My favourite time of day is not night (as many assume due to my tendency to stay up till four in the morning), it's actually dusk.
At dusk, it's not completely dark and you can still see the trees and the outlines of the clouds that only a few minutes ago reflected the sunset.
Dusk is the centre of all the magic. The sunset is just fading, the streetlights are just beginning to be visible, the air is just becoming cool, quiet is just beginning to settle over the land. Dusk is the rare time of day that is equally gorgeous both in the city and the country. And it's fleeting enough that you can never get too used to it.
Around this time of year a lot of my driving happens to take place over sunset and dusk. It's all at the same time on the clock, but thanks to the changing of the seasons I drive around at sunset now and not in the dark or in full sun.
Driving is one of the few times I'm well and truly alone. Sometimes I enjoy it, though sometimes it kills me that no-one is with me. Today I enjoyed it.
Initially I hadn't wanted to go anywhere, but I needed to be at a practice at the church and so I (rather begrudgingly) drove to the church, in full sun. But by the time I left the church to drop off one of the others at her place, the sun had dipped behind the buildings and the trees. By the time I drove up to the last intersection in town, the pale pink sunset was already beginning to fade.
There are two ways home from this intersection. You can turn right and go straight, or you can go straight through now and turn right later. My parents prefer going right at the intersection and then driving straight home, but my love for city lights means I often go straight through the lights.
If you go straight through the lights, just beyond the halfway point between the lights and my turn, there's a little town. At dusk it's mostly closed, but the streetlights are on, the two gas bars are still open, and there's a little pub on one corner which always has coloured lights to stand out against the grey-blue sky.
Even before the town, though, the highway is beautiful. It's lined with trees most of the way. There's one short piece just before the town limits that's nearly closed in with tall pines on both sides of the road, then the trees open up just as the road drops and you go around a bend and over a creek. I often think I've wound up in the mountains, due to the view. It may be nicknamed the highway of death, but at least it's a lovely place. (This was the highway where I had my accident, and I know of at least four others who were also in serious wrecks along this stretch. One was fatal.) On the other side of town the trees thin out, but by then you're preoccupied with the beauty that preceded it.
Songs like Walls Of Doubt and Ghost Of The Heart were playing on my stereo as I headed into (and out of) the little town, complementing the scenery. But then that was the end of that CD and I put in my (shiny brand-new) Dig Here Said The Angel CD, hoping I could hear the title track before I got home.
With some careful speed-limit finessing (which can only be done in the country because city people get angry when you drive slower), I not only got to the third track, I managed to make it last for the entire stretch of road from my second turn to our driveway.
Driving along a gravel road, with headlights barely doing anything to illuminate it (I narrowly missed hitting a porcupine), and listening to that song while watching silhouette trees rise up into the steel-blue sky as a yellowish green light (a remnant of the sunset) illuminates a few sparse clouds to the west is a magic moment. Getting out of the rattletrap right after the song ends and letting that gorgeous chorus melody echo through your mind as you stand in open stillness at the edge of dusk is perhaps even better.
27 August 2013
23 August 2013
Music Day (Or, A Probably-Pointless Trip Down Memory Lane)
Last fall and early winter, this was my driving-to-tap-class album. The dance studio is far enough away from our house that I can listen to an entire album on the way there, and another on the way back. Tap was on Monday nights and while the album on the way back would vary, on the way there it was always Don't Wait For The Movie.
The first couple songs were me setting the speed, getting to the highway. By the time I got to the first city lights (I skirt two cities on the way in and enter the third), Fly Eagle Fly would be starting.
Here the magic began. Not so much the song (it's actually kind of a really cheesy song), but the visual... velvet black nightscape dotted with oncoming headlights and the streetlights of the city up ahead. And as I took the ramp onto the main highway, Convertibles would always start to play.
Let The Children Play and King George would mark my time on that highway, following the streetlights for part of the way, and then as I approached the second city and got onto the exit for the ring road I would get to listen to No Apology, and then Maybe Today would always just start as I went under the first overpass on the ring road and into the beginning of the curve. It was always a glorious sort of moment, not in that it was a big dramatic thing, but because the tinkling intro and the quietly-soaring keyboard backing Mark Gersmehl's brooding vocal seemed to be so, so perfect with the glittering streetlights in the endless Alberta night sky. I think this moment was the reason I always, always chose this album on that drive.
As I got to the halfway point on my trip on the ring road, Dr Jekyll And Mr Christian would start, and it would always just be ending as I was coming up across from the second city's skyline. (About halfway through the tap session I noticed that and holy crap I almost had a heart attack the first time I saw it... It was all lit up and so so beautiful -- red and green and blue and purple and streetlight off-white. I hadn't realised you could see the skyline from that road.)
And then I would exit off into the third city (well, not technically a city, though it's big enough to be one) during this, the final song on the album, to kind of calm me down and gently lead me into the dance school's little parking lot. Often I would pull into the parking lot with one chorus left to go, and if I wasn't running terribly late I would stay out in the rattletrap and let the song finish.
Title: How Many Times (Seventy Times Seven)
Artist: White Heart
Album: Don't Wait For The Movie
Year: 1986
Label: Sparrow Records
iTunes here; YouTube here.
This album so quickly became my soundtrack for winter night city driving, following the string of streetlights along the highways, stars against a black sky. Several times it was snowing during the drive and I seem to remember one time where it was raining. Once the fog was just so that it caught the streetlights and scattered the light everywhere, lighting up the entire road and the sky above it. It was almost -- though not quite -- like driving in the daytime, so spread around was the light. There was one section on the ring road that randomly didn't have streetlights (still can't figure out why not), and driving through there that night was almost terrifying... the rattletrap isn't exactly known for its great headlights (actually, it's not really known for its great anything, but I digress), and without the light to scatter around, the fog pressed in and blocked the streetlights ahead and the streetlights behind almost completely from view. It was almost completely dark there for about a minute.
Oh, the song? Well -- Rick Florian. That should tell you everything you need to know. It's a good lyric too:
How many times
Have You wept from the anguish of all my shame
How many times
Have I nailed You up on that cross of pain...
It starts out with the concept of protagonist trying to come to terms with the concept of forgiving someone who's wronged him -- knowing it's what Christ has commanded, but struggling to lay aside his pride in order to do so.
