Alexandersmap

    Category: Music

    • RIP Brian Wilson

      She makes me come alive
      And makes me wanna drive
      When she says “Don’t worry baby”
      Don’t worry baby
      Don’t worry baby
      Everything will turn out alright
      — The Beach Boys, Don’t Worry Baby

      Another giant passed away this week. Brian Wilson was the genius behind The Beach Boys and by all accounts a beautiful soul. He raised the bar on popular music, making other giants like The Beatles take notice and up the ante. We’ve all benefited from Brian Wilson’s prolific contribution to music and culture, directly as a soundtrack to our own lives and indirectly as an influence on other artists. How different life would have sounded without him.

      I didn’t play a lot of Beach Boys on my playlists, not because I didn’t like many of their songs, but because I felt I was always hearing them played somewhere so why bother? But a few songs were in frequent rotation, beginning with Don’t Worry Baby, then rolling into the bouncy ride of Sloop John B (those lyrics aren’t as peppy as the music!), the thrill of Good Vibrations, the sonic mind trip of God Only Knows and the harmonious confession of In My Room. These were all big hits, of course, but didn’t it feel like everything they did turned into a hit?

      Losing Brian Wilson and Sly Stone in the same week… goodness. We know that these things happen in threes. Let’s hope this week is an exception to that rule.

    • Nietzsche, Vonnegut and Doris Day Met in a Blog

      “My formula for greatness in a human being is amor fati: that one wants nothing to be different, not forward, not backward, not in all eternity. Not merely bear what is necessary, still less conceal it… but love it.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche

      Where I live, this month is trending as unseasonably cool and wet. Great for ducks, I suppose. The rest of us could use some warm, sunny days. But so it goes.

      That phrase, “So it goes”, is rather sticky. It’s a Kurt Vonnegut nugget that stays with you if you’ve ever read Slaughterhouse-Five because it’s repeated so often throughout the book that it hammers home in the memory bank. I’ve read it at three distinct phases of my life just to see what changes as I’ve changed. From the abundant horror of Dresden comes a fatalism born of experiencing it. One may ask, why? Just don’t expect an answer.

      “Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?” “Yes.” Billy, in fact, had a paperweight in his office which was a blob of polished amber with three lady-bugs embedded in it. “Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.” ― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

      To write a book that someone would be inclined to read a few times over, instead of simply reaching for the next book on the pile? That’s notable. To write a book well enough that people are drawing quotes from it generations after it was written? That’s timeless. Surely something to aspire to in our own writing.

      But I digress. So it goes, in the context of the book, is a fatalistic acceptance of death. That’s not exactly how I used it in the opening paragraph of this scattered blog post, but it applies in one key way: Amor fati (love of fate). Or if you prefer a playful tune with a somber message, Que Sera, Sera (whatever will be, will be, with a nod to Doris Day). Whatever method we choose to understand the message, we ought to learn to embrace it in our own lives. Sure, we have agency, but within the context of everything out of our control that life throws at us.

      We will all have our rainy days. If we are blessed, we will also have our share of sunny days full of warmth and comfort. We must build a life that mitigates the impact of our worst days while maximizing the potential derived from our best. Whatever will be, will be, but we may apply leverage as appropriate. There’s just no telling which plot line in our story leads to greatness.

      So Nietzsche, Vonnegut and Doris Day all met in a blog post… proving once again that anything is possible if we just let our creative selves run free now and then. We ought to have more agency in our lives, even as we accept that some things are out of our control. So long as we don’t sell ourselves short on what we can in fact control. Some paths are dead ends, some lead to the highest summit. And so it goes.

    • Be Strong

      And if the darkness is to keep us apart
      And if the daylight feels like it’s a long way off
      And if your glass heart should crack
      And for a second you turn back
      Oh no, be strong
      — U2, Walk On

      What is your theme song when life doesn’t line up in your favor? Walk On is surely one of mine. It’s a reminder to be strong, even when it doesn’t feel like being strong will make much of a difference. It always makes a difference. Sometimes all we can control is how we react in the moment. And sometimes how we react changes everything.

      The key is to transcend the moment, whatever it presents to us, and move to the next. One day at a time, steady and strong, for this entire climb. And when the world feels dark and it all feels futile, walk on until we move past that which would otherwise sweep over us. Face it, for we know we must. But just keep moving forward.

