Writing Sample

Matt Kemper

Mr. Boyle

ENG 370 / Block 6

October 2005

Independent mammals

Like a phoenix, early 90’s grunge arose out of the ashes of 80’s hair metal. In 1991, Nirvana’s Nevermind took the music scene by storm. After lead singer Kurt Cobain “committed suicide”, American rock music split in two. On one side were artists who fell under the “alternative” umbrella such as Hole (Cobain’s wife’s band) and The Smashing Pumpkins and Pearl Jam. 90’s alternative music was, in fact, a marketing driven style of music in which a band’s “goodness” was proportioned to its popularity. Because this style of music was all about making money, a new philosophy of music came into being. This new idea, commonly referred to as “indie” (short for independent), was more focused on the quality of music, rather than success. Indie music has continued to evolve into the 21st century, innovating with new musical styles, and reaching new heights of greatness. Alternative music has also evolved into the new millennium, using more electronic driven beats, and becoming more politically charged, but the lyrics are still trite and cliché and focused on making money. Indie music is more emotion-driven than mainstream-alternative music because it displays lyrical agility through clever wordplay, because it sets the tone of the song through blatant emotion, and because it bares the songwriter’s soul through brutal honesty.

Firstly, indie music is more emotion-driven than mainstream-alternative music because it displays lyrical agility through clever wordplay. In Modest Mouse’s song “Lives”, Isaac Brock sings, “Everyone’s afraid of their own lives, if you could be anything you want, I bet you’d be disappointed, am I right? Am I right? And it’s our lives. It’s hard to remember, it’s hard to remember, we’re alive for the first time. It’s hard to remember we’re alive for the last time” (Modest Mouse). Here, Brock sings about the how most people are discontent with life, but these people do not realize that they only get to live once. Brock uses a commonplace saying with the phrase “if you could be anything you want”, but instead of issuing a normal response, such as an occupation, Brock replies with an emotion, taking the question less literally. Another song that employs clever lyrics to mask the true meaning is “Oh Comely” by Neutral Milk Hotel. In the song, singer Jeff Magnum tells us, “Your father made fetuses with flesh licking ladies, while you and your mother were asleep in the trailer park” (Neutral Milk Hotel). Because of his mastery of the language, Magnum’s description of an adulterous father is lost to many. “Oh Comely” is Neutral Milk Hotel’s most mutli-layered song, with the whole story being an allegory for the life and death of Anne Frank. “Oh Comely” was featured on the album In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, which also includes the metaphorical songs “Communist Daughter” and title-track “In the Aeroplane Over the Sea”. First, included in the song “Communist Daughter” is the lyric, “Semen stains the mountain tops with coca leaves along the border” (Neutral Milk Hotel). Magnum conveys the awkwardness of teenage years in this line, bringing to mind times of when sex was seen in everything, even snow. Similar to “Oh Comely”, “In the Aeroplane Over the Sea” in its entirety is a metaphor that requires some heavy listening to grasp. In the verse, “what a beautiful dream that could flash on the screen in a blink of an eye and be gone from me”, Magnum contemplates nuclear holocaust. Throughout the whole song, Magnum describes a couple in love, but the whole story is a metaphor for the destructiveness of nuclear weapons. Compare these examples of masterful language with this lyric from the hit song “Sugar We’re Going Down” by mainstream artists Fall Out Boy, “I’m just a notch in your bedpost but you’re just a line in a song” (Fall Out Boy). This line displays a morally ambiguous girl, but does so in such a blatant and cheap manner, that the line loses all of its power. In addition, referencing a girl in a song, and admitting that it is just a song is an example of “breaking the fourth wall”, and in music is rarely makes good results.

Secondly, indie music is more emotion-driven than mainstream-alternative music because it sets the tone of the song through blatant emotion. Elliott Smith was an American songwriter and musician who wrote and sang heavily emotional indie folk songs. Smith killed himself on October 21, 2003 by stabbing himself in the chest. Smith’s life was very emotional and this bled into his music as seen in lines like “I’ll fake it through the day with some help from Johnny Walker Red” (Smith). This line, from the song “Miss Misery” reveals Smith’s battles with alcoholism and depression. Smith sings the whole song in a quiet, subdued voice, which adds to the feeling of sadness or grief for one’s life that the song instills. Another artist who’s medium is pain and fragility is Jamie Stewart who performs under the alias Xiu Xiu. In the song “Hives Hives”, Stewart discusses his homosexuality and thoughts of depression in verses like, “Put that gun to my temple, put that gun to my heart, make me walk off the plank chi cha, all always in the dark” (Xiu Xiu). The topic of this song is AIDS and how being gay is almost as good as killing yourself in terms of ways of ending your life. The song’s driving emotion is depression, but there is also a subdued acceptance. Stewart knows everyone will die, and he also knows continuing to be gay could lead to his death, but he accepts that and continues to kill himself. Depression is a very powerful emotion that many bands harness to instill in their listener’s and the band Cursive does it as well. Lyrics like, “And thusly it ends, depression seeps in on a lonely messiah. Now he drinks with the lepers, losing a limb, his better half” (Cursive). In this line from the song “The Martyr”, the lead singer, Tim Kasher, paints a story of a man who is burdened with all of mankind’s sins. However, since the man is only mortal, he eventually brakes down and sinks into depression. Kasher sings about the man who kills himself because of all of the sins of the world, this becoming a martyr. The idea of the suicide of an innocent individual is always affecting, and Kasher’s powerful voice makes it all the more so in this song.

