Category Archives: Music

Our Autumn of Oud feels like it just happened, but autumn also feels a world away. It was lost in all the snow and frigid temperatures, buried in layers of white and gray and dirt and fluff. Fall memories of a showgirl have already etched themselves into the past, recalling the seasonal turn to darkness – this song already a memory, already an indication of what has happened rather than what is happening. A scent carries from the not-too-distant past too – the rich contradiction of oud, resonating in a bubble of pop music perfection at odds with the underlying tension that comes with memories of the fall. 

I had a bad habit of missing lovers past
My brother used to call it ‘eating out of the trash’
It’s never gonna last
I thought my house was haunted – I used to live with ghosts
And all the perfect couples said, “When you know you know.”
And, “When you don’t you don’t.”
And all of the foes and all of the friends
Have seen it before, they’ll see it again
Life is a song, it ends when it ends… I was wrong…

And then this song comes on like another bad habit with the best of intentions, not unlike this blog has been for much of the winter. A little obscure, a little forlorn, a little lacking in patience and compassion. A lot like the world right now. What else is there to do but get lost in a pop song? What else can anyone who is not in Congress actually do to change this country right now? We can dance, we can shout, we can let it all out, but in the end all we have to do is protect ourselves and our loved ones. Do what you can – maybe try to do a little more than you usually would given the unprecedented downfall of our country – and fight the good fight. You know what is right and wrong. You know what feels fishy and false. You see photos and videos and facts before you, even when some Orwellian despot is spewing lies about it right to your face, and the party goes along with it, adding to their riches while we all grow poorer. On some level, you know. If you don’t wish to acknowledge the truth of what is happening, that’s on you. If you’re ok with racism, hatred, violence, and pedophilia, that’s on you. If you can turn a blind eye and say you don’t follow politics and you wish people didn’t post about it, that’s on you.

…But my Mama told me
It’s all right, you were dancing through the lightning strikes
Sleepless in the onyx night, but now the sky is opalite
Oh my Lord never made no one like you before
You had to make your own sunshine
But now the sky is opalite

Wrapping such an upsetting world in a gauzy song of escapism may be its own form of rebellion, albeit it a rather minor and inconsequential one. A four-minute pop song was never going to save the world. Relying on someone else to do it won’t save the world either. And remaining quiet about it because you don’t want to upset anyone, well that actively works to ruin the world at a time when voices matter. 

You couldn’t understand it – why you felt alone
You were in it for real, she was in her phone, and you were just a pose
And don’t we try to love love?
We give it all we got
You finally left the table, and what a simple thought
You’re starving ’til you’re not.
And all of the foes and all of the friends
Have messed up before, they’ll mess up again
Life is a song, it ends when it ends
You move on…

How dare I take a harmless Taylor Swift song and turn it into some click-bait diatribe about speaking out about the current state of affairs in this country? Maybe because Taylor isn’t saying much after robbing the world blind with a bazillion different versions of her latest album. Maybe because no one is taking this disastrous administration as seriously as they should because they seem too stupid to be so dangerous. Maybe because I’ve predicted all that’s happened these past few months way back when everyone didn’t feel comfortable enough voting for a woman the first time around. And the second time. Maybe because it’s all too late now and none of this will even matter.

…And that’s when I told you
It’s all right, you were dancing through the lightning strikes
Sleepless in the onyx night, but now the sky is opalite
Oh my Lord never made no one like you before
You had to make your own sunshine
But now the sky is opalite

Dancing through the lightning strikes like those musicians playing their final song as the Titanic sank beneath them. To die as one lived. Nobility is one fine line away from stupidity, and stupidity is mere moments from lucidity. I’m too tired to even look up ‘cupidity’ so make it all make sense. (Ok, I looked it up – it means greed for money and possessions. Guilty as hell.) 

