I officially have no voice. But then, who would, after seeing Pat Benatar and Dennis DeYoung live? We screamed, we sang, we danced, we went crazy. Last night will go down in history as one of my all time favorite nights EVER.
Too often I realize I was born in the wrong era. Let's face it. Most of today's music is CRAP. Can I go on a little rant? It's my blog, so yes, I will rant. Let me start with one of all time least favorite "artists" on the charts today. Her name is Lady GaGa. Actually, I don't know what her real name is (nor do I care) but anyway, not only is her songwriting/singing terrible, but her whole image is just dreadful. She tries too hard to be outrageous. I mean, seriously. How can you call yourself unique when all you're doing is copying Cher and Madonna? (Btw, the whole raw meat thing, totally done by the Beatles first. Don't believe me? Here's proof. Told you so.) I don't like her style, I don't like her image, I don't like her music. If you can even call it that.
I can't stand the sound of Autotune and electronicalization. (Yes, I made that up. No you can't use it.) Why would you waste time listening to a fake, robotic voice when you could be hearing the multitude of raw talent that already exists? I understand that most people listen to music to be entertained, and that entertainment comes in many different forms and is relative to the entertainee, but if you're looking for music, please, please, PLEASE do NOT try to convince me that Lady GaGa is top of the line, best in the industry, yada, yada, yada. I don't want to hear it. Emphasis on the DON'T.
A part of me feels sorry for today's kids, believing that Lady GaGa is all there is out there. Part of me also feels a little disappointment in the parents who allow their kids to believe that when they are keeping the good music of their generation a secret. It's not fair. Kids are growing up believeing that all there is to listen to is Justin Bieber, Ke$ha, Lady GaGa, and (heaven forbid), Glee. Yes, that noise you heard was a small part of my soul crumbling in anguish.
One of my favorite things to do is start music wars at red lights with cars blasting the "hot 40" from 104.3. Give me Queen, give me Yes, give me Foriegner. Give me ANYTHING but that ridiculous overplayed Ke$ha song. Is it wrong to say that I like the confused looks I get from adults who converse with me about music? So many times, I have found myself in a conversation about music with an adult my parents' age. It's so sad to see their amazed expressions when I'm able to name more 80s songs than just what appears on the Guitar Hero menu. It's sad because that means kids my age are expected to not know about the good music. They are expected to be so dumb to the musical spectrum that they are stuck like a broken record talking about Justin Bieber's newest hit. Gosh, it just kills me inside knowing that these amazing bands and artists of the 60s, 70, and 80s are slowly disappearing into the "oh yeah man, that was a jam way back when" archives.
I want to start something. I want to cause a revolution. A music revolution. I want to get people out of the rut that is today's music. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying abandon all music produced in the last ten years. But seriously, guys. Purge your iPods and reset your car's radio stations to the ones that play the good stuff. Like I said, I really do love some of the more recent stuff like Adele, and I will admit that Katy Perry and Rhianna have amazing voices as well, its just that their songs are so shallow, empty, meaningless. The lyrics have become just cliche verses and choruses that appear over and over, reincarnated from the hit last month. I'm serious about starting something. And this is why, dear readers, I need your help. I know that only 14 of you (so far) follow me. But hey, it only takes a spark to light a fire, right? I want to start a musical fire. I want to explode the airwaves like they were exploded in the 80s. The right way. With the good stuff. There is no such thing as an overplayed Journey song. You won't go crazy after hearing Come Sail Away a hundred times. You will still headbang to the guitar solo in Bohemian Rhapsody even after you've had it on repeat for the last two hours. And I know you know that somewhere, deep inside you, you agree with me, even if you won't admit to that hairbrush karaoke session you had this morning to Heartbreaker.
I hope I haven't offended any of you. Lord knows I'm not trying to pick personal fights. Just trying to voice my opinion. Its not humble. In fact, music is quite possibly the biggest and most outspoken opinion I have. I can go on for hours about it. I'm generally a quiet person who won't get into arguments, but I just can't seem to keep my mouth shut about music. It's SO important to me and my identity. Which is why I don't mind ranting about it. I'm so grateful to have my buddies who like to rant with me. Many a conversation I've had with my cousin, bestie, and boyfriend on the matter. Join us? Who knows...maybe one day I'll pull up next to you at a red light. Let's just hope that the music war would be between Aerosmith and Van Halen.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Cookies
You know that moment, the one when you're just like, "oh!" And it suddenly all makes sense. Well, I'm waiting for that moment. Increasingly often I'm finding myself in that state of mind that reminds you of when you were little and you saw the cookie jar on the top of the fridge but you didn't know how to reach it. I can see my goals, I have a plan, but I can't see how I'm going to get there. But I know that when I do reach the cookies, they will be the best cookies I've ever tasted.