    • Beyond This

      “What labels me, negates me.” ― Soren Kierkegaard

      There is no them
      There’s only us
      — U2, Invisible

      It felt like we were winning at one time in our collective history. But even then there were angry people. Bitterness must be fueled, and a whole industry rose up to feed outrage to those who needed a taste of it. But it’s all so addictive, isn’t it? Soon the consumers are themselves consumed. Those of us who abstained barely know them anymore.

      And there we are; us and them. It’s easy to label them, even as we’re angry at the labels they put on us. Add separation, where one isn’t looking into the eyes of the person they’re calling one of them, and we all become dehumanized. And so it is that technology, once our great hope, has become our undoing.

      Is the genie out of the bottle? It seems that way. But I’m a believer in forward progress. Sure we take two steps back now and then. God knows we’ve regressed lately. But have hope. This too shall pass. The pendulum will swing back again.

      It’s easy to label, it’s harder to seek to understand. If we are to get beyond this, we ought to get over our anger and our labels and get to know each other instead. Even writing that it sounds naive, but tell me another way forward?

      Things are darkest before the dawn. We aren’t quite as dark yet as we could be, and the trend is shockingly downward, but when enough of us say, I’m not going down there, we may level off this spiral and find a safe landing. From solid ground we may climb once again.

      There is no them, there’s only us. Put enough of us together and soon there is no more them. Or we could just go back to shouting at each other, seeing how well that’s working out. We get to choose, at least until it’s too late for choices anymore.

    • Floating Off the Edge

      “Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.” — Max Ehrmann, Desiderata

      May your hands always be busy
      May your feet always be swift
      May you have a strong foundation
      When the winds of changes shift
      May your heart always be joyful
      May your song always be sung
      May you stay forever young
      — Bob Dylan, Forever Young

      I rewatched The Last Waltz last night, secure in the knowledge that I could turn up the volume as loudly as I wanted to with my bride on the other side of the country (she may still have heard it playing). I was struck by how young each of the performers were. Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Van Morrison, Neil Young, Neil Diamond, Emmylou Harris, and even Director Martin Scorsese—they all looked like kids because really, they still were. And The Band, every last one of them gone now, all were at the height of their productive youth. How quickly it all flies by… Tempus fugit.

      That film was the amber of that moment for them, and they’re locked in time. So it was fitting for Dylan to sing Forever Young, and for Scorsese to provide the amber. The Band knew what they were walking away from—the grind of the road, true, but also their youth. There’s lingering sadness at what was left on stage revealed in conversations with each member, especially Rick Danko. No, we aren’t Peter Pan, forever young and living the life of adventure, we all must grow up one day. And so it is that each of the performers have aged and faded away one-by-one. Memento mori.

      Why did I rewatch this film? Maybe it was the music, or maybe to have my own look back on a different time. An industry friend passed away this week. He was twenty years my senior and cancer took him away with a mind as sharp as someone twenty years my junior. Age is just a number—health and vitality are our true currency in life. The body or the mind will surely fail us all one day, so be bold and dance today. And while we’re at it, turn up the volume as loud as we dare. Carpe diem.

      “We’re all in the same boat ready to float off the edge of the world” — The Band, Life is a Carnival

      Maybe I write to capture my own moments in amber, or maybe I’m just leaving breadcrumbs of where I’ve been. We all have our body of work and our faded photographs (or increasingly, lower resolution JPEG’s) that whisper of who we once were in the height of our own productive youth. The trick is to keep producing, to keep dancing, and to lock some particularly shiny moments away in amber while we can, until one day this boat floats off the edge to join all the stars in infinity.

    • I Can Give In or I Can Try

      San Francisco, New York City
      Strangely silent, strangely empty
      His graffiti filled the subway
      But where’s my brother?
      He could keep you up for hours
      In a town of wilting flowers, yeah, yeah
      I can more or less continue my life
      I can give in or I can try
      Hit the ground running
      Hit the ground running for your life
      — Tim Finn, Hit the Ground Running

      As a proud member of Generation X, the art of Keith Haring was omnipresent in my life. Ironically, Haring was a Baby Boomer, but he really broke out in the 80’s when Gen Xers were looking for something uniquely our own to hold onto. His vibrant graffiti-style art spoke to us, and is still copied by graffiti artists today. Haring’s art was visually representative of the time—and seemingly everywhere. He was an anchor of the era alongside John Hughes movies, MTV and the music videos playing on it. And tragically, Haring was swept up in another anchor of that time: AIDS. He passed away at 31.

