? Of course, you knew it was gonna be in there, but day fucking one? This is like taking one of those meaningless quizzes they have in magazines just for a larf, and the first question is "Explain the meaning of life. Show your work."
For Christ's sake! What does it even mean, "My favourite song?" My favourite song of all time or my favourite song right now?
How do you even compare one genre to another?
Do I go with Bach or Berry on this one?
This whole challenge is pointless. POINTLESS! A stupid, vapid, ridiculous waste of time for anyone who actually takes music seriously. Leave it to the plebeian hordes. I bet the whole thing was cooked up by market research people anyway.
On the other hand, ah, what the hell. Maybe its position at the front of the line is a commentary on how it's the least important question. 'Cause really, how many favourite songs have you had in your lifetime?
And when you hear someone say something that just came out is their favourite song, you just have to wonder how little music they've actually heard. "Seriously? 'Friday' by Rebbecca Black is the best song ever written? Ever? In history? Nothing by Beethoven? Mozart? Gershwin? Mayfield? Nope. Alright then." (And don't get me started on your favourite movie.)
But really, what do you mean when you say "favourite?" You mean you like it, and there's something going on in your life that's made you think of it. I prefer to say, "A favourite of mine." One of many. No hierarchy among them.
So in that spirit, here's a favourite of mine to get the ball rolling. I suggest you crank the volume and dance, babies, dance!
So with that in mind, I've decided to do that 30-day song challenge thing that's been going 'round Facebook. Yeah. Kitchy, music-related, a chance to be narcissistic and pretend anyone cares. Count me in. Except, dear reader, I'm going to post it here, for you, by midnight every day.
So here's how it works:
First day: You post your favourite song.
Second day: Y'r least favourite.
Then a song that makes you happy.
Next day: One that makes you sad.
Day five: A song that reminds you of someone.
Day six: A song that reminds you of somewhere.
Day seven: A song that reminds you of an event.
Day eight: A song to which you know all the lyrics.
Day nine: Sumpin' you can dance to. Know what I'm sayin'?
Day 10: A song you can listen to while you fall asleep.
Day 11: A song from your favourite band.
Day 12: A song by a band you hate.
Day 13: A guilty pleasure.
Day 14: A song no one would expect me to like.
Day 15: A song that describes me. (That one oughta be fun.)
Day 16: A song you used to like but now hate.
Day 17: A song you always hear on the radio.
Day 18: One you wish you heard on the radio.
Day 19: A song from your favourite album.
Day 20: A song you listen to when you're angry.
Day 21: When you're happy.
Day 22: When you're sad.
Day 23: One you want played at your wedding.
Day 24: Funeral.
Day 25: A song that makes you laugh.
Day 26: A song you can play on an instrument.
Day 27: A song you wish you could play.
Day 28: A song that makes you feel guilty.
Day 29: A song from your childhood.
Day 30: Your favourite song from last year.
Hang on...
Favourite song is day one? What the fuck? Of course, you knew it was gonna be in there, but day fucking one? This is like taking one of those meaningless quizzes they have in magazines just for a larf, and the first question is "Explain the meaning of life. Show your work."
For Christ's sake! What does it even mean, "My favourite song?" My favourite song of all time or my favourite song right now?
How do you even compare one genre to another?
Do I go with Bach or Berry on this one?
This whole challenge is pointless. POINTLESS! A stupid, vapid, ridiculous waste of time for anyone who actually takes music seriously. Leave it to the plebeian hordes. I bet the whole thing was cooked up by market research people anyway.
On the other hand, ah, what the hell. Maybe its position at the front of the line is a commentary on how it's the least important question. 'Cause really, how many favourite songs have you had in your lifetime?
And when you hear someone say something that just came out is their favourite song, you just have to wonder how little music they've actually heard. "Seriously? 'Friday' by Rebbecca Black is the best song ever written? Ever? In history? Nothing by Beethoven? Mozart? Gershwin? Mayfield? Nope. Alright then." (And don't get me started on your favourite movie.)
But really, what do you mean when you say "favourite?" You mean you like it, and there's something going on in your life that's made you think of it. I prefer to say, "A favourite of mine." One of many. No hierarchy among them.
So in that spirit, here's a favourite of mine to get the ball rolling. I suggest you crank the volume and dance, babies, dance!
Saturday, March 19, 2011
No Time for Elvis Costello
I'm gonna come right out and say I'm not into Elvis Costello.
And the load off my chest is no relief, 'cause the worst is yet to come.
They're a ferocious lot - Costello fans. Nobody's ever kinda into Elvis Costello. Yer in the club for life, mate. I imagine a lot of you have played one of his records for a friend during a night of drinking and said, "This changed my life."