Finally, indie music is more emotion-driven than mainstream-alternative music because it bares the songwriter’s soul through brutal honesty. In 2004, William Shatner released the album Has Been and surprised many listeners and critics with the fact that it was actually good. In the song “That’s Me Trying”, Shatner “sings” the lines, “But I don’t want to talk about any of that bad stuff, why I missed out on your wedding and your high school graduation. I’d like to explain, but I can’t. So let’s keep things neutral; stick to topics that won’t bug us” (Shatner). This song, about an aloof father who wants to reunite with his daughter, includes lines like this, which show just how much the narrator of the song is a bastard. He wants to reconcile with his daughter, but he just wants to disregard the past. Shatner sings the song perfectly, adding true emotion. The flat-out honesty of the narrator serves to at first make the listener a little angry, but then acts to create a sense of loneliness and sorrow in the listener. It is at this point that the listener truly believes Shatner. On this song, Shatner collaborated with several other artists, including Aimee Mann, who has sung some very intimate songs as well. In her song “One”, Mann provides us with such insights as, “One is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do. Two can be as bad as one; it’s the loneliest number since the number one” (Mann). In these lines, Mann shows just how lonely her life can be. Even when she is with a partner, her life still feels empty and meaningless. By revealing to her audience her innermost feelings, Mann transfers to her listeners the loneliness that she feels. Much like examples from earlier paragraphs, she gives the listeners a sense of sadness. Within indie music, sadness is one of the most common emotions instilled into the listener. While by no means the only emotion, sadness certainly is one of the most versatile and effective emotions for instilling a lesson. Another very effective is emotion is shock. Stewart, in singing for Xiu Xiu, is a kindergarten teacher. One of his students came to him and told him all about how his father and brother sexually take advantage of him. The news saddened Stewart so much that he wrote a song about the little boy entitled “Brian the Vampire”. One part of the song includes the verse, “Brian, tender kisses run run run is my wish for you. Brian, tender drops of blood run run run, I’m thinking of you. How far does your brother go with you” (Xiu Xiu). Derived from this verse is the whole story of young Brian. The tender kisses are from his brother trying to seduce him, and the “tender drops of blood” are most likely from forced sodomy. All the while this is going on, Stewart is pleading with Brian to escape his brother’s “love”. To almost everyone, these lines are very horrifying and shocking. However, this was Stewart’s point. To be an effective writer, or in Stewart’s case, singer, the reader/listener must feel the emotions that the writer/singer is trying to convey. In the case of this song, Stewart is trying to shock the reader with a horrifying glimpse of truth, and he succeeds in doing so. At the basis of every song is an emotion the singer wants you to feel.

In conclusion, a good metaphor for the relationship between indie artists and mainstream- alternative artists is to envision them both as prehistoric animals. The mainstream artist is the gigantic dinosaur, successful at surviving and thriving, but ultimately oversized and too slow to evolve. On the other hand, indie artists can be compared to the first mammals. The indie artist is quick and nimble and utilizes new techniques in order to survive in the world. While not the most powerful or successful as surviving, the small mammals do survive and continue to change and adapt. It is through the indie artist’s ability to adapt and create new techniques that allow non-commercially successful artists to thrive. Indie music is more emotion-driven than mainstream-alternative music because it displays lyrical agility through clever wordplay, because it sets the tone of the song through blatant emotion, and because it bares the songwriter’s soul through brutal honesty.

Works Cited

Cursive. "The Martyr." By Tim Kasher. Domestica. Saddle Creek Records.

Fall Out Boy. "Sugar We're Going Down." By Patrick Stump. From Under the Cork Tree. Island Records.

Mann, Aimee. "One." By Aimee Mann. Magnolia: Music from the Motion Picture. Reprise Records.

Modest Mouse. "Lives." By Isaac Brock. The Moon and Antarctica. Epic Records.

Neutral Milk Hotel. "Communist Daughter." By Jeff Magnum. In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. Merge Records.

Neutral Milk Hotel. "In the Aeroplane Over the Sea." By Jeff Magnum. In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. Merge Records.

Neutral Milk Hotel. "Oh Comely." By Jeff Magnum. In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. Merge Records.

Shatner, William. "That's Me Trying." By William Shatner. Has Been. Shout! Factory.

Smith, Elliott. "Miss Misery." By Elliott Smith. Good Will Hunting: Music From The Miramax Motion Picture. Capitol Records.

Xiu Xiu. "Brian the Vampire." By Jamie Stewart. Fabulous Muscles. 5 Rue Christine.

Xiu Xiu. "Hives Hives." By Jamie Stewart. Knife Play. 5 Rue Christine.

A story?

“No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”

This sentiment expresses what this story is not about. This story is about the breakdown of one man with society. Solipsism is a funny thing, as it cannot be disproved, and once it is in a man’s mind, terrible thoughts may occur. But this is also a story of romance, though by the end one almost as doomed as the original star-crossed lovers. It’s about the girl he loves and the “realization” that she is but he. By the end, it is she that is harmed the most by his obsession. The story seems fabricated, but it’s all true, and has most probably occurred countless times over. Unless of course I am the singular consciousness, in which case I have created the quintessential tragedy multiple times over.

The story is cinematic in ideals, and rightly so; cinema is the perfect medium to discuss notions of reality, as it is its own fabricated universe. And as this is a cinematic story, it’s soundtracked appropriately.

Even though this novella perfectly expresses what I want to say, I fear it may be too… brief. A story like this should fill more space, but that ultimately doesn’t matter. The themes and images (literally images, not symbols) are as fully realized as I can bring them, and the short size of the story shouldn’t detract.

But the post-modern-ness of this intro threatens to turn it into something its not. This is a story, and that’s it. Read into as much or as little as you will.