But then after the interlude (a lovely simple keyboard bit that capitalises very well on the 'quiet struggle' mood of the song), the protagonist's point of view shifts to his precious Christ on the cross -- did Christ not forgive me of things far more grievous? Who then am I to withhold the grace that shouldn't have even been mine?
The ending is gorgeous. Protagonist is still wrestling with his desire to not forgive and is halfheartedly trying to convince God that 'no really, this is unforgiveable' when he knows better. And to each one of his arguments, a soft voice comes back to him: Seventy times seven.
And finally he is silent in the face of the reminder of simple, powerful love.
Seventy times seven.
(For those wondering what 'seventy times seven' has to do with anything... once, Jesus' disciple Peter asked Jesus how many times he should forgive somebody who's wronged him. Peter asks, "Is seven times enough?" Jesus (God in the flesh) says, "No, not only seven times, but seventy times seven." The term 'seventy times seven' has since come to be, for better or worse, a 'sacred buzzword' of sorts, a code phrase within the church meaning 'forgiving.' You can read the account of Peter's question and Jesus' answer in Matthew chapter 18, starting at verse 21.)
The first couple songs were me setting the speed, getting to the highway. By the time I got to the first city lights (I skirt two cities on the way in and enter the third), Fly Eagle Fly would be starting.
Here the magic began. Not so much the song (it's actually kind of a really cheesy song), but the visual... velvet black nightscape dotted with oncoming headlights and the streetlights of the city up ahead. And as I took the ramp onto the main highway, Convertibles would always start to play.
Let The Children Play and King George would mark my time on that highway, following the streetlights for part of the way, and then as I approached the second city and got onto the exit for the ring road I would get to listen to No Apology, and then Maybe Today would always just start as I went under the first overpass on the ring road and into the beginning of the curve. It was always a glorious sort of moment, not in that it was a big dramatic thing, but because the tinkling intro and the quietly-soaring keyboard backing Mark Gersmehl's brooding vocal seemed to be so, so perfect with the glittering streetlights in the endless Alberta night sky. I think this moment was the reason I always, always chose this album on that drive.
As I got to the halfway point on my trip on the ring road, Dr Jekyll And Mr Christian would start, and it would always just be ending as I was coming up across from the second city's skyline. (About halfway through the tap session I noticed that and holy crap I almost had a heart attack the first time I saw it... It was all lit up and so so beautiful -- red and green and blue and purple and streetlight off-white. I hadn't realised you could see the skyline from that road.)
And then I would exit off into the third city (well, not technically a city, though it's big enough to be one) during this, the final song on the album, to kind of calm me down and gently lead me into the dance school's little parking lot. Often I would pull into the parking lot with one chorus left to go, and if I wasn't running terribly late I would stay out in the rattletrap and let the song finish.
Title: How Many Times (Seventy Times Seven)
Artist: White Heart
Album: Don't Wait For The Movie
Year: 1986
Label: Sparrow Records
iTunes here; YouTube here.
This album so quickly became my soundtrack for winter night city driving, following the string of streetlights along the highways, stars against a black sky. Several times it was snowing during the drive and I seem to remember one time where it was raining. Once the fog was just so that it caught the streetlights and scattered the light everywhere, lighting up the entire road and the sky above it. It was almost -- though not quite -- like driving in the daytime, so spread around was the light. There was one section on the ring road that randomly didn't have streetlights (still can't figure out why not), and driving through there that night was almost terrifying... the rattletrap isn't exactly known for its great headlights (actually, it's not really known for its great anything, but I digress), and without the light to scatter around, the fog pressed in and blocked the streetlights ahead and the streetlights behind almost completely from view. It was almost completely dark there for about a minute.
Oh, the song? Well -- Rick Florian. That should tell you everything you need to know. It's a good lyric too:
How many times
Have You wept from the anguish of all my shame
How many times
Have I nailed You up on that cross of pain...
It starts out with the concept of protagonist trying to come to terms with the concept of forgiving someone who's wronged him -- knowing it's what Christ has commanded, but struggling to lay aside his pride in order to do so.
But then after the interlude (a lovely simple keyboard bit that capitalises very well on the 'quiet struggle' mood of the song), the protagonist's point of view shifts to his precious Christ on the cross -- did Christ not forgive me of things far more grievous? Who then am I to withhold the grace that shouldn't have even been mine?
The ending is gorgeous. Protagonist is still wrestling with his desire to not forgive and is halfheartedly trying to convince God that 'no really, this is unforgiveable' when he knows better. And to each one of his arguments, a soft voice comes back to him: Seventy times seven.
And finally he is silent in the face of the reminder of simple, powerful love.
Seventy times seven.
(For those wondering what 'seventy times seven' has to do with anything... once, Jesus' disciple Peter asked Jesus how many times he should forgive somebody who's wronged him. Peter asks, "Is seven times enough?" Jesus (God in the flesh) says, "No, not only seven times, but seventy times seven." The term 'seventy times seven' has since come to be, for better or worse, a 'sacred buzzword' of sorts, a code phrase within the church meaning 'forgiving.' You can read the account of Peter's question and Jesus' answer in Matthew chapter 18, starting at verse 21.)
21 August 2013
The Messenger
The other day my great-uncle died. We knew it was coming, we knew it would likely be before the end of the month, and so it was sad -- although not a shock -- when the phone call came through.
Out of all the many, many relatives I know of, all the great-aunts and uncles who I greet by name if I see them around town, I was closest to this great-uncle. He lived in the next province over, but he and my great-aunt visited frequently and it was always wonderful news to hear that they were in Alberta. He always had a good story (the one about the talking car stands out to me) and some of his funniest sayings are still used in this house today ('For crying in the soup' is a notable one).
His son was with him when he died, and the son said that moments before, his eyes got wide and he smiled -- this huge smile. Even as I type this I can picture it lighting up his face. My dad (who got this story through the grapevine) said as he was telling it, "...so maybe he was seeing Jesus."
I was a bit surprised at the choice of words. Maybe? Only maybe?
Of course I can't prove it, but there's no doubt in my mind that he did see Jesus. I have never in my life met anybody who loved Jesus more than my great-uncle. Jesus was so very precious to him. It was so simple, but that love coloured everything my great-uncle did.
(Cue the part of the post where music shows up to 'help' me make my point.)
The day he died, I listened to the Daniel Amos song Banquet At The World's End. I'd only heard it twice before (once on YouTube and once on the Cephas Hour), and had just bought the album (plus somebody turned on the radio during Matt Redman's 10,000 Reasons, so I had to break out the iPod quick lest I suffer permanent brain damage and Banquet... was the first song I saw).
