The concept of repetition is deeply rooted into the human mind. Since the Danish philosopher Kierkegaard to the Catalan singer-songwriter behind La increïble història de Carles Carolina, repetition has been widely analysed, criticised, glorified...
Repetition is part of our lives. We repeat similar actions every day: we wake up at the same time, we eat the same cereals for breakfast, we got stuck at the same traffic light on the way to work... but it is also part of our musical world. Either willingly or unwillingly.
By willingly, we are referring to the conscious decision to play again the same song, or that album that we have just listened. Sometimes without waiting until it ends. It is our desire to repeat that emotion, that moment of pleasure, that satisfaction (in the optimistic tunes) or that pain, that anguish, that desolation, that extreme melancoly, which makes us listen to that album again. Not knowing, or not wanting to know, that repeated moments don't imply repeated feelings.
When the repetition is an unwilling act, when it is imposed upon us, normally through the radio or the surrounding music from the dentists, doctors, gineacologysts' waiting rooms, our reaction to it is completely different. Or it should be.
In a period of sound saturation, of over-the-clock creation of new sounds, melodies, rhythms... we must NOT remain indifferent when faced with the constant repetition of songs. Radio stations don't have any other necessity to repeat a song apart from the commercial ones. Being aware that the repetition generates (in most cases) acceptance, agreement and, after several listenings, even enjoyment of that song that we found dreadful in the first place, they insist with the same songs. As a religious lethany, as a Buddhist song that through repetition drives us into spiritual extasis, this constant repetition of music aims to change our musical tastes. It tries to distort our perceptions by making us believe that we actually like that song, when in fact it is just a matter of having become so familiarised to that song that it has become a part of us. Not because we liked it, but because we have been forced to listen to it so many times.
In front of this continuous manipulation, there are only two possible answers: either change the station as soon as the same song begins another time (it doesn't matter whether it is Justin Bieber, Adele or Lady Gaga), or willingly accept defeat and fall in love with the repetitive and über-simple melodies. But at least, do it being aware of our failure. Because the consented agression is not a crime. And it is less painful.
Wednesday, 11 April 2012
Wednesday, 4 April 2012
odd connections
A song begins and we realise that we remember the lyrics. It has been years since the last time we had heard it (how many? 10. 15, 20... it doesn't matter), but it had been filed somewhere in our memory. In a hidden corner, yes: a dark, moist, messy corner that we don't dare to go to. But an existing corner, nonetheless. Maybe in the same corner where we filed the connections one day we created between that song and our life then. A connection that we probably don't know that exists, that we don't think of us capable of doing it but, that, actually, some day we did.
Maybe it is a song that we heard on a train station, right about to begin a journey and we felt that it talked to us; that the melody expressed the emotion of that trip about to start, that the lyrics referred to it, that the protagonist of the song wasn't an anonymous character, but ourselves (lowering my head ashamed, I admit that my travelling song, the one that always puts me on a good mood, the one that tells me that I am in fact about to start a journey, is Dreams, by The Cranberries. And it is this one because it reminds me of the teenage TV series My so-called life, because it drives me back to that period full of changes, novelties, illusions).
Some other occasions, the connection may not be as direct. Maybe it is a song that we listened to several times in a row on the car whilst doing the same trip (maybe only out of laziness to change the CD, maybe because it was the only one that the old cd-player was able to read). Unconsciously, that music becomes linked to that route, to that time, to that "us" from the past. And whenever we hear that song again, no matter where we might be, no matter what we might be doing, chances are that it will awake in us the memories of those car trips. The mellancoly, the sadness and frustration for the past times are optional.
I am aware of quite a good amount of this kind of connections. One of them involves The dresden Dolls and the road trip of one hour and a half from Galashiels to Stirling that I used to do three times a week for almost two years. Another one is Burial on the way to Sant Hilari, early in the morning: darkness, coldness, work... it is an obvious connection.
