Category Archives: Music

You leapt from crumbling bridges watching cityscapes turn to dust
Filming helicopters crashing in the ocean from way above…

Every season has a song (if it’s lucky) and though this particular one was released a long time ago, it has quickly become emblematic of this slow-to-start spring. This one still sees dirty snow everywhere, along with a definite chill in the air, and I am more than ready for it to turn the page to a warmer chapter. In the meantime, a smoldering song like ‘Apocalypse’ sets the stage for the Cigarettes After Sex tour that Suzie and I will hopefully be catching in Boston next weekend. Listen and join the enchantment:

Exhaling the languid contentment that comes with a fully satisfying musical moment, I do something I haven’t done in years: start the whole album over again and listen to each song. Such is the case with their most recent release, which reminded me in its moody-as-fuck way how the best music can still resonate with us, no matter how much time has passed since we’ve emotionally thrashed ourselves on the altar of love and obsession.

Got the music in you baby,
Tell me why
Got the music in you baby,
Tell me why
You’ve been locked in here forever & you just can’t say goodbye

Next week’s concert will make them the first band we’ve seen since Madonna (who probably doesn’t really count as a band). While never super-enthusiastic about seeing bands (that was for friends like Ann and JoJo), I still managed to see my fair-share of notable groups. The original Guns ‘n’ Roses on the tour right before the ‘Use Your Illusion‘ albums were released. Skid Row and Pantera. Metallica riding high on ‘Enter Sandman’. I went less for the music and more for the company and the experience. I wanted to feel what all those other fans were feeling – the excitement, the thrill, the emotional journey, and the almost-cathartic communal camaraderie that went along with sharing the experience with others.

Kisses on the foreheads of the lovers wrapped in your arms
You’ve been hiding them in hollowed out pianos left in the dark…

Got the music in you baby,
Tell me why
Got the music in you baby,
Tell me why
You’ve been locked in here forever & you just can’t say goodbye

Your lips,
My lips,
Apocalypse…

A shoulder rubbing up against you in the darkened theater. A wisp of cigarette smoke tickling your nose. A chord that hits your heart, piercing it to find just the place where wounds have gone to heal but never did. In such music there is a glimmer of redemption. In such songs a glimpse of something that gets you through. Chemicals flying, oh I love this…

Go & sneak us through the rivers,
Flood is rising up on your knees
Oh please…
Come out & haunt me
I know you want me
Come out & haunt me

Sharing all your secrets with each other since you were kids
Sleeping soundly with the locket that she gave you clutched in your fist…

When you’re all alone
I will reach for you
When you’re feeling low
I will be there too.

When the wind changes, when the winter heaves its forlorn sigh goodbye and the spring arrives underneath the hidden veil of night, we need something dreamy. Something too dreamy. 

It’s just fresh and like THAT and it is giving me LIFE. 

Perfect for a Sunday of dancing, tea and otherwise. 

This is Todrick Hall with the lead release from a brand new double-size project. 

Now, bring me my unicorn outfit…

They don’t make dem beats like they used to
They don’t make dem beats
They don’t make dem beats like they used to
They don’t make dem beats
They don’t get they life like they used to
They don’t get they life
They don’t take the night like they used to
They don’t take the night like they used to
They don’t snap that snap like they used to
They don’t snap that snap
They don’t click-click-clack like they used to
They don’t click-click-clack
They don’t arch that back like they used to
They don’t arch that back
They don’t bump that track like they used to
They don’t bump that track like they used to

We at the scene, check the posse
Faces adjusted to capacity
I don’t know them, but they know me
Bitch if you gagging, then that’s my ID
If we in the room, it’s a kiki
Ballin’, they brought in the bottles for free
Taking the night, don’t want to leave
Don’t kill my vibe, don’t touch my weave!

Earlier this morning, at around 2 AM, we moved the clocks forward. In the fall, when we move them back an hour, there’s a silly Cher meme that makes the rounds with the iconic song title ‘IF I COULD TURN BACK TIME’ in that obnoxious meme font. People have been posting that again now that it’s time to move ahead, to what end or purpose I have no idea. To act like a trickster? Amateurs. To be stupid? Success. 

Anyway, if you haven’t yet done so, say goodbye to that hour, but say hello to sunlight. It’s always worth it. And for all the Cher-lovers (of which I happily count myself) here’s to the search she espouses so well (and it’s not for an extra hour). 