Oh winter, release your stifling hold already. How much more are we expected to take? You have given us nothing this year – not even the briefest of thaws. While a thaw has always wreaked more havoc than peace, I’d gleefully take that over this ridiculous nonsense any time. And the song plays on as we cross the bridge…

This is just a storm inside a teacup
But shelter here with me, my love
Thunder like a drum – this life will beat you up, up, up, up
This is just a temporary speed bump
But failure brings you freedom
And I can bring you love, love, love, love…
Don’t you sweat it baby

There it is – sweet release in a saccharine chorus, if saccharine is even a thing anymore. This winter has me feeling all sorts of outdated and out of sorts – no more sorts to give, I guess. An experiment ending in dismal and total failure. Nothing to salvage, nothing to save, nothing to remotely begin the assembly of something to be learned. Only word games and plays on words – a rope of words if you will, Miss Desmond, and we all know she won’t because it strangled her business of being a star – silent, iconic, shrouded in mystery, the blank space of being whatever you wanted her to be. 

Let the music play us out. 

Dance and sing, get up and do your thing. 

Sky up above, rendering night into opalite…

It’s all right, you were dancing through the lightning strikes
Sleepless in the onyx night, but now the sky is opalite
Oh my Lord never made no one like you before
You had to make your own sunshine
But now the sky is opalite

Vivaldi’s ‘Winter’ movement gets a so-called ‘epic’ treatment, lending an already-dramatic musical selection even more tension and wonder. In this dizzying winter season, where the obscure has failed to resolve itself into any sort of focus, and the haze grows even more fuzzy, I’m reconciling myself to the imperfect way life has of stumbling along, especially at those times when we most want things to run smoothly.

Like days filled with the fullness of the moon, or periods when Mercury is in retrograde motion, this winter has proven challenging, and fighting such challenges is futile. When you learn to let go and lean into where the world is taking you, no matter how strange and unfamiliar, surprising things might result. There is an important distinction between giving up and giving in – good and bad points to each. While the rest of the world seems to have lost sight of nuance and subtlety, those graces are integral to making a happier way through life.

Winter waits for no one; it hurries for even less.

Nearing Valentine’s Day has some of us reminiscing about this antiquated day of love, and while I’ve now spent more Valentine’s Days with Andy than without him, I still recall the holidays of my youth, long before I had any inkling of what real romance was – when the notion of love was accessed through pop songs, hinted at in lyrics, and felt only in an approximation of want and yearning.

The way I started to understand love was through the radio, in the music of the woman who would be with me on all my romantic journeys ~ Madonna. She sang early on from a swaying room, when the music started and strangers moved in shadows that seemed mysterious and filled with secrets – the stuff of romance, of desire, of love. I was around ten years old, and I knew nothing of any of that, but something in her voice resonated with me, speaking to the undeniable romantic I was torturously destined to become.

Back then, I just wanted to belong, to be part of something, to be accepted with open hearts and open arms. The feeling of being an outsider in so many ways – ways I couldn’t even put into words at such a young age, but that always kept me slightly apart, and forever different. As much as I wanted to open my heart to someone – anyone – my trepidations kept me quiet.

The secret to love, true love, was elusive and ever out of reach. Whenever I felt like I was approaching it, it shifted and changed and disappeared. Such secrets were cloaked in delicious darkness – I could only sense them, not solve them, and the closer I got, the more slippery they became.

Throughout the 90’s, Madonna grew and evolved, her music changing as much as her images, and love, in all its many facets and problematic notions, was a constant theme. She kept me company as various people entered and exited my romantic stages, reminding me that if Madonna found romance a rocky road, maybe none of us would find it easy.

For all the hellos and goodbyes, some part of my heart was holding tight to the idea that love waited somewhere for me, and when Madonna’s music brought the people together, I knew there was hope.

The lead single from the forthcoming Harry Styles album ‘Kiss All The Time. Disco, Occasionally’ has been released, and it’s a gently shuffling sort of beckoning to the disco dance floor that primes the beat for what might be to come. It’s called ‘Aperture’ and it’s a vibe. I don’t know if it’s a proper right primal banger that’s gonna make you sweat, but it’s a beginning. Perhaps that’s what this moment needs – escapism and fantasy from the floors of dance and good times. It feels far away, it feels necessary.

And still it doesn’t feel like enough. There is so much darkness, I’m not sure I can find solace on the dance floor right now, or ever again. A sense of defeatism pervades our world, shading the future, bleeding into all the days to come. Maybe this is just what getting older means. Maybe this is what getting older does.