One way or another, music becomes part of us, it arises our senses, it brings us memories and feelings, it reminds us that the songs we are listening to today will haunt us back tomorrow. Therefore, I see myself forced to give a piece of advice, me, who hates giving any kind of advice almost as much as following them: choose well the music that you listen to. In time you'll be grateful.
Maybe it is a song that we heard on a train station, right about to begin a journey and we felt that it talked to us; that the melody expressed the emotion of that trip about to start, that the lyrics referred to it, that the protagonist of the song wasn't an anonymous character, but ourselves (lowering my head ashamed, I admit that my travelling song, the one that always puts me on a good mood, the one that tells me that I am in fact about to start a journey, is Dreams, by The Cranberries. And it is this one because it reminds me of the teenage TV series My so-called life, because it drives me back to that period full of changes, novelties, illusions).
Some other occasions, the connection may not be as direct. Maybe it is a song that we listened to several times in a row on the car whilst doing the same trip (maybe only out of laziness to change the CD, maybe because it was the only one that the old cd-player was able to read). Unconsciously, that music becomes linked to that route, to that time, to that "us" from the past. And whenever we hear that song again, no matter where we might be, no matter what we might be doing, chances are that it will awake in us the memories of those car trips. The mellancoly, the sadness and frustration for the past times are optional.
I am aware of quite a good amount of this kind of connections. One of them involves The dresden Dolls and the road trip of one hour and a half from Galashiels to Stirling that I used to do three times a week for almost two years. Another one is Burial on the way to Sant Hilari, early in the morning: darkness, coldness, work... it is an obvious connection.
One way or another, music becomes part of us, it arises our senses, it brings us memories and feelings, it reminds us that the songs we are listening to today will haunt us back tomorrow. Therefore, I see myself forced to give a piece of advice, me, who hates giving any kind of advice almost as much as following them: choose well the music that you listen to. In time you'll be grateful.
Monday, 2 April 2012
Amy LaVere, "Stranger Me" (a fast review)
Reviewing song by song. Fast. With no further consideration (therefore, likely to contain some mistakes and to be modified in a nearby future):
- "Damn Love Song" begins well, interesting, with an ethereal melody, somehow Eastern, and with a clear inclination towards the firstP.J. Harvey. Of course that the voice here is softer, smoother, more melodical and, thus, less striking.
- "You can't keep me" worries me: this is dangerously moving into mainstream pop. Oh my, trumpets appear, the voice nears boredom. Help!
- "Red Banks" has a calmed percussion, soft guitar strokes, mellow voice. It begins well, reminding me of Russian Red. But, with the introduction of drums and bass (lest we forget that's her instrument), following classic patterns, everything begins to decay.
- "A great divide" continues with the vocal torture: where have I heard this voice before? Maybe it sounds like Emily Haynes? Could be. This song is the worst so far. Saxophone solos ala Kenny G... Danger.
- "Often happens" "Often happens when it's getting dark My heart starts telling me little lies" sings Amy... cheesy. And even cheesier the male-female duo. Things are getting ugly.
- "Lucky Boy" highlights the voice. A voice close to Americana until, once again, the wind section adds a badly-shot-low-budget-80s-film feeling. The shadow of Cindy Lauper is growing larger.
- "Tricky Heart" contains maybe too many choirs for just one song. It begins sad, with scarce instrumentation, helping to set the mood. Little by little, it grows and it seems about to commit the same mistakes as the previous songs, but it stops right at the edge and that makes it a little more interesting (mainly thanks to the violins). Interesting, not good. But this one, along with the first one, are the best songs in the album.
- "Stranger Me" contains more classic patterns. Already heard rhythms. Nothing new. Nothing bad, neither. An alright little song that we can listen as background sound. Maybe that's why it gives its name to the album.
- "Candle Mambo" scares me. Mambo? Really? Cuban sounds through Americana style? Oh my! (Oh, I just realized who she reminds me of! To the girl with the travelling piano: Vanessa Carlton. That's really bad!) Luckily, there's not much of Mambo on this song. At the beginning, she threatens us with a little bit of Mambo, but she hasn't left her own style.