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Tears run down her face. We don’t know why (as is usually the case). She’s cried before, usually over some bullshit (bad day, fears her parents like her sister more than her, etc). It sounds heartless, and it may be. But we love this girl. We have loved this girl for over two years. Usually we just comfort her, then settle into a sofa; but this time is different. The tears flow more freely, vindication is in her voice; she is crying at us. If only we could hear her inner monologue, things might be rectified (but then she could hear ours, which would be bad-bad). What happened with this girl, this girl we’ve given so much love and attention to for the past 27 months. So fucking doomed from the start; us a shy, narcissistic, charismatic boy, imbued with all the qualities of a machismo douche-bag in the package of a small, mousy indie-kid; her, an indecisive ball of neuroses brought down to earth by our charm. Or not, she probably could deal with her issues by herself (but the truth is that she can’t, even with our help, and we know this). Relationship are time-bombs and this one has had a faulty timer; it should have erupted roughly a year and half ago. We wish to ourselves that we were not sober, but the gods (or Santa, or whoever the fuck) will not grant our wish. If they did, we would be standing with a different girl, and she would not be crying (unless she was crying tears of happiness for dating someone such as us). But wishes are like whatever that proverbs says, something about spitting and wishing. “Don’t spit in a wishing well?” We don’t know, and it barely matters now. At least she isn’t making eye contact with us, but the uncomfortable silence (punctuated by sobs, snorts, and rustles of our body as we shift awkwardly) is smothering. We do not hold her, as we have done in the past because we sense that this is different. It is different. We know this. An intuitive man-sense, alerting us to the presence of problem but not telling us what the fuck it is. We think this would be a good cinematic scene, but are not sure whether it would be the opening, closing, or somewhere in the middle. Even its placement in the film doesn’t qualify its placement in the narrative; too many choices of placement. Too many thoughts of Godard, now is not the time to fool around with notions of “beginning” “middle” and “end”. Though this is clearly the narrative end with this girl. If it isn’t, it will be anyway; we will end it. How the fuck did this happen. Why do we say “fuck” internally? “Fuck” is used to add emphasis to a state or feeling; it’s supposed to shock the other person. Can we shock ourselves by saying “fuck”? Or do we just think that it’s cool, like smoking with other smokers (though we of course do not smoke, we are merely “social smokers”; the nicotine equivalent of the beggars businessmen have nothing but Contempt (Le Mepris, Godard again. And how fitting that is, dissolution of a marriage with Bridget Bardo – dissolution of a relationship with this girl. But where is my Fritz Lang (and what does that even mean?)) for, though, thankfully, our smokers (we say “our” because we sense this is our home. A commune of “struggling artists/students” with witty banter and recreational drug use) are much better people than a Christian Bale character. There will be no slitting of eyes and trampling of dogs with these good men). She hates when I smoke; I like when she hates that I smoke. I partially do it to piss her off; to assert control. She doesn’t even fucking drink (there goes the “fuck” again). I just wish she wasn’t so condescending (passive-aggressively of course, always) all of the time; and she uses this word to describe me. She cries now and she will blame this on something I did; something I did only because I’m a “worse person” (she will of course never use this phrase, but we enjoy considering ourselves “a bad person”, or at least in a dark-grey area). It’s too fucking late for this; I just want to go back home and – fuck; now she’s looking at me. She snifflesnorts several times, as if to catch her breath before a long wind of monologue is released, but she just sighs, looks down, and cries harder. How long we will wait is up to her, and it’s fucking annoying.

Months later, she’s long gone, and that’s fine, he’s re-established himself with a change of local; a bigger city will be better for him, he thinks. More opportunities for him to get into new burgeoning art-circles; hell, he can even form his own. His first semester flies by, friendships are formed and broken (most easily comparable to molecular bonds), and he falls in love with certain chemicals (though practices a semi-healthy amount of moderation). He writes more, and even begins a journal (which he neglects after five rambling, sporadic entries). Possible love interests abound in the bustling city, but few catch his eye; he is most likely too particular. It isn’t until late in the semester that he begins to notices a few girls. They pulse with youth; full of passion for politics, art, learning, love. His own youth is attracted to them.

Insomnia plagues him like a virus, sucking away the hours as an illness does strength, or a tapeworm does nutrients. The sun is making its first appearance of the day, and yet he still is unable to fall unconscious. Insomnia is just another name for the true plague; his waking state. Turning on the seventh album of the night, he tries out yet another new position; he could write the Somnambulant Kama Sutra. On his way to another state with his parents (he is on Christmas break, and slightly unhappy about it), he lies in a cheap hotel room, but that isn’t the problem (he barely slept the night before in the comfort of his own bed). He has a lot on his mind, but nothing in particular is bothering him. He was quite tired around one o’clock, but now he is just irritated. There is no reason he should still be awake. No music can soothe him, he is neither hot nor cold, he even fucking brought his own pillow. He wants to break down and sob, but that would just awaken him more. His bones hurt. His body is plenty tired; laying down is extremely pleasant. But his mind. Fuck. Usually a specific thing will keep him up: a girl, a fight, an anxiety, a burst of creativity. But none of these things are there in their full glory tonight. Sure there is a girl (isn’t there always?), but the majority of the time she hasn’t been in his mind. He hasn’t had a fight with anybody for weeks (a surprising amount of time to him). His regular panic-and-insomnia-inducing fear of death has been surprisingly tame for months (but he is afraid it is just playing dead, like a possum that is just waiting to ambush and then slay him), and nothing else really instills worry in him at the moment (except for his inability to sleep). And creativity? He has had a couple of meandering ideas throughout the night, but nothing to jar him awake with an, “Eureka!”. He considers just throwing in the towel and watching a movie until he has to get up for the morning, but ultimately decides against it because he is stubborn; he will sleep this night/morning even if it’s only for the 90 minutes he has until the front desk gives him a wake-up call. He chuckles at the idea of a wake-up call; he should be calling them to deliver a wake-up call. His arm itches, and for fear of moving and unsettling his body once again he begins to contemplate simple amputation as a solution to this problem. His thigh muscles twitches and he curses. When he is stressed, his muscles have a habit of telling him about it; eyes, thighs, biceps, the tops of his feet: the locations range but the feeling is always the same. He wasn’t particularly stressed before he got in bed, but now stress has filled the void that the lack of dreams has created. He begins to break down; it isn’t fair. He NEEDS to fucking sleep. He decides he will give it another go, rolls over onto his side (his preferred position, but one which is causing him plenty of trouble tonight [arm falling asleep, knees uncomfortable on top of each other, etc]), and plays yet another album.