Jacob Tomsky has been a hero to me ever since he released ‘Heads in Beds‘, a behind-the-scenes run-down of the hotel hospitality industry that was more gripping than it had any right to be (unless you’re obsessed with hotels the way I am). His wit and roughly-hewn good looks landed him a semi-tongue-in-cheek Hunk of the Day honor back when we did those here, which I’m guessing he was mortified but part-secretly thrilled with – at least, I hope. Since that time I’ve been equally-enthralled by his take-and-give-no-fucks Twitter feed. Most recently, he’s been a slightly-reluctant rock star, playing the drums for the exquisitely moody Cigarettes After Sex. They’re going to be touring the US in the coming months, including stops in Brooklyn and Boston, so I may have to make the pilgrimage to one or both of those shows. The tour kicks off in Texas, just like Madonna’s Blonde Ambition tour did, so they’re following in some magical footsteps. Don’t expect cone-bras or mimed-masturbation, but a fan-boy can wish…

It’s been a long time since I’ve been inspired by a group, or any music for that matter. I thought it was age, or the general state of radio, then I thought I was heading into the ennui of a mid-life crisis, but now I’m feeling a new spark : the seductive pull of something that resonates and propels me to explore again. It’s moody and evocative – what one might expect the cigarette-smoke tendrils of Dorothy Parker to sound like if they could make music. It casts an entrancing spell, slightly reminiscent of the very best work of Angelo Badalamenti. The dreamy soundscape conjured is cinematic in texture, and devastating in lyrical liberty.

Their eponymous album opened with ‘K’, setting up a promising beginning that the tense music teased was not going to always going to be easy. “I remember when I first noticed that you liked me back/ We were sitting down in a restaurant waiting for the check/ We had made love earlier that day with no strings attached/ But I could tell that something had changed how you looked at me then.”

In ‘Affection’, the double-edged conundrum of being the object of such or the person who’s fixated finds bittersweet imbalance: 

I know that you say I get mean when I’m drinking,
But then again sometimes I get really sweet
So what does it mean if I tell you to go fuck yourself
Or if I say that you’re beautiful to me

It’s affection always,
You’re gonna see it someday
My attention for you
Even if it’s not what you need

By the time that album concludes with ‘Young & Dumb’, the battlefield of love has been littered with carnage, the bitter sting of betrayal hanging in the air like so much gray smoke. But the soul of the music remains calm, it’s dreamlike-trance holding the listener rapt, soothing the raging heart. 

It’s good fucking stuff. 

Wednesdays are usually dark here, but for Valentine’s Day I’m putting up an extra post just for you. That’s just the kind of romantic I am. On this particular Hallmark Holiday, I’m posting a song that features a kiss and a fool – two topics of which I’ve had relatively extensive experience. Interlaced among the lyrics are links to former Valentine’s Day posts, for better or worse. Happy Heart’s Day!!

You are far
When I could have been your star
You listened to people
Who scared you to death, and from my heart
Strange that you were strong enough
To even make a start
But you’ll never find
Peace of mind,
‘Til you listen to your heart

The night was frigid. An Ithaca winter is no joke. It’s why people jump off bridges and other crazy shit. I was visiting Suzie and the good company of 121 A College Avenue, staying on the ratty couch that even Chris found disgusting. I didn’t mind it. In fact, I loved it. Being around old friends, and making new ones, made that time in my life a thrill, no matter the less-than-luxurious surroundings. We didn’t care about such small matters then. In some ways, I wish I still didn’t. (As one ages, creature comforts become necessary.)

It was Valentine’s Day and we were all going to a fancy dinner at Davio’s. In my mind, this jazzy George Michael tune played, a sultry bit of longing and desire, a semi-sad tale of unrequited love that at the time was the only kind of love I knew. I wore an enormous fake fur coat in gray and black, a pair of red satin pants, and a multi-colored sequin vest. My hair, recently buzzed, was the only understated part of the proceedings. On my chest, a large gold heart hung from a golden chain. Without a boyfriend, or even the prospect of one on the horizon, I was surprisingly (for me) not despondent about this supposed day of love. In fact, I was in good spirits. I’d just made everyone watch Madonna’s Oscar-night performance of ‘Sooner or Later’ to put people in the Valentine mood. When you’re in your twenties, sometimes a night out with friends is better than any night in with a boyfriend. 

