Bluesday, April 17: Arvo Part

Reading this fascinating article about how deep-brain stimulation failed or did not fail in its surgical attempts to cure depression, I realized most of mine was manageable once I remove myself from this world, the industry's world, the phone world, the internet world, fueled by narcissism and an excessive need to "connect" without fitting the proper puzzle pieces, impulsively "express" without the due diligence of definition, and "document," almost like a serial killer returning to the scene of the crime to relive the slaughter over and over again because he can't get his dick up in real life, kill after kill, post after post, tweet after tweet.

Escape, do I; find refuge in the flaws of man, once admitted; crave for the poetry of the Pastoral, perhaps more gothic, twice removed; I remain, I retreat, curiously, in that which I was repressed- artistically, historically, religiously. May I remain, may I retreat, may I reject repression while the world spins in its meaningless meaning, may I find the harmonic convergence in atonal tintinnabulation. It is the key to make all of this fathomable, holding fast to hope.

Bluesday, April 10, 2018: Ángel Parra

Puedes matarme si quieres,
mi amor no lo matarás,
tengo la esperanza puesta
en volverte a conquistar,
que una vez te diste entera,
nunca lo podré olvidar,
amor.

Puedes quitarme el aire
que preciso pa' vivir
pero no podrás quitarme
la fuerza que nació en mí
cuando mujer, cuerpo y alma
me diste en el mes de abril,
amor.

Quítame la cordillera,
quítame también el mar,
pero no podrás quitarme
que te quiera siempre más:
lo que entre dos se ha sembrado
entre dos se ha de cuidar,
amor.

You can kill me if you want to,
but my love
you will not kill,
I have my hope put on
win you over again,
that once you gave yourself whole,
I could never forget it, Love.

You can take away from me
the air that I need for living,
but you can't take away
the force that was born in me when woman,
body and soul
You gave me in the month of April, love.

Take away from me the mountain range,
take away also the sea,
but you can't take away from me
that I will always love you more:
what between two
has been sown between two
has to be taking care of, love.

Bluesday, October 10: Radiohead

In Rainbows came out 10 years ago today. 10 years. 

Years ago, on 1101 S. State Street in the South Loop of Chicago, I had people over for a late-night-night-cap. It was probably 2008 or 2009. At one point, a group of us were sitting with our legs crossed on the floor of my bedroom, passing around a mini-bong that was not mine but eventually became mine, filled with half water-half Jameson. Megan Tucker was thumbing through my CD collection, because cell phones were not everything yet. She pulled out this album, decorated in its recycled-paper, darkly colorful and unconventionally folded case, looked at me, and asked, "who ACTUALLY owns this CD?" I responded, "Me. It's my favorite." That statement is still true. It's the one that means the most to me.

Many die-hard Radiohead fans who are the butt of ironic internet satire when it comes to pretentious Generation-X douchebags have said that it's the "most accessible." It probably is. It doesn't mean that other albums aren't- and in a way, I guess they are literally correct. The way this album was consumed was the most accessible- before the Beyonce's and the Chance's and the other big-time record releases with no record store release dates became the thing, there was In Rainbows. But these die-hard fans usually aren't talking about method of listening as much as they are about aesthetic. Singable melodies, un-confusing lyrics, danceable rhythms, a molotov cocktail of emotion, so meticulously balanced as to not cross the land mines of utterly depressive, completely obvious, and corny-ass sadness: it was track after track of perfection for someone who was questioning what "perfect" even meant. 

The catalytic flavors of these songs contain sharp hints of the most important memories of my life, the ones that I go back to, time and time again, the ones that represent my first renaissance, clinging onto an identity that was never the same. Me, quite actually, In Rainbows, with colors representing the different layers of my life, wondering if there could be a sort of Keep in inevitable Growth- at the time, I couldn't separate the light enough to realize the inevitability of growth meant change, and that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. But as I sit here, in the house I "grew up" in, writing this explanation that won't ever fully be able to scope exactly how much this record means to me, I wonder if I ever really understood... and if my growth, inevitably, will separate me from what home is, like ripples on a blank shore. As I get sink deeper, the more I expand, until it's too big to see each individual ripple- they become part of the shore, the water, reflecting the person I have chosen to be.

Hopefully, and I mean that- full of hope, I continue to strive for that whole-hearted esoteric understanding- like the "secret rhythm" of "Videotape," like the downbeat of each measure of "Reckoner," like Jigsaws slowly but surely falling into place. But the difference now is that I control the tempo of their fall. I'm the one who calls tetris- and I'm the one who determines how it affects my life, how my big ideas can actually happen. I think that's okay for now. 

