Archive | Music Some Other Day of the Week RSS feed for this section

Thank You, My Dears

31 Jul

I really appreciate all of your responses to my last post and I’m putting together something based on your comments. In the meantime, I must share the fact that I CANNOT STOP LISTENING TO THIS SONG:

I have mixed feelings about Blake Schwarzenbach, but when the dude is on, he is on. 

[I was going to mention how his lyrics tend to be fucking emo as shit, but that would have required an explanation of original emo vs. whatever the hell people are calling “emo” nowadays. I didn’t really feel like ranting–hard to believe, I know–so I tried to see if the Google machine would provide an explanation, but was totes sidetracked by shit like this. Did you know that KISS stands for “Knights in the Service of Satan” and if you play Black Sabbath rekkids backwards they tell you to sacrifice your dog to the devil? It’s true. Between this shit and Harry Potter, kids these days are totally fucked.]

No Closer to Any Kind of Truth

13 Apr

There is nothing in my brain, so here’s another video of white boys playing the geetar:

I was never a big fan of Death Cab before this album; I found Gibbards’ lyrics to be cloying and immature a lot of the time.

I fucking love Narrow Stairs, though, and I especially love this song. It’s so expansive and almost feels like it has more structure than it does–it ends like a perfect argument. Plus, it’s about one of my favorite authors and references my favorite book of his. (Most of the time, anyway–sometimes Dr. Sax wins).

I think it’s easy to become obnoxious when writing about someone so iconic (*cough* 10,000 Maniacs *cough*), but it’s mostly a self-conscious look at his unrealistic expectations for creative inspiration or some sort of deep revelation from the spirit of one of his heroes. He feels foolish and defeated when he doesn’t get what he wants, because, vell, Kerouac’s just zis guy, you know?

But, still…he talks to Kerouac like he’s there, and ultimately, they are tied together. Not by some mystical creative force emanating from Kerouac beyond the grave, but by the search for meaning, even when they know it’s impossible to find.