People
You can never change the way they feel
Better let them do just what they will
For they will
If you let them
Steal your heart from you
People
Will always make a lover feel a fool
But you knew I loved you
We could have shown them all
We should have seen love through…

We piled into someone’s car and made the quick trip to the restaurant. The brief walk on the sidewalk was painful, so cold was the air, so biting was the wind. But we huddled together, and together we entered the cozy warm space. There were eight of us, and we had a reserved table against the wall. Intimate and tight, we were warm and safe, and even though we couldn’t muster a date between the lot of us, it didn’t matter much. Someone had given me a red rose somewhere along the way, and I felt its velvety petals in my hand. 

Fooled me with the tears in your eyes
Covered me with kisses and lies
So goodbye
But please don’t take my heart

You are far
I’m never gonna be your star
I’ll pick up the pieces
And mend my heart
Maybe I’ll be strong enough
I don’t know where to start
But I’ll never find
Peace of mind
While I listen to my heart

Our server came along to offer an introduction and a wine list. He smiled sweetly at me, maybe a little longer than was necessary, or maybe that was just my heart imagining how I’d like things to be. I suddenly felt ridiculous in my sequin vest and red satin shirt, but just as soon as the feeling came over me it passed and I gave in to the ridiculousness of the night. And the ridiculousness of love. 

People
You can never change the way they feel
Better let them do just what they will,
For they will
If you let them
Steal your heart

And people
Will always make a lover feel a fool
But you knew I loved you
We could have shown them all

We made some flirtatious banter. Exchanged a few more smiles. He was older. No one seemed to notice. And whether he was doing it for a few more bucks in his tip, or the holiday at hand, or simple human decency, it was sweet, and sweetness aways spoke to me. On this night, however, surrounded by friends in what might as well have been the coldest city on earth, I felt warm and loved, and the quite-possibly-entirely-imagined adoration of a server held no sway or power over my typically-foolish heart. 

But remember this
Every other kiss
That you ever give
Long as we both live
When you need the hand of another man
One you really can surrender with
I will wait for you
Like I always do
There’s something there
That can’t compare with any other

As we were leaving, I paused at the door. Looking over my shoulder for one more smile or one more signal, I waited just a bit before the wind pulled me out for good. I laughed a little to myself at the nonsense of love, and this silly holiday of hearts and flowers and pink and red. Before getting into the car, I made everyone pose for a photo. This was all the love I needed. 

You are far
When I could have been your star
You listened to people
Who scared you to death, and from my heart
Strange that I was wrong enough
To think you’d love me too
I guess you were kissing a fool
You must have been kissing a fool.

“Whatcha gonna do with all that meat?” Justin Timberlake asks in gloriously-cheesy fashion on his new single ‘Filthy’ – preamble to his new ‘Man of the Woods’ album. Imagery and promos for the album indicate it’s an “earthy” product, inspired by his family and his origin in Tennessee, but lead single is sonically of-the-moment, even as it harkens to his vastly-superior ‘SexyBack‘. I happen to like this new one – it’s not too serious, it’s funky and poppy enough to get some air time, and the video is directed by Mark Romanek, who also did Madonna’s ‘Bedtime Story‘ and ‘Rain‘ videos. Fine pedigrees all around. 

Whatcha gonna do with all that beast?

I’m not a stranger to the dark
Hide away, they say
‘Cause we don’t want your broken parts
I’ve learned to be ashamed of all my scars
Run away, they say
No one will love you as you are
But I won’t let them break me down to dust
I know that there’s a place for us
For we are glorious…

Some song memories have yet to be made, and yet to be written. This is one of those songs that, someday, may mean something important and special to someone. For now, it’s on the cusp of meaning something, much like we are at the cusp of something greater on this website.

Things are brewing.

Ingredients are coming together.

The slight semblance of a recipe is appearing on the horizon.

A plan develops.

A plot appears.

A map rises from the dusty parchment.

I have another project that must be done.

This is the most exciting part.

This is the time before the beginning.

This is…

At the airport, that low country scent hung thickly in the air. I wasn’t quite ready to return to the cold clarity of the Northeast, but we aren’t always given a choice in these matters. In my head, a Mercer song played me out of Savannah:

Skylark
Have you anything to say to me?
Won’t you tell me where my love can be?
Is there a meadow in the mist
Where someone’s waiting to be kissed?

Oh skylark
Have you seen a valley green with spring?
Where my heart can go a journeying
Over the shadows and the rain
To a blossom covered lane

And in your lonely flight
Haven’t you heard the music in the night?
Wonderful music
Faint as a will o’ the wisp
Crazy as a loon
Sad as a gypsy serenading the moon

Oh skylark
I don’t know if you can find these things
But my heart is riding on your wings
So if you see them anywhere
Won’t you lead me there
Oh skylark
Won’t you lead me there?