I love this song. I may have only heard it twice, but I'd probably read the lyrics about fifty times by then (yes, I go on the DA website and read random lyrics when I'm bored. Your point...?). Those are such beautiful lyrics -- The poor are coming; The lame are running... There's a harelip salesman shouting out the news: "Come to the banquet at the world's end!" And it's all set to upbeat happy music. I'm seriously considering choreographing this and including a role for a little girl to be 'inviting' people to said banquet. Not sure exactly how it's all going to work, but that's the embryonic idea.
As the song played and then continued to run through my head after it finished, I realised this had been my great-uncle's manifesto throughout his life (or at least most of his adult life). He spent many years going to Europe to preach. I've heard him preach a few times over the years, and he was the kindest preacher you would ever meet. He knew the Bible and would not exchange its truth for any other idea, but he was gentle and kind in his delivery. It wasn't just 'preaching,' though, the way most people think of it. He wasn't just a pulpit-thumper. He lived his life in accordance with everything he said from the pulpit -- the preaching was more like an extension of the way he lived rather than an occupation. To put it perhaps more accurately, he was a messenger, just announcing to anyone who would hear what God has done and is doing. He spent much of his life traveling internationally (without traditional missionary sponsorship) and inviting people, with a simple earnest joy, to come to the banquet at the world's end. (This is exactly the spirit I'm trying to nail down for the little girl in the dance.)
Now, this night, as I type, he is at that banquet. But there is still room for more around the table. And if the 'beautiful people' (as they're called in the song) won't come because 'life' (*cough* money) is too important, there are plenty of poor and lame who can and will, if only they know they're invited.
This poses a challenge to those of us remaining. My great-uncle's work here is done, but that doesn't discount the rest of us. May we -- may I -- take up the cry and run through the alleyways, beckoning to the forlorn figures hiding in the shadows...
Come to the banquet at the world's end!
Out of all the many, many relatives I know of, all the great-aunts and uncles who I greet by name if I see them around town, I was closest to this great-uncle. He lived in the next province over, but he and my great-aunt visited frequently and it was always wonderful news to hear that they were in Alberta. He always had a good story (the one about the talking car stands out to me) and some of his funniest sayings are still used in this house today ('For crying in the soup' is a notable one).
His son was with him when he died, and the son said that moments before, his eyes got wide and he smiled -- this huge smile. Even as I type this I can picture it lighting up his face. My dad (who got this story through the grapevine) said as he was telling it, "...so maybe he was seeing Jesus."
I was a bit surprised at the choice of words. Maybe? Only maybe?
Of course I can't prove it, but there's no doubt in my mind that he did see Jesus. I have never in my life met anybody who loved Jesus more than my great-uncle. Jesus was so very precious to him. It was so simple, but that love coloured everything my great-uncle did.
(Cue the part of the post where music shows up to 'help' me make my point.)
The day he died, I listened to the Daniel Amos song Banquet At The World's End. I'd only heard it twice before (once on YouTube and once on the Cephas Hour), and had just bought the album (plus somebody turned on the radio during Matt Redman's 10,000 Reasons, so I had to break out the iPod quick lest I suffer permanent brain damage and Banquet... was the first song I saw).
I love this song. I may have only heard it twice, but I'd probably read the lyrics about fifty times by then (yes, I go on the DA website and read random lyrics when I'm bored. Your point...?). Those are such beautiful lyrics -- The poor are coming; The lame are running... There's a harelip salesman shouting out the news: "Come to the banquet at the world's end!" And it's all set to upbeat happy music. I'm seriously considering choreographing this and including a role for a little girl to be 'inviting' people to said banquet. Not sure exactly how it's all going to work, but that's the embryonic idea.
As the song played and then continued to run through my head after it finished, I realised this had been my great-uncle's manifesto throughout his life (or at least most of his adult life). He spent many years going to Europe to preach. I've heard him preach a few times over the years, and he was the kindest preacher you would ever meet. He knew the Bible and would not exchange its truth for any other idea, but he was gentle and kind in his delivery. It wasn't just 'preaching,' though, the way most people think of it. He wasn't just a pulpit-thumper. He lived his life in accordance with everything he said from the pulpit -- the preaching was more like an extension of the way he lived rather than an occupation. To put it perhaps more accurately, he was a messenger, just announcing to anyone who would hear what God has done and is doing. He spent much of his life traveling internationally (without traditional missionary sponsorship) and inviting people, with a simple earnest joy, to come to the banquet at the world's end. (This is exactly the spirit I'm trying to nail down for the little girl in the dance.)
Now, this night, as I type, he is at that banquet. But there is still room for more around the table. And if the 'beautiful people' (as they're called in the song) won't come because 'life' (*cough* money) is too important, there are plenty of poor and lame who can and will, if only they know they're invited.
This poses a challenge to those of us remaining. My great-uncle's work here is done, but that doesn't discount the rest of us. May we -- may I -- take up the cry and run through the alleyways, beckoning to the forlorn figures hiding in the shadows...
Come to the banquet at the world's end!
10 August 2013
Music Day
Seriously? I haven't featured this song yet?
This was the only track I initially liked from the album of the same name (though I thought Ritual was kind of cool too). White Heart hadn't rocked hard like this since Bye Bye Babylon.
Oh, it starts quiet enough... but at about the nineteen-second mark the drum kicks up and then the bass falls in, gritty, crunchy, and most of all loud, with a similarly styled guitar ripping across the top on the seventh beat (dance counts), then the sixth and eighth beats of the next phrase.
Two more sets of eight, and then Rick comes in -- an almost-menacing intimate whisper, the power of his voice just barely restrained as he sweeps up into I don't know your name...
A breath, and control returns, a delicate tip-toe melody now for You've been hanging around for so long at my place...
By the time he sings It's crawling back again to find me and slips up into a desperate near-scream on Get it out of my mind... the song has taken on a slightly creepy feel. 'It' is never explained, though looking at the context of the song I'm picturing something kind of like Lecrae's Indwelling Sin -- the old sinful man trying to regain control of the redeemed human, to the horror of said redeemed human.
I absolutely love the guitars in the chorus -- low, fuzzy, almost static-like. It's a smooth trade-off... the vocal in the verse was heavily processed, but in the chorus it's mostly organic. However, the guitar takes over the fuzzed-out sound, giving the song a subtle change of pace while still feeling consistent.