THERE IS A PARAGRAPH DELETED FROM HERE.

The new iPod headphones fall out of a package more suited for perishable food than electronics accessories and come to rest in the hand of our protagonist, though there isn’t really a clear traditional narrative (or an antagonist, for that matter), but oh well. He puts the headphone jack in its rightful place and lies down in bed. He knows that he will not sleep for hours, mostly because he never does, but especially tonight because of racing thoughts (though one thought is clearly leading the pack). It’s almost five in the morning, and he notices this, cursing. As he settles in deeper in bed, planning to stay, his thoughts follow course; they too are not changing residences for some time. They begin to swirl and mix as he shuts his eyes, heavy with sleep (which his mind prevents from arriving, leaving it to circle overhead like a buzzard waiting for its prey to die). He briefly considers drugs (Jagermeister, cannabis) to help him circumvent the coming hours, but he thinks to himself, “Fuck it”.

OH LOOK, ANOTHER PARAGRAPH DELETED

SENTENCE DELETED The two perform a delicate dance for about an hour, full of innocuous conversation and less-than-innocuous stolen touches; a brushed hand here, a small touch there. Eventually he takes off his sweater and his skin exhales warmth; his nerves dance alive and stand ready for what he subconsciously knows will soon happen. They eventually accidentally get in each other’s way (“Parallel Synchronized Randomness”, according to Michel Gondry), and after a short bout of juking the same direction, the two inch closer together until he kisses her (an extraordinary show of forwardness for him, at least in his own mind), the both of them overcome by a desire for this moment stemming back to over a month ago. Among the scattered clothes and bags of books the two stand, embracing each other. After a few moments, they part, wordlessly smile, and get back to arranging the room, only this time with more “accidental” physical contact. Eventually the organization is forgotten and the two fall into his bed, conveniently located in the very room they already were. For the length of an album played twice (Loveless, of course), nothing else in the world matters, not classes the next day, not the arrival of his new roommate at any time; the two exist outside of the reality the rest of us inhabit daily; they’ve found something special. As the sun sinks below the tops of the buildings, the two lie there together, enjoying each other’s silent company; each happy to be next to a warm body after a cold and lonely Christmas break. A spectator would assume that these two have been together for years by the way they lay entwined, but they would be quite wrong.

After an unknown amount of time, he breaks the perfect silence with an idea: “Let’s go to the beach”, he says, and she obliges. On the few-block walk, he feels as if he is still playing the game (though according to his schema, they’ve arrived at the second stage); panic arises deep inside of him at the thought of holding her hand, something he desperately wants to do. He decides to take a page from her book, and be a little more forward about it; “Are you a fan of hand-holding?” he questions. “Eh,” she remarks, “Not too much, but it honestly depends. What about you?” “Kind of. A lot”, he mumbles out, eyes following the imprints his feet leave in the snow, nervous to look upwards at her, afraid of rejection. By now they have reached the snow-bleached sand of the beach and she suddenly stops and turns towards him. Taking his face into her hands she says, “Stop worrying so much”, lightly kisses his cheek, and takes his hand. Quite smitten, he walks with her further onto the beach. The waves slowly crash into the barren scene, soundtracking it all with a low, periodic roaring sound. These two could be the lone survivors of an apocalypse for all the signs of humanity the scene provides, but it wouldn’t change anything. They stand there for sometime, watching nothing, but taking in everything, and for the first time in her life, she enjoys holding hands with someone; the simple gesture of her hand in his, complete with a gentle caressing of her forefinger by his thumb, has finally been given a greater meaning to her.

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Nearly a year later, the sun rises over a beach kissed with snow like a scene from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Behind the field of incoming swells, in stark contrast to the white threatening in on all sides, a blue blanket covers a small patch of frost. On the blanket lay two bodies fully intertwined and in love. If we got closer, a shared pair of headphones could be seen; a gesture allowing the soundtracking of life for the two, especially with both at their most cinematic. It is in shared moments like this that the couple lives; secret moments only they share. As soon as the sun breaks free of the horizon, the couple wordlessly rises and folds up their blankets. With it under his arm, they walk back hand in hand.

Intertwined once again, though the setting has changed; the couple lies in bed while gentle androgynous vocals over layered guitars fills the air; My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless. This Sunday goes by like all Sundays, too short and filled with sleep, with the possibility of lingering drunkenness. However the couple is drunk not on alcohol, but love. Is that sentiment too cliché? It may be, but it represents these two perfectly. Moving only the occasional limb, the couple remains in various stages of sleep until around one, when each realizes the other is awake. Sharing a kiss before he rolls off of the top-bunk and lands awkwardly on the ground waiting for him below. She, preferring to save her knees and ankles for more important things, slowly inches off the bed until her feet swing inches above the ground. Only then will she let go, and he gently teases her for this.

The rest of the day consists of biological necessities and studying, once again soundtracked perfectly. He reads Descartes, she Plato. The only breaks in the reading come for the changing of CDs (from Souvlaki to Lift Yr Skinny Fists like Antennas to Heaven! to Music has the Right to Children) (am I just trying prove my musical taste or does this add to the story; a literary soundtracking of sorts?) and the making of jasmine tea, his full of sugar and hers with a sensible amount.

This seemingly innocuous, almost saccharine scene is actual terribly important (much like the facts of their respective sugar usage), as this is where the seed of doubt is first planted. Just as it first started, so does his solipsism begin: with Descartes. As he lies in bed that night, listening to yet more post-rock, his pseudo-insomnia keeps him up once again. To try and undermine his foolish body, he uses this time to think, just as he always has. In the past, this occasionally backfired on him, as he is quite prone to panic attacks, and this is the perfect window for his demons to tear a portal into his current reality. But tonight he stays rational, gently thinking about what he has just read. Though he doubts it, his agnostic tendencies threaten to keep him trying to solve this presented puzzle all night. Thankfully, for him and his reality, he falls asleep by the time the third track of F#A#infinity begins.