      Tim Finn, lead singer of one of those MTV staples; Crowded House, wrote Hit the Ground Running to honor Keith Haring. The song has been one of those tunes that I keep on my own playlists. Headphone or solo driving music, because it’s one of those songs that stands apart a little from the usual fare. I have a lot of those songs, my misfits, that I keep just for myself.

      The song is written from two perspectives—the person who found out they’ve been diagnosed with AIDS and they’re going to wither away and die, and from the perspective of the person who loves that person who is dying and will have to go on without them. And so when you see the lyrics they can mean both:

      I can more or less continue my life
      I can give in or I can try

      Everything in the universe is cyclical. We are all born, live our lives and eventually pass from this world. All we can do is accept that truth and make the most of the time we have. Things can feel hopeless and unfair at times, but these moments too shall pass. We must choose how to live our lives through the best and worst of moments, both to honor the people who made us who we are and the direction we’ve chosen as our own path through it all. We may travel this world with empathy, dignity and persistence and learn to transcend the darkest moments we will inevitably find ourselves in.

    • Don’t Imagine They’ll All Come True

      You’ve got your passion, you’ve got your pride
      but don’t you know that only fools are satisfied?
      Dream on, but don’t imagine they’ll all come true
      When will you realize, Vienna waits for you?
      — Billy Joel, Vienna

      Blame it on the maddening state of the world, or for reaching an age where paths diverge in a person’s life, but I’ve been struggling with uncertainty lately. Make a decision, change my mind and cancel plans, then abruptly pivot back to the original plan again… or not. Really, it’s all a confused mess. And that’s no way to go through one’s days.

      To never be fully satisfied with the plan, and to thus always feeling compelled to modify it, is a blessing and a curse. Forever seeking Kaizen (constant and never-ending improvement) is a path to personal excellence, or to a restless life never fully realized because there’s always going to be something to work on. What works for Toyota ought to work for us, right? But we aren’t corporations, we’re humans. We can’t simply systematize ourselves and expect we’ll arrive at perfection. We must dig deeper and understand where the restlessness is rooted in.

      The answer typically lies in the question: what do we want out of life? That is our direction. Coming to understand it, we may set out in that direction today without trying to change course over and over again. Good habits and a healthy routine automate some important behaviors in our lives like exercise and flossing and writing, serving as gyroscopic stabilizers so we don’t get seasick from rocking back and forth too much with our behavior.

      Some people go to a Vienna coffeehouse simply to enjoy a torte or Buchteln. Some go to lasso a muse. Both can be right. To borrow a lyric from another Billy Joel song, do what’s good for you, or you’re no good for anybody. And to rock abruptly back to Vienna, don’t imagine all your dreams will come true, just focus on the one’s that do.

    • 38 Years of Joshua Tree

      And in the world
      A heart of darkness
      A fire zone
      Where poets speak their heart
      Then bleed for it
      — U2, One Tree Hill

      In one of those time warp moments, I realized that U2’s Joshua Tree was released 38 years ago yesterday. That resonates deeply when you’re of a certain age. We all have our cornerstones of influence. We all have our soundtrack of life, anchored in moments that are forever brought back by the song playing in the background, bringing it all back to us once again. For me, U2 has been the anchor, laying down milestone moments for much of my life.

      The first song I heard from Joshua Tree was With or Without You, played as a single on WBCN, one of Boston’s great radio stations back in the day. They played it late in the afternoon, after a team workout, and I sat in my pickup truck in front of my apartment to hear it that first time. Music is like Kurt Vonnegut’s amber of the moment: It’s a powerful resin that holds memory to place and time. This is who we once were. This is still a part of us, even after so much has changed since that first spark of awareness of what we were hearing.