Then we get the two sets of eight from the beginning again. (Darn it, I'm listening like a choreographer. Brain apparently does not want to shift into music-enjoyment mode.)
Listening to this again, I think this is the lowest I've heard Rick's voice, right there at the beginning of the second verse. He's very dynamic on this song, actually. I'm surprised more people don't quote it as a favourite (because we all know White Heart songs live or die by how spot-on Rick was when they recorded the vocals -- at least the rock ones). He's in fine form here -- almost growling, a touch of sarcastic menace, then screaming high (the word 'wailing' is the closest synonym I have off the top of my head), and it's all done so smoothly. Nearly every line has a different dynamic, and you're hard-pressed to find the transitions. The line You know that's a lie is delivered in a way that calls to mind the fire from Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Christian nine years before, and yet there's a touch of sadness in it -- you know that pained feeling you get when you see someone you love being a total idiot and destroying some aspect of their lives when you know they know better? Yeah. It kind of sounds like he's watching something like that.
Regular readers know that usually I don't pay attention to guitar solos (that or I hate them with a passion... depends if I'm choreographing it or not), but this is a killer solo. The bass and the drums still play behind it, adding power to it, and (thank goodness) it's not one of these presumptuous guitar solos where they just kind of shoe-horned it into the song because every song needs a guitar solo, right? It changes directions partway through, going from straight up rock-guitar-solo to something a little more finessed but equally loud. As the song rocks on, hurtling with reckless abandon to its close, the guitar work becomes rather off-kilter. So now you've got a totally fuzzed-out, not-quite-centered guitar and Rick's clear angelic voice still throwing in some stuff over it. It's perfect.
And then it all comes to an abrupt end with the vocal sliding up and snapping delicately off into nothing and a reverberating guitar chord picking up where the vocal track leaves off, carrying the song to a suspenseful-yet-satisfying ending.
Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present... Inside.
Title: Inside
Artist: White Heart
Album: Inside
Year: 1995
Label: Curb Records
iTunes here; YouTube here.
Enjoy.
This was the only track I initially liked from the album of the same name (though I thought Ritual was kind of cool too). White Heart hadn't rocked hard like this since Bye Bye Babylon.
Oh, it starts quiet enough... but at about the nineteen-second mark the drum kicks up and then the bass falls in, gritty, crunchy, and most of all loud, with a similarly styled guitar ripping across the top on the seventh beat (dance counts), then the sixth and eighth beats of the next phrase.
Two more sets of eight, and then Rick comes in -- an almost-menacing intimate whisper, the power of his voice just barely restrained as he sweeps up into I don't know your name...
A breath, and control returns, a delicate tip-toe melody now for You've been hanging around for so long at my place...
By the time he sings It's crawling back again to find me and slips up into a desperate near-scream on Get it out of my mind... the song has taken on a slightly creepy feel. 'It' is never explained, though looking at the context of the song I'm picturing something kind of like Lecrae's Indwelling Sin -- the old sinful man trying to regain control of the redeemed human, to the horror of said redeemed human.
I absolutely love the guitars in the chorus -- low, fuzzy, almost static-like. It's a smooth trade-off... the vocal in the verse was heavily processed, but in the chorus it's mostly organic. However, the guitar takes over the fuzzed-out sound, giving the song a subtle change of pace while still feeling consistent.
Then we get the two sets of eight from the beginning again. (Darn it, I'm listening like a choreographer. Brain apparently does not want to shift into music-enjoyment mode.)
Listening to this again, I think this is the lowest I've heard Rick's voice, right there at the beginning of the second verse. He's very dynamic on this song, actually. I'm surprised more people don't quote it as a favourite (because we all know White Heart songs live or die by how spot-on Rick was when they recorded the vocals -- at least the rock ones). He's in fine form here -- almost growling, a touch of sarcastic menace, then screaming high (the word 'wailing' is the closest synonym I have off the top of my head), and it's all done so smoothly. Nearly every line has a different dynamic, and you're hard-pressed to find the transitions. The line You know that's a lie is delivered in a way that calls to mind the fire from Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Christian nine years before, and yet there's a touch of sadness in it -- you know that pained feeling you get when you see someone you love being a total idiot and destroying some aspect of their lives when you know they know better? Yeah. It kind of sounds like he's watching something like that.
Regular readers know that usually I don't pay attention to guitar solos (that or I hate them with a passion... depends if I'm choreographing it or not), but this is a killer solo. The bass and the drums still play behind it, adding power to it, and (thank goodness) it's not one of these presumptuous guitar solos where they just kind of shoe-horned it into the song because every song needs a guitar solo, right? It changes directions partway through, going from straight up rock-guitar-solo to something a little more finessed but equally loud. As the song rocks on, hurtling with reckless abandon to its close, the guitar work becomes rather off-kilter. So now you've got a totally fuzzed-out, not-quite-centered guitar and Rick's clear angelic voice still throwing in some stuff over it. It's perfect.
And then it all comes to an abrupt end with the vocal sliding up and snapping delicately off into nothing and a reverberating guitar chord picking up where the vocal track leaves off, carrying the song to a suspenseful-yet-satisfying ending.
Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present... Inside.
Title: Inside
Artist: White Heart
Album: Inside
Year: 1995
Label: Curb Records
iTunes here; YouTube here.
Enjoy.
02 August 2013
Music Day
It's my birthday today and you know what that means... it's White Heart Month here at the Edge Of The Dream! (Provided, of course, that the iTunes Store actually has five White Heart songs that I haven't already featured.)
The other day I was listening to White Heart's Freedom album on my iPod. It's a totally different experience on the iPod -- headphones always make the mix sound better anyway, but this specific album is heaven on earth through headphones. Plus, this album just means so, so much to me -- track two, Sing Your Freedom, has gone down in this blog's history as the first piece of choreography I ever completed, Eighth Wonder holds the distinction of being the first piece of my choreography to be publicly performed, and the phenomenal opener Bye Bye Babylon was the song that catapulted White Heart firmly into the slot of 'My Favourite Band Ever Of All Time.' I listen to my CD copy of the album that I ripped from my mother's well-loved cassette at least twice a week, probably more.
I rarely listen to it on my iPod though. Usually I listen to my iPod when choreographing a specific song, and I tend to listen to full albums on CD as I'm driving places in the rattletrap.