Here's to the next 10 years of 10-track perfections. 

Bluesday, September 19, 2017: Gloria Carter

I listened to Caspian all day, but didn't feel inspired until I learned that Jay-Z declined a Superbowl performance this year. As I low-key boycott the NFL this season, which brings much sadness but ultimately balances out my soul, I feel okay about this decision. I can't keep preaching "living your truth" if I don't do it myself. It's caused some breaks and separation with people close to my heart, but they'll always have a rock in my heart pond. Just can't keep giving energy to those who don't share the same definitions of love.

Which brings me to this famous interview with Jigga's Mom, revealing her true self in a conversation that inspired the song, "Smile," the third track from his 2017 release, 4:44. While people compare and contrast it to Lemonade and A Seat At the Table, I choose to separate it from the elevator with glass ceilings. Also, it doesn't deserve to be there- not his best flows, not the most profound lyrics, though they may be the most true to his life- which I can respect I guess.

Gloria Carter talks about the dangers of "living in the shadows," a concept that hits home a little too hard for me. She wrote the poem on an airplane with Jay, and he sampled it as a transition between tracks. I'm glad he kept the integrity of her words and cadence. There's something so wise and so inspiring about her tone and message. I can probably talk about the implications of this grande reveal, the manner in which Sean Carter uses it to enhance his album and shed light on a topic he's never dealt face-on, the rise of black excellence and the entrepreneurship of legacy, how it's nice to have a rap album come out in 2017 that didn't have one trap track, Tidal.

But I am exhausted from teaching seven classes and reading about the four dimensions and possible pathways of influence that cause mental disorders in abnormal psychology. So I'll leave with this:

"Love who you love, because life isn't guaranteed. Smile."

Bluesday, January 24: Kishi Bashi

Fourth track of his third album, Sonderlust, came out in 2016, probably listened to it once since 2016 ended and 2017 began. I say, some artists need to bend the purpose of the art, or why it was formed, you know, the real story behind the making of a really great song, in order to let it truly seep under their skin, into their bones, bloodstream, body, brain, until it truly becomes a part of them. Is that not, at least, the partial reason of why art is made in the first place, as we seemingly random souls wander the dirt of this earth, trapped in empathic mazes of sonder? Less the music finds us before we find it. But the complexity of life oftentimes lacks serendipity, stripping it of all romance, all deterministic promises of hope, perhaps. K.Ishibashi went through some shit on this album, a far departure of that magnetic "prehistory" of lustful tenderness. The production- namely, arrangements, namely, use of synth melodies- echoes this departure of wistful majesty, probing around traditional form and classical, repeating motives, driven by a buzzing rhythm instead of the soaring violin lines that have defined his gorgeous sound paintings in the past. 

Though the past is the past, it gathers and scatters and never really leaves. What an ironic color of the blues, sonderlust, the angst of choosing the ignorance of still being alone.

Bluesday, January 4: Brand New

Grey clouds hovered over me the entire heavy rainy drive home. It was the hardest drive so far.

I forgot about this performance. Super young Jesse, don't really know why he has a slight British accent, makes sense though. We've grown together. We're at the landing. I'll never forget seeing them at Riot Fest and who i was with. Jesse was terrible that day, screaming parts that should be sung, losing his voice halfway while the muddy post-emo kids close to the stage moshed in the biting rain. I'm older now, and so is he. I keep forgetting that in 2016 they put out an official release of some of the Devil and God demos. Perhaps it was some kind of closure for Jesse. I'm hoping so.

Oh, to have the blues.

Bluesday, November 22: Dreezy

Dreezy hails as the "Princess of Chicago Rap" since 2014 by Vice Magazine. This song's from her debut album that came out last July. I expect big things from this chick. I've been listening to a lot of this new shit to be able to relate to my students, who are just too cool. Self worth, or the lack of it, is generational.

"I wanna give it one more shot / but all he wanna do is take one more shot."

Damn.

Love is not sex is not sustainability is not reality. I'm so happy to finally be in a place where I get it. But damn, the triggers this song pulls that are connected to my heart strings.

Bluesday, November 15: The Blow

This song hit me hard when I was at the gym, running without stretching, sweating the blues off. The beauty of music, I guess, is that it can have the same meaning over time, but your role as a listener can change.