Max showed me a clip of Elvis on Saturday Night Live - and let's face it, you're into Elvis Costello, you're likely into SNL, "...but it's all been downhill since [Phil in the blank] left..." Anyway, Elvis starts playing one song - and it sounds great - but then he stops half way through, waves at the other guys to stop playing, then starts another song. Apparently there was something political behind it. Max claimed it was one of the greatest moments in television (this blog's for the Harvey Pekar crowd). I'm sure it was, but I didn't much care.
So here's my first problem: First off, I just can't find the time. I've got shitloads of other music I need to listen to first. I'm already up to my eyeballs. I'm starting a blog for stoner nerds and one of the first entries is going to be an in-depth look at Exile on Main St, which is going to take the better part of an afternoon, but it's going to be great fun. Plus I'm about to get a mic for my Dobro, which is going to send me on a week-long blues binge leaving me out of booze, out of weed and sitting in my filthy apartment trying to learn bluegrass licks from Jimmy Heffernan records, provided I can find any. You gotta eat and drink a lot of mysteriously-labeled things before you get out of that fuckin' rabbit hole. Believe me.
To top it off, I'm probably going to end up trying to make a gramophone from a kit and cutting records on the lids from instant noodle containers. More on that in future blog entries.
So no, I can't get into Elvis Costello right now. The timing's just not good at the moment. I'm going to need a couple of years, and I expect a fair bit of money, 'cause I'm gonna want the CDs. Maybe if the gramophone's loud enough I'll get some of his records.
And then where am I gonna start? Should I just listen to all his stuff in the order he released it like I did with Lou Reed, or is there one record I absolutely have to own and I'll get into the rest later like I did with Led Zeppelin, The Beatles and Bowie.
Or do I get one of his latest that nobody pays attention to, form a bond with it, marvel at its magnificence, then get into his other stuff. I mean, that's how I got into the Stones. Christmas, 1995. I wanted The Beatles Anthology, and my parents got me The Rolling Stones Stripped. Still one of my favourites.
So yeah, I'll get into Elvis Costello, but in my own time. And I'll be one of the club's most zealous members, I promise. I'll go Amway on this motherfucker. I will be the most insufferable Elvis Costello fan the world has ever seen. Watch out world!
Or maybe I'll get into David Byrne instead...
And the load off my chest is no relief, 'cause the worst is yet to come.
They're a ferocious lot - Costello fans. Nobody's ever kinda into Elvis Costello. Yer in the club for life, mate. I imagine a lot of you have played one of his records for a friend during a night of drinking and said, "This changed my life."
Max showed me a clip of Elvis on Saturday Night Live - and let's face it, you're into Elvis Costello, you're likely into SNL, "...but it's all been downhill since [Phil in the blank] left..." Anyway, Elvis starts playing one song - and it sounds great - but then he stops half way through, waves at the other guys to stop playing, then starts another song. Apparently there was something political behind it. Max claimed it was one of the greatest moments in television (this blog's for the Harvey Pekar crowd). I'm sure it was, but I didn't much care.
So here's my first problem: First off, I just can't find the time. I've got shitloads of other music I need to listen to first. I'm already up to my eyeballs. I'm starting a blog for stoner nerds and one of the first entries is going to be an in-depth look at Exile on Main St, which is going to take the better part of an afternoon, but it's going to be great fun. Plus I'm about to get a mic for my Dobro, which is going to send me on a week-long blues binge leaving me out of booze, out of weed and sitting in my filthy apartment trying to learn bluegrass licks from Jimmy Heffernan records, provided I can find any. You gotta eat and drink a lot of mysteriously-labeled things before you get out of that fuckin' rabbit hole. Believe me.
To top it off, I'm probably going to end up trying to make a gramophone from a kit and cutting records on the lids from instant noodle containers. More on that in future blog entries.
So no, I can't get into Elvis Costello right now. The timing's just not good at the moment. I'm going to need a couple of years, and I expect a fair bit of money, 'cause I'm gonna want the CDs. Maybe if the gramophone's loud enough I'll get some of his records.
And then where am I gonna start? Should I just listen to all his stuff in the order he released it like I did with Lou Reed, or is there one record I absolutely have to own and I'll get into the rest later like I did with Led Zeppelin, The Beatles and Bowie.
Or do I get one of his latest that nobody pays attention to, form a bond with it, marvel at its magnificence, then get into his other stuff. I mean, that's how I got into the Stones. Christmas, 1995. I wanted The Beatles Anthology, and my parents got me The Rolling Stones Stripped. Still one of my favourites.
So yeah, I'll get into Elvis Costello, but in my own time. And I'll be one of the club's most zealous members, I promise. I'll go Amway on this motherfucker. I will be the most insufferable Elvis Costello fan the world has ever seen. Watch out world!
Or maybe I'll get into David Byrne instead...
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