However, Freedom is different on the iPod not because of sound quality, but because of the tracklist. As I mentioned, my Freedom CD was originally a tape. Then, several months after I created it, I found out that the original CD release of the album had an extra track sandwiched in between The River Will Flow and Let It Go, a track which I assume was excluded from the cassette and vinyl releases due to time constraints (though don't quote me on that). iTunes had the track (for once -- pause while we give sarcastic applause), but I'd already burned the CD and didn't want a perfectly good CD to go to waste. So I still listen to the cassette version but because I'm a purist, I have the official CD tracklist on the iPod.
So the other day as I was listening to the album on my iPod, I suddenly went 'holy crap I forgot about this song!'
Title: Set The Bridge On Fire
Artist: White Heart
Album: Freedom
Year: 1989
Label: Sparrow
iTunes here; YouTube here.
This is a freaking good song. Guitar, bass, keys, drums... everyone is in top form here. The interlude is one of the best I've ever heard. It's not just a standard 'insert guitar solo here' deal, every instrument gets to play. The synth, real soft and gentle (yet it manages to be stately) and then the guitar rips through and the bass and a different guitar comes in and then...
There's even a great little acoustic guitar riff at the end of each verse. The rest of the song is hardcore rock, but somehow they make that little acoustic bit work.
Even the rhythm is great -- driving, and not quite centered.
Fans often cite this as one of Rick's best vocal performances to date (along with Desert Rose, How Many Times, Dr Jekyll And Mr Christian, Sing Your Freedom, Unchain, et cetera et cetera...), and the title is well deserved. He simply soars here. It sounds so effortless.
Lyrically, the song makes some good points. It doesn't beat the visual to death, but it explores it just enough to make you really think about it. Do you really want to live forever in that headspace of regretting the things you've done, the times you've messed up?
Great message. Phenomenal performance. If you only own one White Heart song, this should be a contender.
The other day I was listening to White Heart's Freedom album on my iPod. It's a totally different experience on the iPod -- headphones always make the mix sound better anyway, but this specific album is heaven on earth through headphones. Plus, this album just means so, so much to me -- track two, Sing Your Freedom, has gone down in this blog's history as the first piece of choreography I ever completed, Eighth Wonder holds the distinction of being the first piece of my choreography to be publicly performed, and the phenomenal opener Bye Bye Babylon was the song that catapulted White Heart firmly into the slot of 'My Favourite Band Ever Of All Time.' I listen to my CD copy of the album that I ripped from my mother's well-loved cassette at least twice a week, probably more.
I rarely listen to it on my iPod though. Usually I listen to my iPod when choreographing a specific song, and I tend to listen to full albums on CD as I'm driving places in the rattletrap.
However, Freedom is different on the iPod not because of sound quality, but because of the tracklist. As I mentioned, my Freedom CD was originally a tape. Then, several months after I created it, I found out that the original CD release of the album had an extra track sandwiched in between The River Will Flow and Let It Go, a track which I assume was excluded from the cassette and vinyl releases due to time constraints (though don't quote me on that). iTunes had the track (for once -- pause while we give sarcastic applause), but I'd already burned the CD and didn't want a perfectly good CD to go to waste. So I still listen to the cassette version but because I'm a purist, I have the official CD tracklist on the iPod.
So the other day as I was listening to the album on my iPod, I suddenly went 'holy crap I forgot about this song!'
Title: Set The Bridge On Fire
Artist: White Heart
Album: Freedom
Year: 1989
Label: Sparrow
iTunes here; YouTube here.
This is a freaking good song. Guitar, bass, keys, drums... everyone is in top form here. The interlude is one of the best I've ever heard. It's not just a standard 'insert guitar solo here' deal, every instrument gets to play. The synth, real soft and gentle (yet it manages to be stately) and then the guitar rips through and the bass and a different guitar comes in and then...
There's even a great little acoustic guitar riff at the end of each verse. The rest of the song is hardcore rock, but somehow they make that little acoustic bit work.
Even the rhythm is great -- driving, and not quite centered.
Fans often cite this as one of Rick's best vocal performances to date (along with Desert Rose, How Many Times, Dr Jekyll And Mr Christian, Sing Your Freedom, Unchain, et cetera et cetera...), and the title is well deserved. He simply soars here. It sounds so effortless.
Lyrically, the song makes some good points. It doesn't beat the visual to death, but it explores it just enough to make you really think about it. Do you really want to live forever in that headspace of regretting the things you've done, the times you've messed up?
Great message. Phenomenal performance. If you only own one White Heart song, this should be a contender.
26 July 2013
Music Day
So now that I told you all about the awesomeness of Crumbächer's Incandescent in a different post, thereby leaving nothing to add to any further posts, now they release the album on the Frontline Records website. Thanks guys... you couldn't do this a month ago when I had a good promotion post all ready to go...
Anyway...
So it's not on iTunes (not in Canada anyway, because apparently it's dangerous to give Canadians good music), but you can still download it from a legal place, so I'm going to tell you about it anyway.
(EDIT: It's now on iTunes Canada!)
The label's website doesn't appear to have an 'individual song' option, but really, six bucks for an LP is nothing to sneeze at. And it's a solid LP -- there's really only one track that one could take out of the album (lyrically). So I'm going to do a full album review on it, just because I can, and also because the site doesn't let you download individual tracks (at least it doesn't appear to) so it'd be kind of pointless to just focus on one song here.
(EDIT: The Frontline webstore is currently under construction, so this is currently not available on their site. Refer to the iTunes link if you want to buy it.)
Before I start, a couple of things you should know -- this is eighties. This is keyboard heavy. And it's not exactly deep, theologically. Don't expect John Piper. Don't expect big intense guitar solos.
Song titles link to YouTube videos.
Understudy -- I love the interlude in this one -- the high-pitched keyboard line. I like the echo on the vocal in this one. In fact, I like how Stephen Crumbächer's voice isn't real spectacular (unlike a certain White Heart vocalist...), but it's still so endearing. I don't know how he pulls it off.
Infrared X-Ray Eyes -- This is probably the most pop-fluffy song on the album, lyrically (not to mention a little creepy-sounding to modern ears), but it's got a good funky sound to it and Dawn's backing vocal in the choruses are nice.