As the opening bass notes of Mezzanine begin to bubble, the metal ring is pressed and quickly rotated. Flint strikes steel, and the resulting sparks ignite the steady stream of butane being released. As we slowly remove ourselves from the close-up, the small black Bic is seen to be upside-down. Pulling out further we see the flame lowered into a blue and green glass pipe, and the marijuana inside is ignited. If we changed our perspective to a direct overhead, we can see the three people seated: the couple and his roommate sitting on her floor in a makeshift circle. He passes the bowl counter-clockwise to his roommate, and as the roommate repeats the flint-steel-butane process, he exhales a long stream of smoke. By the time “Teardrop” begins, the marijuana has breathed its last gasp and he lies onto the bed.

Words begin to float through the air as freely as smoke just did. The topics are both myriad and eclectic, with discussions and arguments ranging from the Coen Brothers (with the general consensus that No Country for Old Men is better than Fargo, though just barely) to “Are you Afraid of the Dark?” (where no consensus was reached, besides that fact that it gave all three nightmares) to the ranking of trip-hop artists (where Massive Attack was unanimously the best, but no one could agree whether Tricky or Portishead was second) to philosophy (where undoubtedly the texts the three have each just respectively read influence their thoughts and viewpoints). Soon after discussions on St. Thomas Aquinas and Plato are quelled, he sheepishly brings up the topics he had been mulling over much of the day. After a brief explanation of solipsism:

“Hm, that’s interesting,” she says. The roommate chooses to remain silent, though he thinks about it with his eyes closed.

After strange thoughts had been long put to rest and the roommate had recently left, the two fall into bed together, their bodies pulsing with the THC and their arousal. Making love in time to ( ), the pace constantly shifts in order to keep time with the music. As the music swells, so does the rhythm of their hips. Overwhelmed by sensation, the two can do little but exist in the moment. Minutes stretch on forever, but ultimately don’t last long enough, as the two collapse into his sheets during “Untitled 3”. As the haze slowly fades, so does their waking states. He has no trouble sleeping tonight; protected from his thoughts both by her and by his altered state.

The next day passes by un-eventfully; that is, until the night. As he settles in for his night’s rest after a small bowl shared with his roommate, paranoia begins to seep in. This happens occasionally, with the targets for his fear ranging from friends, enemies, himself, even to humanity as a whole (or at least their primal instincts [specifically paranoia, which he once came to understand was deeply ingrained in most of humanity, only to be explicitly released in the modern by cannabis]). Tonight, the universe frightens him. Armed with a new “big word”, he tries to attack the foundation of existence. He quickly realizes his life is too good; he is too happy, his girlfriend is too perfect; misery is all but absent from his life (excepting the book, which he read and quickly dismissed). The seed of solipsism planted in him a few days ago now begins to blossom, watered by the anxieties that reside within him. He plays with the idea of a him-centered universe, and considers how much faith he should put in it. He decides that he is far too high for this train of though, and quickly tries to sleep, an endeavor in which he succeeds tonight. But in the back of his brain, haunting his thoughts and dreams like a shade in Jacob’s Ladder, exists a thought that will eventually devour him.

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Things settle down for a couple of weeks, thoughts of solipsism only occasionally being ushered into the forefront of his mind by strange occurrences of luck (both good and bad). But one week in mid-February, things (both his reality and his mind) begin to break down. It starts innocently, with him sitting in class. As he stares at his desk or the clock, waiting for the droning lecture to come to an end, he gets the sense someone is staring at him. Even if interrogated, he couldn’t say what this soon-to-be consistent sensation arise in him, but nobody can, even if everyone instinctively understands the feeling; a preternatural understanding inherent to the human race (or at least his high-self would believe so). Even so, the cause of the feeling in him doesn’t matter much, but his awareness of what follows does. He glances to a desk one row up and four to the left of his, and just as he looks at the girl seated there, it seems like she whips back around to face the front. He figures she wasn’t staring at him, but then again, he gets the feeling. This time using his peripheral vision (which isn’t the greatest, mind you), he tries to see in her direction while looking directly at his desk , but only sees a faceless shadow, the direction of its look undeterminable. Quickly glancing up, she seems to repeat the same ritual. Understandably a tad unnerved, he looks back to the front of the room, where this time he feels someone watching him from his right side. He decides not to investigate it, and remains staring at a paper in front of him, mindlessly doodling for the rest of the class. None of the doodles seem to have any importance, after all, they are just doodles, but one might stick out to the casual observer. It is merely a head, as one will draw when they don’t have enough artistic talent to create a whole body, but the eyes merely consist of dark shading; they sit formless on an otherwise normal face.

Keeping his eyes on the ground, tracing the path his feet will momentarily travel, he walks the short journey from the classroom back to his room, never looking up for fear of another person staring at him; he can already feel their eyes, anyway. When he gets back in his room, he promptly close the blinds, kills the lights, and goes to bed, deciding right there to neglect any other classes of the day. For the rest of the day he drifts in and out of sleep, feverish and delusional, like a character out of Trainspotting. In the morning he will feel fine (even slightly refreshed) and quite foolish for his reactions this day, but for now, he vows not to get out of bed until the next cycle of the sun; nothing can reach him today.

2006: A Synopsis pt. 4 (How Strange, Aquatic Birds in Chicago OR I Can't Be Clever Today, Sorry)

So, today is the day of posts. Took my first exams today, and luckily for you guys the suicide attempts failed. Oh well, maybe tomorrow. So, we have post-punk, post-rock, and post-metal today, in that order. Huzzah!(?)