- "Cry my eyes out" begins with toy instruments like Pascal Comelade and the voice reminds of Kosheen (poor Amy, she reminds me of a lot of singers, but few good ones).
- "Let yourself go (come on)" has a classic Americana beginning lining towards the most ancient country, so much that we kind of expect to see Bonnie Tyler popping out.
All in all, 45 minutes of boredom.
- "Damn Love Song" begins well, interesting, with an ethereal melody, somehow Eastern, and with a clear inclination towards the firstP.J. Harvey. Of course that the voice here is softer, smoother, more melodical and, thus, less striking.
- "You can't keep me" worries me: this is dangerously moving into mainstream pop. Oh my, trumpets appear, the voice nears boredom. Help!
- "Red Banks" has a calmed percussion, soft guitar strokes, mellow voice. It begins well, reminding me of Russian Red. But, with the introduction of drums and bass (lest we forget that's her instrument), following classic patterns, everything begins to decay.
- "A great divide" continues with the vocal torture: where have I heard this voice before? Maybe it sounds like Emily Haynes? Could be. This song is the worst so far. Saxophone solos ala Kenny G... Danger.
- "Often happens" "Often happens when it's getting dark My heart starts telling me little lies" sings Amy... cheesy. And even cheesier the male-female duo. Things are getting ugly.
- "Lucky Boy" highlights the voice. A voice close to Americana until, once again, the wind section adds a badly-shot-low-budget-80s-film feeling. The shadow of Cindy Lauper is growing larger.
- "Tricky Heart" contains maybe too many choirs for just one song. It begins sad, with scarce instrumentation, helping to set the mood. Little by little, it grows and it seems about to commit the same mistakes as the previous songs, but it stops right at the edge and that makes it a little more interesting (mainly thanks to the violins). Interesting, not good. But this one, along with the first one, are the best songs in the album.
- "Stranger Me" contains more classic patterns. Already heard rhythms. Nothing new. Nothing bad, neither. An alright little song that we can listen as background sound. Maybe that's why it gives its name to the album.
- "Candle Mambo" scares me. Mambo? Really? Cuban sounds through Americana style? Oh my! (Oh, I just realized who she reminds me of! To the girl with the travelling piano: Vanessa Carlton. That's really bad!) Luckily, there's not much of Mambo on this song. At the beginning, she threatens us with a little bit of Mambo, but she hasn't left her own style.
- "Cry my eyes out" begins with toy instruments like Pascal Comelade and the voice reminds of Kosheen (poor Amy, she reminds me of a lot of singers, but few good ones).
- "Let yourself go (come on)" has a classic Americana beginning lining towards the most ancient country, so much that we kind of expect to see Bonnie Tyler popping out.
All in all, 45 minutes of boredom.
demolished thoughts, Thurston Moore
Some press releases warned us beforehand: album produced by Beck. Some could be concerned about finding a sound jigsaw, an inextricable mixture ala Odelay, but Beck has evolved considerably. He has found new sounds. He has expressed himself in several different ways. Some of them betters than the others (let's forget Midnight Vultures, please!). But he made an album that is the key to understant this Demolished Thoughts and that is Sea Change.
Sea Change was dark, ambient, closed, asfixiating. Genious. And, following this pattern, Demolished Thoughts was born. Maybe that's why we shouldn't rush. We need to digest this album quietly, to rejoice into all its hidden corners before we can fell able to judge it.
And I sincerely hope so because the first listenings to it leaves us with cold feet, with the feeling of eating a tasteless, saltless, cold meal.
Sea Change was dark, ambient, closed, asfixiating. Genious. And, following this pattern, Demolished Thoughts was born. Maybe that's why we shouldn't rush. We need to digest this album quietly, to rejoice into all its hidden corners before we can fell able to judge it.
And I sincerely hope so because the first listenings to it leaves us with cold feet, with the feeling of eating a tasteless, saltless, cold meal.
listening The King of Limbs
Radiohead is back. Briefly, extremely (8 songs and less than 40 minutes), but they're back. Now it's time to find out what's hidden behind this The king of Limbs.