Glowing In The Dark -- This is the song I got the album for. I'd heard it on classicchristian247.com and loved it, mostly for the drum hits at the beginning of the verses and the syncopated keyboard riff after said drum hits. And the keyboard motif employed throughout. Only after the album was mine did I pick up on the huge words this song employs (when was the last time you heard the word phosphorescence in a song?). Being a writer/English nerd, that alone scored this song a few points.
So Strange -- My sister's favourite. This song kicks up into full throttle right out of the gate, with that rapid-fire drum/cymbal intro. The more-prominent electric guitar beefs up the song too. I particularly like the key change and higher vocal dynamics in the pre-choruses (And oh; What is this I'm feeling down inside...). The little kind of 'rock-out' after the false ending is cool too, if a little odd.
It Don't Matter -- A nice perky opening leads into some nice fuzzy guitar chords and then an intriguing staccato vocal -- it's almost a rap, it's fast enough (actually I've heard rappers slower than this). I really like that vocal interplay that starts at the end of the second chorus -- Stephen and Dawn layering the line never fall away. The harmony through the choruses is nice too.
Jamie -- I've talked about the music video for this one before, but I didn't really mention the song. This one starts out relatively slowly (in relation to the rest of the album), but never fear -- after a few dramatic-key-chord seconds to build things up a little, the drumsticks go 'one two three four' and the song kicks up into its groove. It doesn't sound as finessed as some of the other tracks, but its drive makes up for it. That and the keyboard motif... *swoons* Having watched the music video makes the lyrics so much more poignant. Probably the deepest and most beautiful lyrics on the album.
Sweet By & By -- I love this mostly because it bucks the trend so intensely. I mean, the lyrics are straight out a church hymnal (literally -- I looked in an actual hymnal). Any Baptist worth their salt knows the harmonies and parts of this song so they can sing it at funerals (yes, I know the ladies' part and have since I was a child). The hymnal version is quite nice and I do like it, but it's just so cool to watch this eighties keyboard band take it and absolutely turn it on its head. The rhythm, the melody, the mood -- all of that is completely different from what you hear in the churches. All that remains of the actual hymn are the lyrics. I like what they did with this though. He sings almost an alto-type part as the lead vocal. The 'flat' vocal and the shimmering key chords give the verses almost a haunting sound. It seems an odd style choice, actually, since the lyrics are supposed to be rather hope-filled.
Track You Down -- Possibly my favourite from this album. So. Catchy. It's fast, driving, and technically excellent. I really like Dawn's vocals on this one -- gives the song a completely different, 'lighter' dimension. The song would be flat and forgettable without those backing vocals. I also find it funny thinking about how creepy this song sounds to people today who have never heard it before. This song would never have been conceived in today's age of Facebook, Internet privacy concerns, texting/sexting, and the constant fear of being stalked. Since I tend to keep a more level head about these things than most (mostly because I tend to avoid being an idiot on the Internet), I get to enjoy this song without being all creeped out.
Album title: Incandescent
Artist: Crumbächer
Year: 1985
Label: Originally released on Broken Records, re-release on Frontline.
iTunes here.
Anyway...
So it's not on iTunes (not in Canada anyway, because apparently it's dangerous to give Canadians good music), but you can still download it from a legal place, so I'm going to tell you about it anyway.
(EDIT: It's now on iTunes Canada!)
The label's website doesn't appear to have an 'individual song' option, but really, six bucks for an LP is nothing to sneeze at. And it's a solid LP -- there's really only one track that one could take out of the album (lyrically). So I'm going to do a full album review on it, just because I can, and also because the site doesn't let you download individual tracks (at least it doesn't appear to) so it'd be kind of pointless to just focus on one song here.
(EDIT: The Frontline webstore is currently under construction, so this is currently not available on their site. Refer to the iTunes link if you want to buy it.)
Before I start, a couple of things you should know -- this is eighties. This is keyboard heavy. And it's not exactly deep, theologically. Don't expect John Piper. Don't expect big intense guitar solos.
Song titles link to YouTube videos.
Understudy -- I love the interlude in this one -- the high-pitched keyboard line. I like the echo on the vocal in this one. In fact, I like how Stephen Crumbächer's voice isn't real spectacular (unlike a certain White Heart vocalist...), but it's still so endearing. I don't know how he pulls it off.
Infrared X-Ray Eyes -- This is probably the most pop-fluffy song on the album, lyrically (not to mention a little creepy-sounding to modern ears), but it's got a good funky sound to it and Dawn's backing vocal in the choruses are nice.
Glowing In The Dark -- This is the song I got the album for. I'd heard it on classicchristian247.com and loved it, mostly for the drum hits at the beginning of the verses and the syncopated keyboard riff after said drum hits. And the keyboard motif employed throughout. Only after the album was mine did I pick up on the huge words this song employs (when was the last time you heard the word phosphorescence in a song?). Being a writer/English nerd, that alone scored this song a few points.
So Strange -- My sister's favourite. This song kicks up into full throttle right out of the gate, with that rapid-fire drum/cymbal intro. The more-prominent electric guitar beefs up the song too. I particularly like the key change and higher vocal dynamics in the pre-choruses (And oh; What is this I'm feeling down inside...). The little kind of 'rock-out' after the false ending is cool too, if a little odd.
It Don't Matter -- A nice perky opening leads into some nice fuzzy guitar chords and then an intriguing staccato vocal -- it's almost a rap, it's fast enough (actually I've heard rappers slower than this). I really like that vocal interplay that starts at the end of the second chorus -- Stephen and Dawn layering the line never fall away. The harmony through the choruses is nice too.
Jamie -- I've talked about the music video for this one before, but I didn't really mention the song. This one starts out relatively slowly (in relation to the rest of the album), but never fear -- after a few dramatic-key-chord seconds to build things up a little, the drumsticks go 'one two three four' and the song kicks up into its groove. It doesn't sound as finessed as some of the other tracks, but its drive makes up for it. That and the keyboard motif... *swoons* Having watched the music video makes the lyrics so much more poignant. Probably the deepest and most beautiful lyrics on the album.
Sweet By & By -- I love this mostly because it bucks the trend so intensely. I mean, the lyrics are straight out a church hymnal (literally -- I looked in an actual hymnal). Any Baptist worth their salt knows the harmonies and parts of this song so they can sing it at funerals (yes, I know the ladies' part and have since I was a child). The hymnal version is quite nice and I do like it, but it's just so cool to watch this eighties keyboard band take it and absolutely turn it on its head. The rhythm, the melody, the mood -- all of that is completely different from what you hear in the churches. All that remains of the actual hymn are the lyrics. I like what they did with this though. He sings almost an alto-type part as the lead vocal. The 'flat' vocal and the shimmering key chords give the verses almost a haunting sound. It seems an odd style choice, actually, since the lyrics are supposed to be rather hope-filled.