*This post is dedicated to Amanda Testerman. Thanks for helping me reach the cookies.*
*This post is dedicated to Amanda Testerman. Thanks for helping me reach the cookies.*
Monday, July 11, 2011
The Perfect Bass Guitar
It's beautiful.
So vintage and full of character, like I can't wait to get to know it. So how did I get it? My awesome grandfather, the guitar buff, passed it down to me. We were in a pawn shop looking at guitars when I told him that I was saving for a bass. He seemed interested and happy with the idea of me learning to play, and proceeded to tell me about the bass he had somewhere that he would give me if we could find it. Of course, I was ecstatic. So after driving home, we went on a hunt through the basement.
We found it in a dusty beat-up case back in a nook behind the furnace. I watched as my grandfather clicked open the rusty latches and lifted the lid. There it lay, its thick, silver strings and semi-hollow body clouded over with age. Man, it was beautiful. I loved it instantly, and I hadn't even heard it yet. Under the strings, little pieces of masking tape written in in my grandfather's handwriting marked the notes. I had to smile to myself. Hard to imagine someone as musically inclined as him needing to be reminded of something as simple as notes. Upon closer inspection, we saw some pretty major flaws. The neck had sunken in, the strings needed replacing, and there were some cracks in the top coat of varnish. Nonetheless, I was in love.
It gets better. We took it out to the garage and set it on top of the four-wheeler seat to clean. I stood there Pledge dusting the wood and my grandfather left to get something from the house. Next thing I know, he's lugging a 1960's vintage tube amp out the door. Painted with blacklight white and flourescent pink paint, it was quite nostalgic. "Let's plug it in and see if it works," he said, blowing the dust off the cord.
As he plugged it into the outlet it made a fizzling sound, reminiscent of a freshly poured glass of coke. There was a soft pop as he plugged the other end of the cord into the guitar. The vibrations sent little shocks through my fingers. It was working. I plucked a few notes and had to smile. It was horrendously out of tune. But all at the same time, it was one of the best sounds I'd ever heard.
My bass. Me, playing my bass.
It fit me well. not too big, not awkwardly small.
Just right...
Perfect.
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So vintage and full of character, like I can't wait to get to know it. So how did I get it? My awesome grandfather, the guitar buff, passed it down to me. We were in a pawn shop looking at guitars when I told him that I was saving for a bass. He seemed interested and happy with the idea of me learning to play, and proceeded to tell me about the bass he had somewhere that he would give me if we could find it. Of course, I was ecstatic. So after driving home, we went on a hunt through the basement.
We found it in a dusty beat-up case back in a nook behind the furnace. I watched as my grandfather clicked open the rusty latches and lifted the lid. There it lay, its thick, silver strings and semi-hollow body clouded over with age. Man, it was beautiful. I loved it instantly, and I hadn't even heard it yet. Under the strings, little pieces of masking tape written in in my grandfather's handwriting marked the notes. I had to smile to myself. Hard to imagine someone as musically inclined as him needing to be reminded of something as simple as notes. Upon closer inspection, we saw some pretty major flaws. The neck had sunken in, the strings needed replacing, and there were some cracks in the top coat of varnish. Nonetheless, I was in love.
It gets better. We took it out to the garage and set it on top of the four-wheeler seat to clean. I stood there Pledge dusting the wood and my grandfather left to get something from the house. Next thing I know, he's lugging a 1960's vintage tube amp out the door. Painted with blacklight white and flourescent pink paint, it was quite nostalgic. "Let's plug it in and see if it works," he said, blowing the dust off the cord.
As he plugged it into the outlet it made a fizzling sound, reminiscent of a freshly poured glass of coke. There was a soft pop as he plugged the other end of the cord into the guitar. The vibrations sent little shocks through my fingers. It was working. I plucked a few notes and had to smile. It was horrendously out of tune. But all at the same time, it was one of the best sounds I'd ever heard.
My bass. Me, playing my bass.