The first time I listened to the album, I did it whilst being glued to the computer and doing a thousand different things at the same time. And none right, to be honest. It became surrounding music (or as Eno would call it, "Music for elevators"), only to accompany my daily chores. And truth be told, the music didn't overcome this background status: none of the songs captured my attention, no melody distracted me from what I was doing forcing me to pay more attention to it. Yes: the first impression was one of indiference. I had read somewhere that Radiohead's new album tended towards monotony, it was lacked in variations and strength and if I had rushed into my first impressions, I would have agreed with them.
The second time I listened to it it was on the car, alone, with the volume loud enough to be able to appretiate all the elements within each song. And what a difference that made! To start, the rhythmic and electronic experimentation of "Bloom" appeals to your curiosity. Maybe it doesn't go any further than that, but it makes you admire its melodic complexity. And that is not very common nowadays in this music world saturated by simplistic little poppy songs with sing-a-long verses and repetitive choruses that seem to be afraid of departing from the 2x4 pattern.
As the songs kept playing, the initial surprise smooths away and we reach a moment of tranquility, of monotony, even, until the last movements of "Feral" arrive and its rotund bass, vibrating, brings us back to live; proving that Radiohead are far away from dead. Immediately it's the turn of "Lotus Flower", maybe the easiest song in the album and not for its simple structure, but because it attracts listeners' from the first listening. It is a good song that deserves to be listened again and again to be appreciated better.
What is curious about this second listening to The King of Limbs is realising about the different styles in the songs. The album begins aiming towards experimentation, breaking traditional structures, creating new sounds, new rhythms, proving that, the older they get, the more interested they are in trying new things. But, as the tracks evolve, we go back to a more classic Radiohead, not so much to the guitar-driven Pablo Honey or The bends, but to the Kid A Radiohead, for instance, with melodies structured around the piano and Thom Yorke's voice.
It is still quite early to decide on the value of this album, but I'm afraid that it will fall into the bottomless drawer just as their previous work did.
The first time I listened to the album, I did it whilst being glued to the computer and doing a thousand different things at the same time. And none right, to be honest. It became surrounding music (or as Eno would call it, "Music for elevators"), only to accompany my daily chores. And truth be told, the music didn't overcome this background status: none of the songs captured my attention, no melody distracted me from what I was doing forcing me to pay more attention to it. Yes: the first impression was one of indiference. I had read somewhere that Radiohead's new album tended towards monotony, it was lacked in variations and strength and if I had rushed into my first impressions, I would have agreed with them.
The second time I listened to it it was on the car, alone, with the volume loud enough to be able to appretiate all the elements within each song. And what a difference that made! To start, the rhythmic and electronic experimentation of "Bloom" appeals to your curiosity. Maybe it doesn't go any further than that, but it makes you admire its melodic complexity. And that is not very common nowadays in this music world saturated by simplistic little poppy songs with sing-a-long verses and repetitive choruses that seem to be afraid of departing from the 2x4 pattern.
As the songs kept playing, the initial surprise smooths away and we reach a moment of tranquility, of monotony, even, until the last movements of "Feral" arrive and its rotund bass, vibrating, brings us back to live; proving that Radiohead are far away from dead. Immediately it's the turn of "Lotus Flower", maybe the easiest song in the album and not for its simple structure, but because it attracts listeners' from the first listening. It is a good song that deserves to be listened again and again to be appreciated better.
What is curious about this second listening to The King of Limbs is realising about the different styles in the songs. The album begins aiming towards experimentation, breaking traditional structures, creating new sounds, new rhythms, proving that, the older they get, the more interested they are in trying new things. But, as the tracks evolve, we go back to a more classic Radiohead, not so much to the guitar-driven Pablo Honey or The bends, but to the Kid A Radiohead, for instance, with melodies structured around the piano and Thom Yorke's voice.
It is still quite early to decide on the value of this album, but I'm afraid that it will fall into the bottomless drawer just as their previous work did.
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