okay, three things at a time.

Last week I started a little experiment with the intention of making myself more familiar with the music I have collected. I decided I would choose three albums a week and listen to nothing but those three albums. I decided on Jackson Brown - Jackson Browne, Damien Jurado - Caught in the Trees and Local Natives - Gorilla Manor. Now, I will admit that I did not listen to these albums exclusively. I think that would have turned into punishment rather than enjoyment. So, I allowed myself to take breaks from those three albums and listen to other things, the rule being that the other things had to be albums I already knew inside and out. They ended up being things like Modest Mouse's The Moon and Antarctica, Coldplay's Parachutes, Grizzly Bear's Veckatimest, Mos Def & Talib Kweli's Black Star and Bjork's Homogenic.

I'm happy to report that this went well. I actually found myself wanting to listen to the three albums I had chosen more. The songs would get stuck in my head and I would choose to go back to them. And now I feel like I have a more intimate knowledge of all three albums. Success! So, I'll try it again this week. My selections are below.

I like to try and make these blog posts and my approach to music about more than just the music. As big as music is in my daily life, if I'm being honest I'll admit that this kind of stuff has no ultimate importance. I'd rather not squander all of my free time writing about things of no real meaning, regardless of how fun it might be. And I'd prefer not to waste your time either. But I think the way I have been approaching music this past week is a method that could be applied to several other facets of life.

We are consumers. We take and take and take, many times without knowing exactly what it is we're taking. Someone tells us that it's good, we believe them and we keep taking. We eat up albums, movies, books, news, gadgets, work and school assignments and often treat them as nothing more than tasks. I love me some technology. The Internet is brilliant. But let's not allow all of this accessibility to overtake us. Let's slow down. Enjoy a quiet evening or afternoon and make something ours, our own. Let's own things, make them a part of who we are (only if they fit, of course). Let's understand them. I grow a bit tired of feeling overwhelmed by all of the things being thrown at me and then I realize that a lot of the time, I'm reaching out to receive them instead of controlling how fast and furious I take things in. I've been reading Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird (yes, I'm still reading it). Her advice for aspiring authors is to practice observation skills. Practice noticing the small details of the people and things around you, then use those details in your stories. That seems like good life advice too. Get to know ourselves and our surroundings a bit better.

Here are this coming week's three albums of choice: Neil Young's self-titled solo debut from 1968 (the remasterd version, of course), The Black Keys/Damon Dash rock/rap mash up project from last year, Blakroc, and the new album from Danger Mouse and James Mercer of The Shins, Broken Bells.

I've Loved Her So Long - Neil ...

On The Vista Feat. Mos Def - B...

The Mall & Misery - Broken Bel...

keeping it going

It's finally happened. I've hit a wall. I don't know what to write about. As a result, I'm tempted not to write at all. I can't help but feel that would be a mistake though. Recently I started reading Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. It's a book about her writing process, experiences and lessons. I've only just cracked the cover, but one of the first lessons she gives is to keep writing, even when you feel like you may not have anything in particular to say. So, here I am.

I can't say that I'm experiencing a lack of inspiration or a distance from the constant flowing river or emotions. What I have been feeling this past week is a distance from any one particular album or record. I am always listening to music. Always. My mother seems to worry that I don't allow myself enough silence. But it's not an obsession, it's a choice. Music to me is life giving. Of course, I do go through "dry spells" every now and then, when it's hard to choose what to play, when I can't decide whether I need something quiet or something loud, something instrumental or something abstract. During those periods I usually go to what's familiar. I have standbys - Radiohead, Wilco, Fleet Foxes, Mogwai, Getz/Gilberto and Neko Case, to name a few. Every now and then something different breaks through, I will hear something new, even if in something old, and that's usually what gets me out of the dry spell.

I'm starting to find those new things. Four Tet's song "And They All Look Brokenhearted" from the excellent Rounds has been one of them. I have listened to that album countless times but I'm hearing this song in a different way now. It has come to represent the continuous struggle to find balance, to maintain a personal sense of stillness. It is a musical metaphor for inner peace. The bass and the strings move underneath the track throughout, representing a constant, a still beauty. There are times in the song when they stand alone, confident. You feel quiet and clear. There are more times when this stillness is disrupted though. The percussion tries to add to the still sound it but it ends up covering it, drowning it out. The drums never quite find their place, they stumble and they confuse our peace. You sense that a battle is happening. The bass, the strings, that quiet sound, is struggling to be heard. It's not an easy song to listen to. It's difficult, just like our own struggle for inner peace and I've found the song to be incredibly comforting. It's the soundtrack for the daily struggles in my life.