“During the darkest days of the AIDS crisis, we buried our friends in the morning, we protested in the afternoon, and we danced all night. The dance kept us in the fight because it was the dance we were fighting for. It didn’t look like we were going to win then and we did. It doesn’t feel like we’re going to win now but we could. Keep fighting, keep dancing.” – Dan Savage

I remember these words.

I remember the helplessness of before.

I remember the helplessness of this morning.

I remember…

And I begin the dance again, no matter how tired I feel.

Blood in the snow, blood on the airbag, blood in the air.

Winter rages, winter ravages, winter reckons.

Winter… when there are no words.

Winter… when music is not enough, and when it’s all that we have.

Karma police, arrest this man
He talks in maths, he buzzes like a fridge
He’s like a detuned radio
Karma police, arrest this girl
Her Hitler hairdo is making me feel ill
And we have crashed her party

This is what you’ll get
This is what you’ll get
This is what you’ll get
When you mess with us

Karma police, I’ve given all I can
It’s not enough, I’ve given all I can
But we’re still on the payroll

Winter recedes from focus – I cannot get my arms around it, can’t get my head around it – winter obscura, sentences collapse, words fragment…

Walls of noise rise, but not here, not in this post. Not when we so need melody… and solace. Ease to the ears, healing for the head – and I wouldn’t dare ask for any help for the heart.

This is what you’ll get
This is what you’ll get
This is what you’ll get
When you mess with us

Winter obscura… like silent snow, secret snow, sickening snow. Snow on the television, snow on the phone, snow on the brain. Snowy blowy bloviating bullshit.

For a minute there
I lost myself, I lost myself
Phew, for a minute there
I lost myself, I lost myself

For a minute there
I lost myself, I lost myself
Phew, for a minute there
I lost myself, I lost myself

No one should be ok right now.

While Laufey will forever embody that glorious Coquette Summer we celebrated a couple of years ago, she’s been a staple on the cafe playlist where I’ve been spending my afternoons. It’s good winter music as well, and so I seek out a proper seasonal song from her impressive oeuvre.

Like so much of winter, Laufey is a languid sigh.

A wistful half-wish upon a summer memory, faded and brittle like some dusty dried flower.

And maybe a whimsical winter daydream, cocooned by a steaming mug of tea and a small plate with a single cookie on it.

This is ‘Sabotage’ – a brilliant addition to the Winter Obscura scene:

I get in my head so easily
I don’t understand, I’m my worst enemy
You assure me you love me
And seal it with a kiss
I can’t be convinced

It’s just a matter of time ’til you see the dagger
It’s a special of mine to cause disaster
So prepare for the impact, and brace your heart
For cold, bloody, bitter sabotage

The cleaving that can’t decide whether to split apart or cement together…

The wall of sound that can’t decide whether to create or destroy…

The vast expanse of emptiness that acts like vacuum and diamond-rendering pressure at once…

A force of force, turned in and on itself…

Pushing from without, pushing from within… and the end result, far from balance, is just more unbearable pressure…

Body and brain, both basically hollow, the way we carve out our live without regard to what we’re tearing out of ourselves in service of what we think we want to add…

How much of ourselves do we throw away like that?

The moment of destruction is finitely beautiful – it almost makes the aftermath worth it. This world favors those who dare to prolong, or even find, such moments.

I dwell in waves of silent despair
Reborn in matter and time, a starless universe
Onward, into eternity
A nocturnal light will set my spirit free…

Blasting eardrum-shattering technical death metal might seem like an antithetical means of clearing the mind and finding peace but I’m in the mood for trying new things, and sometimes an enormous wave of a song, crashing down upon the soul and rushing the mind’s processing of stimuli, is the precise antidote for a proverbial cloudiness in the head.

Is this the reason then that some love death metal? The absolute abandon of the brain while it’s being so beautifully bombarded into oblivion through the sheer pounding of a sonic fit of wrath and rage?