How can I achieve sustainability without puncturing love's work with the pressure of the depth I have learned to hone in thirty years? Perhaps as a Pisces, I can learn to swim in shallow waters. It doesn't mean I have to stop living in the bluest of the ocean, or that beauty is forfeited. It just means I'm more limber. And maybe that's a good thing.

The Blow will always remind me of a specific summer, with specific people, the messiness of fluidity, and the southside of Chicago. The blues were always there, always vibrant. It's definitely not present in the same way, but perhaps its hues can make themselves more visible, with time and thoughtfulness. I will not re-live heartbreak; I will transform it into a lifeboat. So nobody drowns.

"I still believe in the phrases that we breathed / But I know the distance isn't fair to cross"

The beauty of the additive shines through this song. Sometimes, simplicity accentuates function. It's why art is necessary in the first place.

Bluesday, November 1st: Wilco feat. Feist

Funny, how one lyric can direct you to a bridge of a song, then after another listen to the whole thing, realize it's the one you've been looking for all day. It seems a little odd that THIS is the Wilco song for Bluesday. I know their discography (pre 2015) better than any band and this song is not sad. Not at all. But I'm going through a paler shade of blue today. Kinda like fog off a lake right before dusk.

I never truly understood these lyrics before. I think it's because I've never had the love Tweedy is singing about in this song. I never truly understood these lyrics before tonight, and for that, I am grateful.

Also, Feist is adorable. 

Bluesday, October 25: The Wallflowers

This place is old, it feels just like a beat up truck
I turn the engine, but the engine doesn't turn
It smells of cheap wine, cigarettes
This place is always such a mess
Sometimes I think I'd like to watch it burn
I'm so alone and I feel just like somebody else
Man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
But somewhere here in between the city walls of dying dreams
I think of death, it must be killing me

Come on try a little, nothing is forever
There's got to be something better than in the middle
But me and Cinderella, we put it all together
We can drive it home with one headlight

I don't know if I completely like the piano in this version. Usually I'm a sucker for the additive, but I feel like the automatic drive that happens in the drums right when you hit the gas pedal of the original version better suits the tone and lyrics of this song.  Jakob Dylan said the "she" in this represents his band's originality and ideas, and the song is about the death of them.

There's got to be something better than in the middle. I know it's out there. Where is it, though? Am I even on the right road? How long will I be driving with one headlight?

I guess there's comfort in knowing that they make it home.

Oh and P.S. this song won a Grammy two years after it was released. The Nineties: when record sales lasted longer than two weeks. Maybe it'll take that long for me, too. Maybe shorter. Maybe longer. Who knows? NOBODY. SO STOP OVERTHINKING.

Bluesday, August 9: Rx Bandits

I couldn't take the fucketry today. And then I saw a tour announcement poster for the 10 year anniversary of ...And the Battle Begun. It's my second favourite Rx Bandits album (behind The Resignation), which had a large hand in shaping my politics straight outta high school. I kinda can't believe it's been 10 years.  I remember seeing them at the old Bottom Lounge in Chicago when it was still off the Belmont Red Line station. I'd totally see them again, even without the horn section they used to have. They're remarkably good at painting continuity within the album, stroke by stroke, telling a story that has a beginning, middle, and end. We're transported into a different part of the world, the one we're taught to ignore: the place where we create fantasies, into Matt Embree's optimistic brain.

"At the end of the world we'll all have a big party from sea to sea and into the desert sands / we'll feel comfortable naked, won't need our prescriptions to say we're happy and admit we're all scared of growing old" - Epoxi-Lips

Bluesday, August 2: La Vie en Rose

At what point in your life do you stop believing in destiny? Does growing-into-this-world mean losing that certain charm, that more than just whimsical attraction, that kind of lustful hope of a bad romance, intensity spilling over the gut of what is supposed to make sense? I re-watched How I Met Your Mother to catch all of the things I didn't catch before, and I guess this time around, I understand human relationships a little bit more. How the aftershock can cause a lasting effect, or doesn't, but how it can leave a mark, or won't. Perhaps I can make a compromise with this world. Perhaps synchronicity is real, and that fate is not always buried beneath a pile of casualties, dead weight one carries along the way. But how to manage mania, especially the kind that toys with the figurines in this never-less-than-romantic head: that's the real growing-into-this-world, I think. Perhaps then... maybe then, you can stop believing in destiny, and actually start living it.