Perhaps recognizing that struggle and allowing for grace and patience within it is what has offered me a new sense of freedom. I have been recognizing again that I have time to do new things, that there is plenty of life to live and that I am loved. In a strange way that recognition has fueled a desire to listen to something loud, something big. I could think of nothing more perfect than the hard hitting heavy metal/hard rock of the Japanese trio Boris. Their album Heavy Rocks has been blaring from my apartment and car stereo. Metal is something I rarely listen to. It's actually too loud for me, it's too overwhelming. After two or three songs I no longer have a sense of dynamics, it's just a constant wall of sound with one emotion - rage. Boris is a magnificent exception. They blast things wide open, but they also know how to pull off the throttle a bit and coast in the turns. They are more than metal. They are drone and psychedelic and punk and a rock genre melding machine. They may not sing in English, but they have been quenching my thirst for something large and earth shaking.

I suppose that much like writing, it's important for me to keep listening to music, even when I'm not sure why or what to listen to. They are both outlets, a place to find hidden emotions or a way of expressing things not yet said. Eventually, I'll find something that has meaning, something that speaks to me. Whether it's music or writing or reading or art or sewing or fabric...it's good to give the things we love a chance to open us up even more. There's no telling what God will do with it.

remembering to remember

I have felt fragile lately, walking a narrow path between an abyss of sadness and an overly optimistic view of things to come. I woke up in the middle of the night this weekend gripped with fear about my future. After saying a few quick prayers ("help me, help me, help me" - borrowed from Anne Lamott) I put on my headphones and called up End of Amnesia on the iPod. For me, it captures the middle ground perfectly and it gently rocked me back into a place where I could feel the calm inside the storm. See, I've decided that life is a mixing bowl of joy and pain and much of the time, you cannot separate the two. In order to experience the joy, you often first have to experience the pain. It's mixed in there together and if you're going to drink from the cup of life, you have to drink them both (shout out to Henri Nouwen, again). It's common for me to see everything through the lens of my life and I often pull meaning from things that are in no way related to what I'm actually experiencing, but I really feel like M. Ward understands this mixture.

I believe this album was made from a place of inner stillness, or at least that's what I would like to imagine so, don't ruin for me. Ward remembers. He wakes up the slumbering past and recalls the things that have shaped his present and will effect his future. Have you ever sat on the back porch with a cold drink in the heat of the summer and listened to your grandfather tell one story after another, some with no point other than to give voice to memories that are precious to him and to recall feelings that hold great worth? I have. I want you to close your eyes and listen to the title track from End of Amnesia open. Listen to the low hum somewhere in the back of the room. Listen to the piano slowly rise, repeating. Listen to the guitar thumb it's way through your mind, pulling the right notes from your memory. Imagine you're sitting on that back porch and tell me that you don't feel as if you're in a place of great warmth and comfort.

The rest of the album is founded in that warm, comfortable place. Even the unpleasant and painful memories. Ward recalls one scene after another. Feeling the call to leave home on "Color of Water". Fractured recollections of a dark night on "No Half Moon". The confidence of healing on "So Much Water" and the pain of separation and loss on "Bad Dreams". Sober yet hopeful on "Archangel Tale," Ward, with his whispery voice, sings "Come with me and you'll never be the same...come with me, but you must come alone (across the bridge that keeps you from your home)". That's the promise of healing, the joy from the pain.

It's all here, not only in the lyrics but in the music itself, perhaps even more so. It perfectly reflects Ward's emotions. No dramatic rising or falling but steady and calm, paying tribute to old time folk and blues. It reminds me of AM radio, of some small southern town, of things past. He adds an occasional instrumental piece to bridge the memories and each feels like a deep breath, a pause to gather words and feelings necessary to tell the next story. Even the somewhat heavy strumming and aggressive tone on "Silverline" feels appropriate. Remembering stirs up more than happy nostalgia. There is regret too.

I've been letting this album hold me, in the middle of the night and while sitting in traffic. It's been my soundtrack for contentment. The hopeful lyrics of "From a Pirate Radio Sermon, 1989" are a good place to leave you - "Lost won't be lost anymore / hard won't be hard anymore / And I'm waiting for the day when I will finally know surrender / And the weak will not be weak anymore / I'll be waiting like a stranger for a train / for a headlight through the rain / I don't know the day or hour / but I can sense the final power".