This selection is from the band Obscura, whom I stumbled upon when researching this Winter Obscura theme – and it arrived at moment when I needed to assault my senses with something different, something jarring, something jolting, something more…

A slap out of it, a shock wakening, a reckoning to ravage… a desperate act to feel again, to reset the mind and reboot my entire system when Control-Alt-Delete no longer does anything.

I didn’t want melody, I didn’t want lyrics, I wanted only sounds – tons and tons of deafening sound – pure sonic abuse and attack – aimed directly at my chest – so loudly that I could feel it there, pounding away from the outside while my heart pounded back from within. Sound so striking, sound so strident it feels like skin being ripped off the body. Sound so potent, sound so petulant it spits in your eyes and probes uninvited into every orifice of your body. Sound that turns you inside out.

Is this the sound of Winter Obscura? Too soon to tell… but it’s the sound for today.

The last time I heard from my friend Kira – well, inactive friend I suppose – was way back in April of this year. I’d been trying to set up a time to hang out since January, but she had repeatedly declined, to the point where I was starting to take it personally. We’d had a couple of difficult patches of friendship before, where I had to make it clear that not responding to texts or phone calls for months at a time was not going to work for me, and she said she understood.

Cold earth sleeps
Underneath a flaming northern sky
The snowy trees gently weep
This dark Christmas time

Now it’s been almost a year since I last saw her, and eight months since she last bothered to text me back. Looking at my long litany of texts since then – some comical, some casual, some desperate, some panicked – I cringe at my pathetic attempts to cling to a friendship that apparently slipped away many months ago.

Normally this wouldn’t be a big deal – no one really returns texts anymore, and to expect them to be timely is even more laughable. Still, it’s no secret that it’s a sore spot for me, and it preys diabolically on my most tender and raw insecurities of not mattering – and admittedly hurts me in a way that explains so very much of my pathology. The entire ghosting thing, and not responding at all, even in the face of pointed pleas to “Just tell me you are alive and not dead or deported by ICE”, strikes at my heart in a manner that has directly fueled the monster I’ve become.

Don’t hide the light that shines in you
Let the brightest star of Bethlehem
Make your darkness fade away
Believe the power of your dreams
You’re the Pharos in the night
Guiding us, you’ll lead the way

Eventually, I tracked down one of her daughters on social media, who said her mother still had the same number, and I assumed that meant she was alive as well – and that’s all that matters, and all that’s left to say. This sort of thing has never happened to me before – not in a platonic relationship. Romantically, I’ve scared away more than my fair share of possible paramours – and their ghosting of me made more sense. I don’t understand anything about this one, all I feel is hurt, confused, and looking for another failure on my part to make it make sense. The world has thrown enough at me this year to start making me doubt myself.

With Kira gone from my life, that means that one of my favorite holiday traditions – our holiday stroll – has also come to an end. It seems like many of the traditions I once held so close to my heart have fallen by the wayside, and at this point I am trying hard to even be bothered by it, because I really should care. Apathy begets apathy I suppose, and maybe it was time for me to let go of such things. In so many respects I am the only one holding on to traditions – and for what? Maybe there is something to honoring tradition year after year, as a means of grounding our lives at regular intervals in a way that matters to us – and maybe there isn’t. I watch today’s generation flit from year to year, experience to experience, with no ties or significant pulls to anything other than the moment at hand. They don’t hang onto traditions, or friends, the way I did. Maybe that’s the best route to take now. Maybe none of it fucking matters, and that might just make life much easier and less tortured. It will certainly make holiday-planning easier and completely absolve me of any obligation to be there for any of it.

We are not obligated to anything, or anyone, and it may be high time for me to join the masses and let go of tradition for the sake of tradition. Perhaps that goes for friendships too – just because we shared a certain section of life together need not mean we have to share the rest of it, and that doesn’t have to be a bad or sad thing. I’d rather remember the good times Kira and I shared, and not the fact that she ghosted me, as I’m sure she must have her reasons. That’s the sort of peace and happy ending I want and need right now. Being messy – even on an emotional level – is always a choice. And as messy as I’ve been in the past, there’s a point when one must decide to stop the mess, and this is that season for me.

Snowflake falls, warms my heart
Memories call me home
Silence hauls, fears depart
I’ll never be alone.