First, post-punk. The new CD from Interpol! Oh wait... they didn't release anything this year. Oh that's right! It's Editors! I honestly only bought this because of the Interpol comparisons (I would do this again later in the year, because this one worked out well), and I have to say they are apt. The lead singer probably is Paul Banks's brother, and this CD is almost as strong of a debut as Turn on the Bright Lights. However, where TotBL was wrought with sexual tension and brooding bass, The Back Room (Editors) is alot more frantic and kinetic. Instead of coldly calculating like Interpol, Editors choose to rashly react, imbue-ing their music with spiky speedy guitar riffs. However, their best song comes when they slow the pace down. "Fall" is one of my favourite songs of the year. With its gentler strummed chords, tensioned filled choruses, and distraught lyrics. Here, Tom Smith finds his own voice away from Paul Banks and Ian Curtis, and even uses the word "juggernauts". That instantly wins points for me. The background "ooooh"'s are subtle and really add a lot to the song. Worst song? Though none are bad, I would say "Someone Says", just because it seems like filler, following similar formulas with the rest of the tracks. Though it does have a good hook, don't get me wrong.

Next I decided I wanted to explore this "post-rock" thing more. I didn't actually own any at this point (I don't wholly consider Sigur Rós to be post-rock), and I decided it was time. So what did I decide to buy? The classical bombast of Godspeed You! Black Emperor? The massive guitars of Mogwai? The simpler, more affecting A Silver Mt. Zion? No sir. I decided to go for the reissued debut ("How Strange, Innocence") from Explosions in the Sky. In the CD case, it says that the band has been, at times, embarrassed with this CD. I have no reason why, as it starts out with what I consider a strong contender for the best post-rock song. Ever. "A Song For Our Fathers" enters with the sounds of helicopters and gently introduces the formula of the band. It’s post-rock, but with the standard two guitars, a bass, and some drums. Fair enough. The bass leads the song at first, until the guitars come in to play and intertwine with one another. A steady drum beat in the background buckles the song down, and makes it sound like some sort of solemn/joyous march. Then small bursts of feedback enter and the guitar notes rise and fall, giving way to more feedback (all fairly non-intrusive). Then everything but the bass drops out, and the "chorus" begins. A simple, yet haunting guitar line is picked out, and all of a sudden the drums come crashing in with feedback accompanying. Then the dust settles and only a guitar and slight feedback remain. However everything swoops back in once more and gives a second, much more propelled chorus. Amazing song. And that's just the first track. The whole CD is fantastic and this is probably the reason why I started buying so much post-rock. God it’s good. I have no clue why they were embarrassed about this. I still prefer this to some later efforts.

And finally, post-metal. Pelican. Intimidating at first, much better once given a chance. This is metal influenced post-rock, don't get confused. If Mogwai played metal, this would be it. Detuned guitars and sustained chords abound, while acoustic guitars occasionally show up. This is a very textured album. Almost every song seems to literally swell, and listening to Pelican reminds me of the tide rising and receding away from a beach. If you are afraid of metal, don't be afraid of Pelican. They are warm and inviting. They are not trying to scare you. Best song? Aurora Borealis, both because it has the best name and because it decides to be mellow without going acoustic. Great daydream song.

Tomorrow a CD I don't own and two sountracks. BOOOOO. sorry.

Tomorrow: Part 5 of 11 (The Fifth Three OR Soundtracks Are Better Than You Think)

2006: A Synopsis pt. 3 (Que Onda Geogaddi OR Boards of Canada are actually Norwegian Barbarians [Little Known Fact!])

So, before I start, an aside: I torrent-ed the new Bloc Party, but haven't listened to it yet. I might discuss it in this thing at a later point.

So, last time I described what I'll be talking about, and I'll go by exactly that order. First, a second album by a favourite band. The band is Boards of Canada and the new CD was Geogaddi. Compared to The Campfire Headphase (which is the other CD I have), this CD seems a lot darker. and... sensual. I don't know, but this definitely sounds like Doin' It Music. Compared to “Campfire…” there is practically no guitar, and the drum beats are a lot more noticeable. Also, everything sounds a lot... creepier. If you have seen Rosemary's Baby (which i don't recommend, bad movie), this could serve as the soundtrack to the rape scene. Or the lizard scene from Jacob's Ladder (better movie). Some sort of odd combination of sex and horror. I think the CD is just that, a CD. I can distinguish between tracks, and don't want to. Overall a good CD, but I definitely prefer the hazy guitars of The Campfire Headphase.

The second CD i bought was by the players of the second best concert I have ever seen. And the concert came 3 months after the purchase of the CD, as a birthday gift from my girlfriend (thank you girlfriend). The concert was good because I was 4 ft. from the band and they have amazing energy. The band? The Stills. I bought their debut and fell in love. It sounds like... a sad Bloc Party... a peppier Interpol... a catchier post-punk. Call it what you want, but I loved it. Standouts are the intro of "Still in Love Song" and the hooks of all. (I'm sorry if this update is shorter, I have finals tomorrow and must go study soon).

The final CD of this update was one I have written a gazillion words about in a previous journal. My review was actually too long. It was Beck's Guero. Some of the tracks or horrid mish-mashes ("Que Onda Guero"), some are great shows of force from Beck ("Earthquake Weather"), and most are forgettable ("Rental Car"). Since I bought the "Bonus Version", I got quite a few remixes to go along with the main meat n' poe-tay-toes. Apparently these can be found on "Geurolito", but they are still my favourites from this album. Octet's version of "Girl" adds fantastic snare drums and gives it the true psycho-killer-propulsion it truly deserves, and Boards of Canada's mix of "Broken Drum" turns another forgettable song into a funeral dirge classic. It sounds like they are standing on ice floes, sending one of those funeral-pyre-canoes out to sea, all the while dressed in hooded cloaks. It’s good.

This is much shorter than the others and I feel bad and I think its bad and not funny and I'm sorry please forgive me. Tomorrow might be better, no promises. Just be happy I actually updated today? Eh?