It’s Turkey Lurkey time! And this is the only day this campy clip truly works. I dare you not to dance at the end of it. {Jingle bells! Jingle bells!!}

This one goes out to the unremarkable and the extraordinary. To me and you. 

To the people who go to work without complaint, who force a smile when all they wanted to do was stay in bed. 

To the girl who cries when the lights are out.

To the boy who cries when the lights are on. 

To my friend Ann, who loved Bon Jovi more than anything once upon a time.

To my first girlfriend and my last boyfriend. 

To the dreamers and the ones who dare.

To the meek and the mighty. 

To the ones who can’t but try anyway. 

To the guy who mugged me for my International Male coat. 

To the guy who punched the guy who mugged me. 

To the old man who made me dragon hair candy at the top of a Hong Kong tram. 

To all the guys I’ve loved before.

To the night I stood on the ledge of a building at Brandeis and wondered if seven stories was enough. 

To those who wake up every morning, re-wrap their wounds and go on with their day. 

To the boy who has the courage to wear his saddle shoes every day. 

To my eleventh-grade English teacher.

To the day after a party, that glorious mess, that sleepy muddled way of making breakfast for the friends that stayed over. 

To the summer when all my brother and I did was swim and pick flowers for Mom. 

To the times when my Dad tells me he loves me. 

To the night I looked into my husband’s eyes and saw the future. 

To the birthday when I got to visit a beaver. 

To all of us who get on the roller coaster, throw our arms in the air, open our eyes and scream for glee and glory.

I see you thinking twice
Wish I could read your mind
Move up or out of line
Too late for praying
I know we might lose our breath
We might be scared to death
This chance is like a step
Just got to take it

Hold on tight, slide a little closer
Up so high stars are on our shoulders
Time flies by, don’t close your eyes
Kiss by kiss love is like a thrill ride
What goes up might take us upside down
Life ain’t a merry go round

It’s a roller coaster… It’s a roller coaster

Can’t lie and won’t pretend
I know what’s round the bend
Too late to start again
Won’t take it slower
Let’s slip right off these tracks
We’ll fly or we might crash
Don’t look down, don’t look back
Cause it ain’t over

Hold on tight, slide a little closer
Up so high stars are on our shoulders
Time flies by, don’t close your eyes
Kiss by kiss love is like a thrill ride
What goes up might take us upside down
Life ain’t a merry go round

It’s a roller coaster… It’s a roller coaster.

This is always the chilliest month. True, January and February bring the coldest temperatures and the roughest weather, but by then we’ve had enough time to acclimate ourselves to the freeze. This year especially, the first few days of cold weather will be a shock to the system. We’ve gone soft with the spectacular October we’ve had.

That velvet curtain seems to have come to a swift close, and like some cosmic thermostat, the temperature seems to have been put back to right. It may be appropriate and typical, but that doesn’t ease the jolt that these first few truly fall days has given.

The wet leaves on a sidewalk remind me of walking back to my dorm at Brandeis after dinner. I may have eaten with a friend or two, but somehow I’d end up stopping at the library, or they would head in another direction, and I’d make the last part of the walk by myself. The sun had long since fallen, and the false lights along the way were no match for the darkness. A stand of trees surrounding my dorm rendered the street lamps mostly powerless anyway.

On the darker days, when the world beat me down, when I flailed in desperate attempts to understand the physics involved in mapping out an astronomy project, I’d return to a black and empty dorm room. That first year I lucked out: my roommate had quickly found a girlfriend and spent much of his time with her, so it was basically like living in a single. I cherished the solitude. Still, as I looked out the third floor window of my room, at the pine tree fanning its needles in the faint glow of moonlight, I wondered how long it might be before solitude turned to loneliness. On those evenings, I’d let Enya play in the background while I tucked into bed, waiting for the light of day to make things better.

I’LL WAIT THE SIGNS TO COME.

I’LL FIND A WAY

I WILL WAIT THE TIME TO COME.

I’LL FIND A WAY HOME.

MY LIGHT SHALL BE THE MOON AND MY PATH, THE OCEAN.

MY GUIDE THE MORNING STAR AS I SAIL HOME TO YOU.

November always starts in the same desolate fashion.

Yet there is hope. The earliest snowfalls lend magic to the gray forest.