Track You Down -- Possibly my favourite from this album. So. Catchy. It's fast, driving, and technically excellent. I really like Dawn's vocals on this one -- gives the song a completely different, 'lighter' dimension. The song would be flat and forgettable without those backing vocals. I also find it funny thinking about how creepy this song sounds to people today who have never heard it before. This song would never have been conceived in today's age of Facebook, Internet privacy concerns, texting/sexting, and the constant fear of being stalked. Since I tend to keep a more level head about these things than most (mostly because I tend to avoid being an idiot on the Internet), I get to enjoy this song without being all creeped out.
Album title: Incandescent
Artist: Crumbächer
Year: 1985
Label: Originally released on Broken Records, re-release on Frontline.
iTunes here.
24 July 2013
EVEN MORE DA Awesomeness!
And you all thought my White Heart obsession was bad. (Don't worry. The White Heart obsession will return once they release that EP.)
Anyway, for those of you who read my review of Daniel Amos' new album Dig Here Said The Angel who didn't get the advance download (though I wouldn't be surprised if everybody who read it was also a Kickstarter backer), you can now pre-order the album on their website here.
And, if you scroll just a little farther down on that same store page, you can also find another real treat -- the ¡Alarma! album on CD. Oh, but not just that -- two CDs (deluxe remastered ones), plus photos and booklets and bonus tracks and enough goodies to satisfy this Daniel Amos nerd in training for... well, let's give it about a week before I've memorised it. Lyrically, this is a genius album (really though, which one isn't?). Sarcasm at its finest.
I don't have a real ending for this post, so I'm just going to steal a quote from Terry Scott Taylor (from one of the live bootleg shows, I forget which) (EDIT: I finally found it -- it's the Cornerstone 2000 show): "I'm not trying to plug anything. I'm really not... but I am."
Anyway, for those of you who read my review of Daniel Amos' new album Dig Here Said The Angel who didn't get the advance download (though I wouldn't be surprised if everybody who read it was also a Kickstarter backer), you can now pre-order the album on their website here.
And, if you scroll just a little farther down on that same store page, you can also find another real treat -- the ¡Alarma! album on CD. Oh, but not just that -- two CDs (deluxe remastered ones), plus photos and booklets and bonus tracks and enough goodies to satisfy this Daniel Amos nerd in training for... well, let's give it about a week before I've memorised it. Lyrically, this is a genius album (really though, which one isn't?). Sarcasm at its finest.
I don't have a real ending for this post, so I'm just going to steal a quote from Terry Scott Taylor (from one of the live bootleg shows, I forget which) (EDIT: I finally found it -- it's the Cornerstone 2000 show): "I'm not trying to plug anything. I'm really not... but I am."
19 July 2013
Music Day
A little something I found on some music blog somewhere... more awesomely eighties. This is the kind of stuff that makes me think of being a high school kid with the big hair and the legwarmers, doing homework sprawled on the floor beside their record player. (Yes, I have a very romanticised view of the eighties...)
Title: Run
Artist: Glen Allen Green
Album: A Living Fire
Year: 1985
iTunes here; YouTube here.
Title: Run
Artist: Glen Allen Green
Album: A Living Fire
Year: 1985
iTunes here; YouTube here.
15 July 2013
This Just In...
For once in my life I'm speechless. I am seriously jumping up and down and screaming in delight (silently, but screaming nonetheless)...
14 July 2013
Disconnected
A belated welcome to all the DA fans! (Now that they've probably all read the post, left, and forgotten this blog exists...) Nothing like a little diehard-fan scrutiny to freak me out a bit... seriously though, welcome.
And now for our regularly scheduled post (I heard that snicker)...
The other day, while looking at the window at the rain falling outside, it randomly struck me that I'm almost always filtering my experiences through Facebook.
I don't post every little tiny detail of my life on Facebook ('going to work,' 'eating [insert food here] then going to bed,' etc.), but I do spend a rather disproportionate amount of time thinking about it. In actuality I only post a status three or four times a week (depending what's going on in my life and how much music awesomeness is coming from the DA and White Heart pages), but I tend to look at every experience I have, no matter how mundane or ridiculous or simply beautiful through the lens of 'how would I write this on Facebook?'
Being a writer, a bit of a loner, a perfectionist, and a master of the cynical one-liner (just ask my relatives -- not that regular readers of this blog really need proof), my Facebook posts are very carefully crafted. I have literally spent forty-five minutes reading over and tweaking a single Facebook status at times, replacing one word, then checking for clarity, rhythm, and 'comedic' timing, and making subtle adjustments accordingly. If I spent a quarter of that kind of effort on revising my novels, I would be a bestselling author by now.
I'm not proud of that.
It scared me a little, this realisation that I couldn't remember the last time I experienced anything without starting to plan in my head how I would word the Facebook post about it.
So when I put the advance download of Dig Here Said The Angel on my iPod, I decided to wait before listening to it... it was two o'clock in the morning by then, and I had to be up early the next day. But I was determined to wait. Last time DA released an album I was under ten years old and my only knowledge of Daniel Amos was the image in my memory of the cover art of their self-titled debut. And with a White Heart album still not announced, this was my next best chance to get to hear a record from a band I love for the first time -- at the same time as everybody else. I've always wondered what it would have been like to have heard Doppelgänger for the first time in 1983, when everyone else was also hearing it (and being shocked) for the first time. So too with ¡Alarma! in 1981, and with White Heart's Freedom or Powerhouse in 1989 and 1990.
So I waited until I had a chunk of time where I knew I would be undisturbed.
Since I don't get to listen to amazing albums for the first time often, I'm not entirely sure how to go about it. I'm sure many people who were around in the seventies and eighties had a special sort of 'ritual' -- taking the record home from the store, opening it, setting the vinyl on the player for the first time, dropping the needle, and then examining every square centimetre of the artwork or reading the lyrics on the sleeve as they got to hear fantastic music from a pristine yet warm and inviting record.