Tomorrow: Part 4 of 11 (The Fourth Three or Post-punk/rock/metal/examssoiwillbeanincoherantmess)

2006: A Synopsis pt. 2 (Kid A-Okay! or I Actually Tried to Post This Without a Title Because I Forgot and Then the Internets Yelled at Me and Made Me

2006: A Synopsis pt. 2 (Kid A-Okay! or I Actually Tried to Post This Without a Title Because I Forgot and Then the Internets Yelled at Me and Made Me Feel Bad So Here is a Title I am Sorry)

Sorry this is a day late (all the dollars are here though). Christmas dinner with old family friends + anniversary with girlfriend delayed this. I love them more than you, sorry. Anyway, last time I left off, I was talking about one of two CD’s I borrowed. (The first being The Postal Service. The second is the Garden State Soundtrack. I don't know if it’s fair talking about a soundtrack in an album review/musical journey column-thing, but I am anyway.

So, Garden State. First things first, Coldplay's "Don't Panic". Wow. I don't like Coldplay too much, but I think this is an amazing song. I feel like this is on of those songs that is "too good" for a band. Like, "How did they make this, everything else they do is subpar". Maybe they actually copied Radiohead correctly on this one? Too bad it’s under 3 minutes long. The two The Shins songs on here are good, but there are better ones out there. Other standout is Iron & Wine's version of "Such Great Heights". I greatly prefer this version to the original, because Sam Beam treats it much gentler, and puts more focus on the vocals. Bad songs? Aplenty. Bonnie Somerville, Remy Zero, and Cary Brothers. Why? All boring and relatively forgettable. You may disagree but I will not apologize. All the other songs are mediocre - fair and don't really deserve mentioning.

Next, I returned to buying albums and I made an amazing choice. I finally bought a Radiohead album, and I decided to pick the one that appealed to my weakness. Dark electronic music. Oh god, I played this CD for a month straight. There isn't a single bad song on here, and "Idioteque" is one of my favourite songs ever. Highlights? The bassline from "The National Anthem", the drums and yelps from "Idioteque", the drums from "Morning Bell", the multi-tracked vocals from "Everything in its Right Place", the ambiance of "Treefingers", the fact that if you line up two CDs 17 seconds apart, some of the songs match up wonderfully (try with "Everything in its Right Place" and "How to Disappear Completely"). Weakest song? Kid A. Not a bad song, per se, but the bloops and beeps are a little strange, and the vocals take some getting used to. But after awhile, I've come to like it.

Next, I went to a concert. "Was it good?" you ask. "You could say that", say I. "Or you could say it was the best concert I've ever seen". "Egads, who was it?", you ask, sitting on pins and needles. "Sigur Rós". First, a discussion of the concert. Loudest I have ever been too. Almost painful. Drinks would attempt to escape their mortal coil by vibrating off of tables. I actually tried to feel my heartbeat, and could not. Also, the prettiest concert I have ever experienced. The placed a large screen in front of themselves, and then were backlit. The result was 40 ft high Icelanders playing guitars with bows and gently playing the most devastating bass notes I ever heard. So, naturally, I ran to the merch table and bought "Takk...". I liked it, but was kind of bored by it at first. Its a lot more accessible than ( ), but it almost too joyous. The second half of ( ) is amazing. However, the more I have listened, the more I have liked. They seem more like a normal band here, with things like the great drumming on "Gong" (my favourite song on the album). If you like Sigur Rós, but haven't heard this album, I would just say imagine the band trying to make a pop-ier album, and you would probably be picturing this. No bad tracks that I can think of.

Tomorrow I will try to post two "episodes" to get back on track. Then again, I might lazy-out and not post anything. I am a gamble.

Next time, a second album by a favourite band, my second best concert ever, and an album I've already written well over 1000 words on this site about (and I didn't even love it).

Tomorrow(?): Part 3 of 11 (The Third Three or His Beat is Actually Just Mediocre)

2006: A Synopsis pt. 1 (I Write About My Music Once Again and You Once Again Pretend to Like it OR A Very Merry Ben Gibbard Xmas)

Another year, 34 more CDs. How in the hell do I divide 34 by anything capable of me finishing this by the 23rd (when I am departing for the mythical land of Florida), but making sure this series isn’t only 2 “episodes” long. For all intents and purposes, 34 is now a prime number. If you are traveling through a cube with death traps in certain rooms and you see the number 34 written on a plate in front of one of the doors, you can rest assured, it is safe (1st person to name the reference gets a point). As an introduction to those of you who didn’t read this last year, I enjoy tangents, hyphens, made-up words (created from a random prefix or suffix and a real word), really long pointless stories, neglecting commas and capital letters, ridiculously long song titles that follow the Rocky & Bullwinkle or Dr. Strangelove formula of having a relatively normal title and then and OR and then something slightly witty, and terribly long sentences that make you forget where you are and make you go back and check to see if I added all the proper parentheses, commas, and semicolons. Even Microsoft Word said that sentence was too long. Anyway, I decided to do this in 10 parts, but now I can’t remember how that worked. Maybe I divided by zero somewhere along the way. Which apparently you can do now (google “null divide by zero”), which, by the way, is completely inane. “Ooooh, instead of saying x/0, you say null, which doesn’t actually add anything to the equation like the imaginary i does, but instead just serves as a dumb placeholder. Sigh, music, not math.

I left off last year by saying I got some Cd’s for Christmas. I decided to skip Suicide, because though I didn’t like it, I barely listened to it. And yes, I know I don’t like it. I knew it almost instantly. Besides that, I got Death Cab for Cutie's "We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes". This is a good album, especially compared with their most recent stuff. I don't claim that they sold out or anything, I just think that they have gotten worse with time and age. But, as for this one, I do like the really lo-fi feel, the sound of the guitars (clean, but kind of grainy. i don't know what to call it. chalk it up to lo-fi. the drums sound the same; kind of slightly distant), and the vocals. Ben Gibbard does actually have a good voice, and the lyrics range from okay to great. Especially good is the rise on the words "Skin touching skin" in the song "For What Reason". It took me like 3 minutes scrolling through the songs in my library to find those words. Which brings me to the negative of the CD. The songs blur together. Individual parts of songs stand out, like sections of "Title Track" and "Company Calls Epilogue", but I can never remember which songs those parts come from. All the songs have the same sounding instruments, just slightly different melodies. Even though all the songs are good, the mild slowpacedness of them just makes them blend. However, this makes the upbeat songs stand out more. Case in point "Company Calls". The song actually has energy, and makes in one of my favourites on the CD. But, I would say the winner of this one is Title Track, solely because it takes the formula used on most of the songs and just nails it on the first try (first track of the CD).