It fit me well. not too big, not awkwardly small.
Just right...
Perfect.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
"We're all in the mood for a melody..."
Ahhh, Sparta, North Carolina. More than a few words come to mind when I think of the town (and no, gladiators are not involved). Among them are peace, beauty, home. I love the atmosphere, the people, and pretty much just the whole aura the small town possesses. Unfortunately, I only get to make the trip twice a year. This year, the farm feels empty. My great grandmother happens to be in a nursing and rehabilitation center to heal some broken ribs. So, needless to say, I have been making many visits up there to see her.
The first time I went up there, I noticed a piano sitting in the corner of the dining area. I know, I know. Leave it to me to gravitate to a piano. It was humble to say the least. An upright Baldwin, in nice condition but in terrible need of a tuning. Behind it there was a window that looked out into the hall where I stood. Looking through the window, I saw something beautifully inspiring. There, sitting at the piano was a little old lady playing hymns. Walking into the room, I asked her if I could sit and listen to her for a while. After another hymn, she asked me if I played. I smiled a little and nodded. "A little bit". She stood up from the bench with some help from her walker. "Well honey, let's hear it!" her southern accent was adorable. "I can't hardly see no more, so sometimes I end up on the wrong keys, but it don't matter. Nobody can tell it anyway."
We traded seats. I felt the keys under my fingers, guessing how it might play for me. I couldn't stand the suspense, so I played the first C7 of Billy Joel's "Piano Man". It was comfortable, out of tune though. Definitely out of tune. But somehow, beautiful. My fingers took right to the keys, like I had played it my whole life. It practically played itself. As I played, a few residents and urses began trickling into the dining area, coming to see who was causing the ruckus, no doubt. I looked around sheepishly when I realized that everyone was watching and listening. Not wanting to appear nervous, I kept going. A few chords here, a riff there, just messing around, really. I'm not used to playing solos to people. But the best part was that the people loved it, no matter what I played or how many times I messed it up. It was a great feeling.
When I was finished, I stood up to leave and was surprised by a smattering of applause from the people who had gathered to watch. I hadn't expeced that. What to do? Smile and wave :). Finally, I was able to leave. Before I got out the door, however, I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Honey that was beautiful!" It was the same old woman I had first talked to. "Thanks." I offered. "I don't think I caught your name?" "Esther," she said with a smile. I introduced myself and she squeezed my shoulder. "I hope you come back and play for me again. I really enjoyed it." I smiled back. "So did I."
The first time I went up there, I noticed a piano sitting in the corner of the dining area. I know, I know. Leave it to me to gravitate to a piano. It was humble to say the least. An upright Baldwin, in nice condition but in terrible need of a tuning. Behind it there was a window that looked out into the hall where I stood. Looking through the window, I saw something beautifully inspiring. There, sitting at the piano was a little old lady playing hymns. Walking into the room, I asked her if I could sit and listen to her for a while. After another hymn, she asked me if I played. I smiled a little and nodded. "A little bit". She stood up from the bench with some help from her walker. "Well honey, let's hear it!" her southern accent was adorable. "I can't hardly see no more, so sometimes I end up on the wrong keys, but it don't matter. Nobody can tell it anyway."
We traded seats. I felt the keys under my fingers, guessing how it might play for me. I couldn't stand the suspense, so I played the first C7 of Billy Joel's "Piano Man". It was comfortable, out of tune though. Definitely out of tune. But somehow, beautiful. My fingers took right to the keys, like I had played it my whole life. It practically played itself. As I played, a few residents and urses began trickling into the dining area, coming to see who was causing the ruckus, no doubt. I looked around sheepishly when I realized that everyone was watching and listening. Not wanting to appear nervous, I kept going. A few chords here, a riff there, just messing around, really. I'm not used to playing solos to people. But the best part was that the people loved it, no matter what I played or how many times I messed it up. It was a great feeling.
When I was finished, I stood up to leave and was surprised by a smattering of applause from the people who had gathered to watch. I hadn't expeced that. What to do? Smile and wave :). Finally, I was able to leave. Before I got out the door, however, I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Honey that was beautiful!" It was the same old woman I had first talked to. "Thanks." I offered. "I don't think I caught your name?" "Esther," she said with a smile. I introduced myself and she squeezed my shoulder. "I hope you come back and play for me again. I really enjoyed it." I smiled back. "So did I."
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