      Many might say that U2 peaked in their Super Bowl performance in February 2002, when the world was still reeling from 9/11 and seeing the names of the victims of that day scroll upwards while the band performed MLK (from The Unforgettable Fire) and one of the big songs from Joshua Tree, Where the Streets Have No Name. That performance forever transformed the latter song in my mind from an overplayed song of the late 80’s to a spiritual anchor in a storm of emotions leading up to that evening. I don’t believe one performance represented a peak for a band as big as U2, I believe they sustained excellence for three decades and we can debate which albums were their best from the bar set by Joshua Tree.

      The music industry has forever changed, and albums as a work of art are not what they once were for popular music. The music industry can pound sand. Music is more than a hit song, it’s a part of our identity. Like a great novel, a great album has the power to transform lives. U2 has their fair share of great albums, and they’ve carried the torch for rock music from vinyl to streaming as well as any band. In a culture that digests information in sound bites, the concept of an album is perhaps a bridge too far. But a great album still has a place in this world.

      For all the hits on Joshua Tree, One Tree Hill is the song I most associate with that moment in the late 1980’s when U2 ruled the airwaves. It’s a deep cut and one of the last songs on the album. One has to be invested in the listening experience to reach it. And there’s the value of a great album: finding the hidden gems amongst the hits.

      One Tree Hill whispers seductively across time. And like time itself, we are all running like a river, running to the sea. We didn’t know what that meant back then, until time flew by, until that tight circle of people we once clung to ran from our lives and others flowed in to replace them. Until time ran out for some people who meant a great deal to us, people who had their final run to the sea. We’re closer now ourselves, aren’t we? Yet still we run. So by all means, turn up the music and enjoy it once again.

    • Limitations and Openings

      Any framework, method, or label
      you impose on yourself
      is just as likely to be a limitation
      as an opening.
      — Rick Ruben, The Creative Act: A Way of Being

      Every morning I wake up and start to think about what I’m going to write about. Routine has brought me to this place, and even if the entire day turns to crap, even if I’m distracted and frustrated by the world around me, even if it feels like this will be the last blog I ever write because I’m just done with the entire process, my mind settles into the rhythm of writing just as soon as my fingers begin to keep up with where my mind is taking them. And here we are again.

      This blog is not taking the world by storm. I’m under no illusion of grandeur about my place in the lives of its readers, or the number of ripples these thoughts and words will carry across space and time. I write because I fancy myself both a thinker and a writer, and it follows that one ought to jot down what one is thinking about, if only to see where it takes us.

      The question is, does the process take us to a breakthrough, or are we simply going around in circles? Is the very act of blogging a limitation on other writing that isn’t being done because the mind is satiated every morning at around this time? And what other habits and routines would take the place of writing, should it be relegated to later in the day? Would the writing slip like workouts slip?

      We’re caught in a trap
      I can’t walk out
      Because I love you too much, baby
      — Elvis Presley, Suspicious Minds

      We know when it’s time for a change. But how often does knowing lead to doing? Identity is built on the habits and routines we create our days with. And our days in turn become our lives. We ought to ask ourselves when we’ve finished writing and click publish, is this process a limitation for me or an opening? Just where are we going anyway?

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    • Accepting the Path

      Before I′m pushin’ up daisies
      Give me a long, heady summer
      With arms open wide
      I won′t take this world for granted
      I’ll become what I′ve been askin’
      I′ll accept the path that lays before my eyes
      — Sam Fender, Nostalgia’s Lie

      In order to chase the dream, we must first decide to launch ourselves in that direction. The launch is nothing but the first step in a series of steps, and anyone wondering what happened to their New Years resolutions knows the score on first steps. It’s the ones after the first that really count, because we’re gradually trying on a new identity, one step at a time, accepting the path that we’ve determined for ourselves as ours.

      Decide what to be and go be it, as the Avett Brothers song demands of us, and surely it must be so for us to reach our creative potential, for us to get closer to our version of personal excellence, to realize the dream. Don’t be that person on their death bed wondering what happened. What happened was forever deferring the path in favor of the maze. Once we step into a maze the path is no longer clear, and what feels like progress is often nothing but a dead end.

      We don’t always know a maze until we’re in it, but hit enough dead ends and it becomes evident eventually. The answer, of course, is to get the hell out of the maze and back on the path. To become what we’ve been asking of ourselves. Where each step makes the path clearer than it was before. Knowing deep down that whatever the path, the clock is ticking.