I'll always be a sucker for beautiful, soaring melodies, even when they aren't soaring.

 

Bluesday, March 29: Bruce Springsteen

I woke up like this. What I thought were allergies is actually a fever.


   

Bluesday, February 9: James Cotton

Sometimes when life has you running around New England and you're balancing on the tightropes of instability and you haven't really eaten anything all day and you're worried about where you're gonna live and if you have enough resources to follow through with all your plans and you're tired from shoveling all the snow and your tub's backed up and the Man keeps tryin to bring you down and you wonder if you're working to live or living to work and some bitch who isn't even paying attention doesn't say "thank you" when you give her her god damn vegan gluten-free organic falafel sandwich and you want to hate her so bad...

Sometimes you have to take seven minutes to just stop. Close your eyes. Breathe. Listen to the slow blues. Listen to that blues harp, let it infiltrate those open sores of this material world, and let yourself escape, let yourself have those seven minutes of pure human emotion, remind yourself that this is what keeps you connected, what validates all your plans to begin with. Never end a sentence with a preposition, unless it's a continuation of James Cotton's voice, which he rarely uses because of cancer, and count your blessings, count them all, because in about four days you get to LIVE the melodic line that happens around the 2:30 mark. Slow down, and surrender yourself to the colour blue.

Bluesday, February 2: Against Me!

Whenever I'm sad about feeling alone in a new city, I think about this quote by Laura Jane Grace in a Rolling Stone interview from 2012.

"The cliché is that you're a woman trapped in a man's body, but it's not that simple. It's a feeling of detachment from your body and from yourself. And it's shitty, man. It's really fucking shitty."

 

Though punk has its origins from across the pond in the mid 70's, there are definite similarities, structurally, to the blues; rock and roll's roots are the blues, Elvis became King because Chuck Berry was black, etc. etc. etc. Take any 12 bar blues, don't swing the eighth notes, speed it up, like quadruple time, play only power chords, add distortion to the guitar, a couple of snare hits on the offbeats, add lyrics about defying the system and doing whatever the fuck you wanna do, and voilà! You've got The Ramones - "I Wanna Be Sedated."

Against Me! came out with Transgender Dysphoria Blues in 2014, three years after announcing a new album, two years after Laura Jane Grace came out as trans, and one year after the most fucked up year of my life. It's true punk rock; she says everything that needs to be said in ten songs under three and a half minutes, and the entire album itself is less than 29 minutes long. Yet its effects are everlasting- it's the most personal release Against Me! has ever had- as Laura sheds all armour protecting the burdens of her repressed spirit and, literally, body, behind that gritty, raspy, unabashed voice. While super-politicized previous releases like Searching for a Former Clarity and As the Eternal Cowboy dealt with the woes of being "different" and rising up in a capitalist political system, Laura Jane explicitly and courageously talks about her struggles of transitioning, no metaphor, of being a woman in both an aggressively male-dominated punk scene and in this transphobic country. This is her every day life.

"You want them to see you like they see any other girl / They just see a faggot / They hold their breath not to catch the sick"

I remember listening to this song in the front room of my dusty Pilsen apartment, buried in snow and freezing cold. Acidic tears ran down my cheeks after the title track played. While I think it's inappropriate to compare being gay with being trans, I related to the... desolate loneliness... of her struggle. Though I didn't have gender dysphoria, I had dysphoria of the soul, feeling completely dissatisfied of a situation I thought would never change. Feeling stuck in mud, but eventually making pillows out of quicksand. At least it seemed like someone was holding me, sucking me down six feet under the dirt. It's like someone threw a blanket over my head after my heart had already stopped beating from hypothermia. It's feeling detached from your body, being completely unaware of your self, going through the motions just to fill up space. It's the most lonely feeling in the world.

Transgender Dysphoria Blues received crazy good critical acclaim in 2014, and rightfully so. Musically, it might not be the best Against Me! album ever released. But Laura Jane Grace lifted her veil of insecurity, revealing her true beauty, explaining to us all what it actually MEANS to be transgender, and doing it flawlessly. This is her. Finally.

It's nice to see her giggle, too:

Bluesday, January 26: Dustin Kensrue

When you think blues, you probably don't think "lead singer of screamo-post-hardcore-rock band Thrice." Nonetheless...