The cold days give way to cozy nights by candlelight and fire.

A promise of holiday enchantment; a winter wonderland waiting to rise.

‘Tis the season for pumpkins and squash and dried hay and cornstalks as seen in this timely corner of the Anchorage in Ogunquit, Maine. It’s that time of the year when we begin the roasting journey in the kitchen, with winter vegetables and squash, savoring the autumnal flavors and hues. The aromas of sage and rosemary, cinnamon and nutmeg, conspire with the gray smoke trails of extinguished candles and other cozy accoutrements.

Halloween is one day away, and I’m put in the mood by a spell of seasonal songs. Once upon a time my friend Joe and I created some spooky-themed music and lyrics, and next year I’m hoping to return to the process. Until then, a look at what we we’ve already done.

It’s our party we can do what we want
It’s our party we can say what we want
It’s our party we can love who we want
We can kiss who we want
We can sing what we want

It struck me as our train was speeding toward its over-an-hour-late arrival in Albany-Rensselaer at one o’clock in the morning. Suzie was asleep next to me and we had just enjoyed a marvelous day-trip to New York. Most of me was exhausted and supremely spent after departing before the break of day and arriving well after the fall of night. But a small part was not quite ready to stop, a part that didn’t want the carefree Sunday to end. A reminder that once upon a time the one AM hour was just when things started to get good.

Red cups and sweaty bodies everywhere
Hands in the air like we don’t care
‘Cause we came to have so much fun now
Bet somebody here might get some now

If you’re not ready to go home
Can I get a “Hell, no!”? (hell, no)
‘Cause we’re gonna go all night
‘Til we see the sunlight, alright

And we can’t stop
And we won’t stop
Can’t you see it’s we who own the night?
Can’t you see it’s we who ’bout that life?

And we can’t stop
And we won’t stop
We run things, things don’t run we
Don’t take nothing from nobody
Yeah, yeah

At 42 years of age, I mostly find that those days have passed. A week later and I’m still trying to recover the sleep that was lost. The body doesn’t bounce back as quickly as it once did, the energy no longer replenishes itself instantly, and getting a second wind is a thing of miracles and dreams. When Miley Cyrus sings this strangely melancholy song of non-stop partying, it means something different to me. Hidden among the distorted vocals and modern machinations is a gorgeously sad melody that celebrates and bemoans not wanting the party to end. Defiant all the way into the first light of morning, we keep our hands up in the air, reaching for something that will always remain elusive, grasping for the final feather in the cap of a perfect day. We never seem to realize that by the time we are trying to capture the moment, it has already gone. Sometimes it’s enough to remember, sometimes it’s not.

To my home girls here with the big butt
Shaking it like we at a strip club
Remember only God can judge ya
Forget the haters ’cause somebody loves ya
And everyone in line in the bathroom
Trying to get a line in the bathroom
We all so turnt up here
Getting turned up, yeah, yeah, yeahhh

And so we draw back from getting too serious, as if by keeping things silly and superficial we can tame the ticking of time, roll back the encroaching years, stop the loss and hurt that age and growing older inevitably bring. In ‘The Great Gatsby’, Daisy Buchanan staves off her sorrow by inhabiting a flimsy atmosphere of sheer, ephemeral glamour, lost in her soft cadence of whimsical words. I wonder if that’s the best way to deal with the world. Turn a blind eye. Escape in the fantasy of beauty and riches. Throw off heartache with the turn of a bracelet. Maybe Daisy was onto something. Maybe she knew things that we don’t.

It’s our party we can do what we want to
It’s our house we can love who we want to
It’s our song we can sing if we want to
It’s my mouth I can say what I want to
Say yeah, yeah, yeah, ehh

And we can’t stop, yeah
And we won’t stop, oh
Can’t you see it’s we who own the night?
Can’t you see it’s we who ’bout that life?

And we can’t stop
And we won’t stop
We run things, things don’t run we
Don’t take nothing from nobody
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, ehh

Our train trundles onward, speeding us toward the final destination, trying to make up for lost time, whether we want off or not. In the still, dim compartment, young people parade by, former versions of ourselves. They’re just beginning, and in their wide-awake smiles and cheery countenance in the face of a very late train, I can see they have yet to be beaten down by life. It warms the heart. They don’t want to stop just yet either, and they have the energy and expanse of a long future to sustain them.

I just want to reach the soft comfort of my bed, and the moment after a long hot shower when I can sink under the covers and inhabit the only place I want to be at one AM these days.