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Tag: music

A Day in the Life

(Phish cover, Hampton 2009 II)

I read the new today, oh boy
About a lucky man who made the grade
And though the news was rather sad
Well, I just had to laugh
I saw the photograph
He blew his mind out in a car
He didn’t notice that the lights had changed
A crowd of people stood and stared
They’d seen his face before
Nobody was really sure if he was from the house of lords.

I saw a film today oh boy
The english army had just won the war
A crowd of people turned away
But I just had to look
Having read the book
I love you turn on

Woke up, got out of bed,
Dragged a comb across my head,
Found my way downstairs and drank a cup,
And looking up, I noticed I was late
Found my coat and grabbed my hat
Made the bus in seconds flat
Found my way upstairs and had a smoke
Somebody spoke and I went into a dream
Ah

I read the news today, oh, boy
Four thousand holes in blackburn lancashire
And though the holes were rather small
They had to count them all
Now they know how many holes it takes to fill the albert hall
I’d love to turn you on

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4 Way Street – Crosby Stills, Nash & Young

Vinyl of the Day. Awesomeness.

http://www.amazon.com/Street-Crosby-Stills-Nash-Young/dp/B000002ITW/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=music&qid=1227741854&sr=8-1

Word of the Day

Castanets

Sitting on the slope of the Mann Music Center in the Summer of 2001

It was the summer of 2001, the summer after my first year of college. Six months earlier I had driven down to Baltimore with my new friend J to see the String Cheese Incident play a gym. The music was complicated — Jay said “try to listen to each instrument.” It was all new to my ears.

Phish, leaders of the scene, was newly on hiatus. Trey Anastasio, lead singer, lead guitarist, musical genius, was playing with his new band at the Mann Music Center, in Fairmount Park in Philadelphia. It was a beautiful day. I was there with friends and aquaintances from high school — they tried to buy mushrooms beforehand and I had a gooball. Goofball. The mushrooms didn’t work but the gooball did.

I remember still sitting there on the grassly slope, surrounded by people, staring at the stage and listening to the music. This is our religious experience, I thought, this is our temple, sitting there, with friends and strangers.

So much of my life was ahead of me. Surprises — joys and tragedies. Deaths, war, and love, and journeys and new friends and old friends. I sat there, listening to Trey Anastasio play guitar for the first time ever (first time for me, first time in the historys of the universe that I had heard such a thing).

We are here to witness. We are here to participate. Times moves on, like a song, without any regard to any attempts to slow it down — but we are here. Our presence does not go unnoticed. While God may be silent, gone, or absent, there are others in this world and we can see ourselves reflected in their eyes — we give each other meaning — we give each other love — we are very small, we are, we are so fragile, so fragile, and our time together is brief, so brief. We are unique and beautiful. The songs we sing linger in the air — the lives we touch are touched and are forever changed — though our names will be forgotten, and our minds and egos and lives will blow away like the wishes of a dry dandelion, we are a part of this thing — liquid screens may fool us, and artists make up tales (shadows of shadows) but the sun burning shines on us. It is real. Our love is real. The world is real and sad and painful but joyous and every day is another day another opportunity to listen to the music and sing along to feel connected to go home to love to tell someone you love them to thank them to be thankful to journey home. I sat there watching Trey, surrounded, surrounded by strangers, happy strangers, and the drug was a mild one, smoothing the ridges easing the pains and I felt joy and I felt happy and between then and now there has been darkness and love but I can still feel joy I can still be happy and I am happy no matter what the winter comes and the winter passes and spring comes and summer and long days will return long days will return and Phish returns and Phish returns — and I return to some leaf covered road and —

notes from news years

new years with the disco biscuits, my eyes starry, by myself at the front of the stage, things getting strange and heavy, but the sound sounded great, like I was in an echo chamber, or they were using some incredible three dimensional reverb — I was right in front of the stage — and I looked over and saw a kid, man, what’s the difference these days, a man dressed like a kid, going through people’s coats — in my reverie darkness, and assuming the worst, I wrote a story for him, of the man-child who goes to these shows and steals a wallets in order to eat — realizing that this was this creature’s role and purpose, this was what it did to eat — and what was my purpose — but I had no purpose, I was a watcher, this was my Carnival, my Festival, my License, but some people were working — for sure, for sure —

 on the other side of the barrier, a black man-child sits tripping hard, staring at glowsticks in his hands that he was making dance the danse macabre — was that this man-child’s purpose? Had someone fed him something to reduce him to this state, animal, his mind caged by bone and blotters, sitting there, forebrain gone?

 Or the fire jugglers after the show — this was their new years too, and they were working, throwing fire in the air to delight the crowds —

 The music was good — so good — insane — but distracted by the music, and then seeing through the music, the world in its dark strivings crystallized and betrayed a terrible terrible prison where rats in a wheel run endless circles, conditioned to press a button for daily bread and daily shocks, and the music distracts us from the work, the bone-crunching soul-crushing, the raking of shit, the farming of greener soylent, the grinding of bonemash —

Time. Time & Change. Frightening words. Love. Love too.