A download wouldn't have the same visual and tactile experience, but at least I knew the music would be good. So I sat on my bedroom floor (where I always imagine people listening to records for the first time), put in my earbuds, adjusted the volume, and touched the title of the first song.
Within a few seconds, a now-familiar voice envelops me and begins to lead me away, into the world where everything is questioned and yet answered, where melancholy and humour collide.
I found a haystack in a needle
I caught an angel in a lie...
As the album played on, I consciously pushed the thought of reviewing it out of my mind. The blog, Facebook, even future choreography I might get out of this was not important right now. I was to listen to it as a fan, not a critic. I was to listen with the wonder of Lucy first seeing the lamp-post. It would be unfair to try to boil it down in my mind to a crass inadequate review while the album was still trying to show me all the beauty and texture it had to offer. And even though I fully expect to wind up choreographing at least a few of the songs at some point, this was not the time... it was not the time to be microanalysing the movements of the dancers in my head when I was supposed to be letting the music and the songwriting show me what treasures it had to offer even by itself. Imagining dance at this point wouldn't strengthen it, it would only deafen my ears to the music.
It took some conscious effort, but by the end of the second song I had settled in. And I listened to the music for an hour without once thinking of Facebook, and only having to push the blog out of my mind two or three times. I didn't work at imagining dance either, I only allowed myself to see what my subconscious pushed to the forefront. But the majority of my intellectual faculties were focused on the music texturing and the songwriting.
It wasn't until the next day that I realised just how much I had enjoyed that -- that piece of time where I managed to completely forget about the existence of Facebook. It isn't until you taste freedom that you realise how deeply entrenched you are in bondage. Four years I've let this thing -- this elaborate chunk of HTML -- dictate my thought patterns. Why?
I could go onto a psychological exposition on this, but we've all heard it before anyway, and it doesn't really answer anything. All I have is... why? Why do we seem to think it's so essential -- essential enough that we automatically think in Facebook text bites? What kind of creative freedom would we have if distilling our daily 'accomplishments' into a Facebook status that only three people will read wasn't a part of our natural thought process?
And now for our regularly scheduled post (I heard that snicker)...
The other day, while looking at the window at the rain falling outside, it randomly struck me that I'm almost always filtering my experiences through Facebook.
I don't post every little tiny detail of my life on Facebook ('going to work,' 'eating [insert food here] then going to bed,' etc.), but I do spend a rather disproportionate amount of time thinking about it. In actuality I only post a status three or four times a week (depending what's going on in my life and how much music awesomeness is coming from the DA and White Heart pages), but I tend to look at every experience I have, no matter how mundane or ridiculous or simply beautiful through the lens of 'how would I write this on Facebook?'
Being a writer, a bit of a loner, a perfectionist, and a master of the cynical one-liner (just ask my relatives -- not that regular readers of this blog really need proof), my Facebook posts are very carefully crafted. I have literally spent forty-five minutes reading over and tweaking a single Facebook status at times, replacing one word, then checking for clarity, rhythm, and 'comedic' timing, and making subtle adjustments accordingly. If I spent a quarter of that kind of effort on revising my novels, I would be a bestselling author by now.
I'm not proud of that.
It scared me a little, this realisation that I couldn't remember the last time I experienced anything without starting to plan in my head how I would word the Facebook post about it.
So when I put the advance download of Dig Here Said The Angel on my iPod, I decided to wait before listening to it... it was two o'clock in the morning by then, and I had to be up early the next day. But I was determined to wait. Last time DA released an album I was under ten years old and my only knowledge of Daniel Amos was the image in my memory of the cover art of their self-titled debut. And with a White Heart album still not announced, this was my next best chance to get to hear a record from a band I love for the first time -- at the same time as everybody else. I've always wondered what it would have been like to have heard Doppelgänger for the first time in 1983, when everyone else was also hearing it (and being shocked) for the first time. So too with ¡Alarma! in 1981, and with White Heart's Freedom or Powerhouse in 1989 and 1990.
So I waited until I had a chunk of time where I knew I would be undisturbed.
Since I don't get to listen to amazing albums for the first time often, I'm not entirely sure how to go about it. I'm sure many people who were around in the seventies and eighties had a special sort of 'ritual' -- taking the record home from the store, opening it, setting the vinyl on the player for the first time, dropping the needle, and then examining every square centimetre of the artwork or reading the lyrics on the sleeve as they got to hear fantastic music from a pristine yet warm and inviting record.
A download wouldn't have the same visual and tactile experience, but at least I knew the music would be good. So I sat on my bedroom floor (where I always imagine people listening to records for the first time), put in my earbuds, adjusted the volume, and touched the title of the first song.
Within a few seconds, a now-familiar voice envelops me and begins to lead me away, into the world where everything is questioned and yet answered, where melancholy and humour collide.
I found a haystack in a needle
I caught an angel in a lie...
As the album played on, I consciously pushed the thought of reviewing it out of my mind. The blog, Facebook, even future choreography I might get out of this was not important right now. I was to listen to it as a fan, not a critic. I was to listen with the wonder of Lucy first seeing the lamp-post. It would be unfair to try to boil it down in my mind to a crass inadequate review while the album was still trying to show me all the beauty and texture it had to offer. And even though I fully expect to wind up choreographing at least a few of the songs at some point, this was not the time... it was not the time to be microanalysing the movements of the dancers in my head when I was supposed to be letting the music and the songwriting show me what treasures it had to offer even by itself. Imagining dance at this point wouldn't strengthen it, it would only deafen my ears to the music.
It took some conscious effort, but by the end of the second song I had settled in. And I listened to the music for an hour without once thinking of Facebook, and only having to push the blog out of my mind two or three times. I didn't work at imagining dance either, I only allowed myself to see what my subconscious pushed to the forefront. But the majority of my intellectual faculties were focused on the music texturing and the songwriting.
It wasn't until the next day that I realised just how much I had enjoyed that -- that piece of time where I managed to completely forget about the existence of Facebook. It isn't until you taste freedom that you realise how deeply entrenched you are in bondage. Four years I've let this thing -- this elaborate chunk of HTML -- dictate my thought patterns. Why?
I could go onto a psychological exposition on this, but we've all heard it before anyway, and it doesn't really answer anything. All I have is... why? Why do we seem to think it's so essential -- essential enough that we automatically think in Facebook text bites? What kind of creative freedom would we have if distilling our daily 'accomplishments' into a Facebook status that only three people will read wasn't a part of our natural thought process?
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