In terms of form, this is a perfect blues song. In terms of content.... this is a perfect blues song. If anything, it demonstrates the malleability of the origins of rock and roll. Dustin first released solo stuff on Myspace (lol) under the name Ursus Veritas around 2004. His first studio album, Please Come Home, produced by fellow bandmate Teppei, was released in 2007 and features eight songs, including this one. Someone once described Dustin's voice as a "drunk Chuck Ragan," whom he actually toured with when Please Come Home was released. I like that he sings entirely- no screams, no wails, no crazy electric guitar work, no experimentation- though arguably, not screaming is an experiment and departure from Thrice in itself. His voice has transformed throughout the years; this is a feeble reminder of his gritty rawness before he became a pastor and wrote a bunch of Christian rock songs.

How do you get back to where you were after you've been tainted with blood? Do you ever get back to where you were? Is the point to grow, whether or not it's for the better or worse? Can you surrender yourself to softness after you've been forced to grow reptile skin? These are all things I'm thinking about today, Bluesday, as I sip on (metaphorical) wine, wondering if its alcoholic content was ever fulfilling to begin with. Never end a sentence with a preposition. Whatever, I cure original sin.

Thrice is reuniting this year with a new album. Let's get real though- it was more of a hiatus than a breakup (four years?). I'm excited to see where Dustin's coming from, lyrically, with his band. After finding real love, getting married, having kids, growing up, living life, making realizations that can only be made with time... will he still be punx as fuck? We'll see, I guess.

Bluesday, January 5: Natalie Cole / Ahmad Jamal

I didn't grow up listening to jazz. I didn't grow up listening to the blues. I didn't grow up listening to old records. I discovered Miles Davis at a library in Virginia when I was in middle school. The first time I heard Buddy Guy was in undergrad, and mostly because I was in a big band and we were playing at his venue on Wabash (the original location, on 8th St). Nonetheless, I've always been fascinated with the blues, how a music's function can change over the course of history, how some stuff stays the same, how its melodic and harmonic and rhythmic structures are based on one thing: emotion. The interplay of rawness and finesse. The cutting yourself open on stage with only three chords. The begging, the longing, the synesthesia of it all. How a feeling can be bounced around various artistic mediums and still be one color.

The first time I heard "Orange Colored Sky" was at a high school pep rally. Some girl named Morgan sang it and I remember sitting at the top of the bleachers, alert for the first time, because fuck pep rallies. I could not get the bridge out of my head- what was she saying?- but was too timid to ask Morgan what the name of the song was. The internet was an already raging bull behind the bars, so I did an AOL search of "I was walking along, minding my business," and after fifteen minutes, found the song, downloaded in Napster, and tried to learn it. 

This is why I thought Natalie Cole wrote and sang "Orange Colored Sky." Fucking Napster. 

I've been on a Natalie Cole kick since her untimely death a few days ago. Something about her voice is nostalgic and warm, a counterpart to this freezing cold Boston weather. Listening to Stardust on shuffle, "Ahmad's Blues" came on the rotation and I shed a little tear. I always thought I was too urban for my suburban friends, too.

"Speakin' 'bout a bag of blues / mister, I'm payin' dues / listen I'm changin' shoes / I'm gonna make me some changes"

Which led me to ask, who exactly was Ahmad, and why does he have the blues? These kind of blues? I'm paying my dues kinda blues because of the life I chose kinda blues and I'm trying my best but god damn these food stamps don't renew until the 14th kinda blues and I don't know where my next buck is coming from but I'ma just cool it and listen to the music that understands me better than any room mate ever could kinda blues?

The answer led me to how I spent my Tuesday: listening to Ahmad Jamal.

The original:




Miles Davis listed Ahmad Jamal as one of his stylistic influences and actually featured a version of the song on Workin' with the Miles Davis Quintet in 1956. The quintet turned into a trio sometimes to show off Miles' sick rhythm section (Philly Joe... Red Garland... Paul Chambers, who plays bass with a bow on this track!).

I love the space, the the rhythmic contour, and most of all, the twinkling piano in the right hand. How can something so light, so... disciplined, carry so much weight? It's freaky how the original track, with no lyrics, can give me the same EXACT feels as Natalie Cole's version. The minimalism despite his virtuosity is what gets me- the explosions become that much more explosive. It's apparent why some think the Ahmad Jamal Trio pioneered the way for cool jazz... I mean, this track is fucking cool. And the fact that Jamal is alive is pretty fucking cool, too. I'm gonna go ahead and say it's because he did Muslim prayers instead of heroin.

Happy Bluesday!