The other CD I received was The Flaming Lips's Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. I wanted it on the strength of the titles track(s), and Fight Test. Unfortunately, most of the other songs kind of blend together (I'm seeing a trend here). The first half of the CD is amazing, with each song filling a different role. As for the second half, I can't tell one song from the next (or even name some of them) with the exception of "It's Summertime". The song itself is okay, but the intro with a strange wavering bass note is unique, and has bored itself into a comfortable nest somewhere in my brain. The standout track would have to be either "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots Part 2" with its tromping (word? ionno. But my band was at one time [for a day or two] called "The Stomp-a-Trons of Invincible Wrath" [named after a Yugi-oh {don't care enough to look up spelling (yay brackets)} card {found on Wikipedia after random article-ing}] and so I would now like to use tromp as a word) bassline (you now don't even remember where the sentence was. I get two points) and weird Japanese-girl screams or "One More Robot/Sympathy 3000-21" which sounds like a more rock-y M83 song with clearer vocals (this may seem like it sounds like I am describing a My Bloody Valentine song with clearer vocals, but I am not. The song is very electronic-sounding, just with real drums). Can I move on? I'm moving on.

Around that time, I borrowed two CD's. One you will have to wait until tomorrow to read about. The other, you might be able to guess due to the title. `Twas The Postal Service. First, guess what is wrong with the CD. Yep, blurs together. The ones that stand out are the darker songs. "This Place is a Prison" with its semi-nihilism and distorted beat is a great song for a cold, snowy, alcohol-filled lonely night. Which is almost what it’s about. "Natural Anthem" has a name close to an electronicesque Radiohead song, and coincidentally sounds like some sort of watered down Idioteque, which is not actually a bad thing. The song is actually the best on the whole album. The others, like I said about every CD I talked about today, kind of sound the same. Light, breezy beats with lyrics about love or loneliness. And this article-thing has the gone the way of everything i have ever written. Increasingly shorter paragraphs. Anyway, I do have to submit, the separation of the channels during the intro of "Such Great Heights" is actually really really and i love listening to it with headphones.

So, I hope that this is a good start to the feature of mine. I have no clue how it compares to last year, and I have no clue if any of you agree with anything, find me at all funny, or just despise me and hope my internet explodes so I can't post these anymore. Either way(s), tell me in a message or a comment on this? Yes, I am compliment-whoring.

The other CD I borrowed was equally spotty, but the two CDs i actually bought have placed themselves among my favourites.

Tomorrow: Part 2 of 11 (10 + the end of the year party) (The Second Three or Ok Calculator? [Tricky layered reference, don't let me keep you from guessing the obvious answer])

Album Purchase Summary up to this point including ranking

Surprisingly, I've been really, really lucky this year. Or maybe just more choosy. I haven't bought a single album that i've been disappointed with yet.

I won't go into the story behind each one yet, I'll save that for this winter. But I will give a brief description of why I like it.

11 - The Stills - Without Feathers - Technically, this was a gift, so my disappointment didn't really cost anything. I don't know... I don't think I got over the singer change. Or the more upbeatness. However, I saw them live a few weeks ago. They are still great. I just wish Tim Fletcher would sing on the entire album again.
10 - Beck - Guero - Good, but a lot of the tracks were lacking. I have a review of it on this site somewhere else. Go search for it.
9 - Pelican - The Fire in Our Throats Will Beckon the Thaw - Bought it because of Last Day of Winter. I like it... but it might be a tad too metal for me. I'm a small white kid without a mullet and mosh pits scare me. Metal is not for me. I don't know... maybe it needs more time to grow on me. My iPod was on shuffle today and Aurora Borealis came on. I really, really liked it. Hm
8 - Sigur Rós - Takk - Good, definitely more accessible than (), but the second half of () one of my favourite parts of an album. So, I guess I just expected more.
7 - Godspeed You! Black Emperor - Lift Your Skinny Fists like Antennas to Heaven - I bought F#A#(infinity) about two weeks after I bought this, so this album has had NO time to sink in at all. Its good, I just need to give it more attention
6 - The Stills - Logic Will Break Your Heart - Love this album. So many good songs, great atmosphere.
5 - Boards of Canada - Geogaddi - Hm. I bought Campfire Headphase first. Similarities exist, but the albums are far different. I like both, I'm not sure which one I like better.
4 - Editors - The Back Room - Best actual rock album i've bought this year. Yeah, they sound a lot like Interpol, but I love Interpol. And they make enough effort to be different. Listen to "Fall" to be convinced.
3 - Radiohead - Kid A - My weakness, dark electronic. How did you know. Only radiohead album I own, doesn't matter. So good. Probably the most neurotic electronic album I've ever heard. Idioteque is the strongest song on here.
2 - Explosions in the Sky - How Strange, Innocence - Most triumphant post-rock I have ever heard. They can do sorrow, but they can also do joy. Astounding.
1 - Godspeed You! Black Emperor - F#A#(Infinity) - If the apocalypse had a soundtrack, this would be it. 3 songs, each over 15 minutes. The first explores despair, the second, paranoia, the third, relief. Or i'm probably just entirely wrong, but that's what it sounds (feels) like to me. Standout? Hard choice. The monologue of Dead Flag Blues and minutes 2-8 of East Hastings.

Also, I've listened to the eraser by Thom Yorke and I'm in love. I plan to buy it as soon as it comes out. It would be spot number 3 if i had bought it by now.