Living In Rhythm

So, I've been thinking about love as it pertains to music. Not like, 'love songs' or 'breakup songs', or any kind of song, really.

We've all got those artists and songs, right? The ones that take you back to a certain relationship. Those songs are either difficult or really easy to listen to, depending on the memories they carry. For me, as someone who loves music, I think it's pretty telling, of all my relationships, that I've never really selected a 'song'. And not just because I think that's kind of lame. I just can't ruin a perfectly good song because I associated it with a bad relationship. Or at least a relationship that didn't deserve a good piece of music as its soundtrack.

I'm not so much talking about that kind of thing right now, though. I'm just talking about music, at any given moment, and the people you get to share it with.

What brought this on was my first listen to the Tedeschi Trucks Band's Revelator. I've been anticipating this album since I heard it was in the works, and then no music stores in Ottawa were carrying it (assholes) so I had to have it special ordered. I got it about two weeks after the release date, which sucked, but whatever.

As I was driving home from a night of hanging out with friends, I tore the plastic off the record and played it for the first time. As I'm sitting in my car, driving home in the dark, I started thinking to myself, "God, I wish I was listening to this record with someone right now." That's not meant to make me sound lonely or desperate; I am neither. It's just one of those situations where I love something so much that I want to share it with someone who will love it as much as I do.

I've since been thinking a lot about this, the idea of sharing a love of something with someone, in real time. I recommend books and music like nobody's business, but that's after I've read or listened and can riff off a list of reasons, quotes or songs or intricacies that make what I'm recommending a sure thing. That's not at all the same as sitting next to someone and hearing the line, "He was born to love me. I was raised to be his fool," for the first time. It's not like hearing a slide guitar and looking to the person on your right in the car and sharing that look; that look you have when something's amazing and two people recognize that at exactly the same moment.

This, of course, doesn't have to be a romantic love. I suppose it doesn't have to be a love at all, really. I guess I'm just the kind of person who doesn't really thinks it matters what you love, as long as you love something.

I don't know that any of this even makes sense. I guess I just want to experience more things in the presence of someone who understands exactly what we're experiencing together. Which means that I'll constantly be reminded of that person. Then again, given my track record, I'm starting to think I might not mind being reminded of that person. I've been pretty good at keeping people and music separate. Maybe the fact that I'm starting to want to put the two together means something more than I have even figured out yet.

This post is archived under derek trucks, susan tedeschi, tedeschi trucks band

Okay, so Bob Dylan.

Here's the thing. The guy's a fucking genius. No one has ever or will ever write songs like him. It's possible that's the whiskey and multiple listens of my favourite Dylan songs talking, but let's be real. You go to his website to look for one song and you see the list of songs he's written and it's effing ridiculous. The man is a songwriting machine, no doubt about it.

That's not what this blog is about.

Last night I was sitting here writing about something else and listening to Susan Tedeschi sing Don't Think Twice, It's Alright, and I realized that I've never disliked Dylan's songs, I've just disliked his voice. I love Dylan's songs. They're brilliant. He's versatile and prolific and incredible. Then I listened to Tyler Hilton's cover of Boots of Spanish Leather (my personal favourite Dylan song, for reasons I don't even know) and Garth Brooks' cover of To Make You Feel My Love and a bunch of other covers of other songs, and I just kind of had a Dylan night.

I went to work today and in a coworker recommended an artist to me, compared him to Bob Dylan, "If Bob Dylan was a better singer."

Funny that she'd say that.

Then another coworker came in a couple hours later, and in a conversation about The Beatles, she mentioned Bob Dylan really randomly.

Okay. Now I'm starting to get freaked out.

Cut to tonight, sitting here, sipping Wiser's on the rocks and listening to The Tallest Man On Earth, my brother texts me and mentions who else but Bob Dylan.

What the hell, universe?

But that's not all. As I'm listening to The Tallest Man On Earth, he says, "I'll get my boots of Spanish leather," in a song called King Of Spain.

I tap out.

I give.

Mercy.

Uncle.

Fine, okay. Fine.

I'll listen to more Dylan.

This post is archived under bob dylan, garth brooks, susan tedeschi, tyler hilton

So, I'm listening to The Roots, right? And I'm thinking about commercial hip-hop versus real hip-hop and how and when the two can overlap. I mean, it's all up to opinion. You're going to have people who say Kanye West isn't real hip-hop. I'm going to tell those people they're crazy and give them a list of reasons why. (This is one of them.)

Hip-hop, to me, is hip-hop. It's a feeling, an attitude, a swagger, a movement, more than anything. It's not just music or the way that music is made. I listen to a lot of it, from varying decades and artists, and I don't doubt that any of it is 'true' hip-hop.

Yes, The Roots use live instruments instead of samples and 808s, but (despite what I said to someone earlier) that doesn't make it any more 'real' than, say, Jay-Z.

So of course I had to go to my good friend Youtube and watch videos of some of my favourite artists in the studio. That Kanye one, I've seen a bunch of times, mostly because I like anything that shows any level of genius I simply cannot comprehend. "Doesn't sound right? Well, I'll just hit this series of buttons here and it'll be all good." How does one perfect his craft that way?

It's no secret I adore Jay-Z. He's the best rapper, in my opinion, and I love how seriously he takes his craft and his art, and I stumbled on something that proved that all for me again.

I have always respected Timbaland. He's a genius in his own right and I have loved a lot of his work. He was doing incredible things before he got 'popular', and I love that.

Then you see him in the studio with Jay and he's just like, "Alright, here's what I've got," and plays a bunch of beats.

What I love most about this? Jay knows immediately which beat he wants. It plays for two seconds and he knows he wants it. I wish the camera was on him so we could see his reaction. But he knows it's a hit and he wants it. Then he basically walks into the booth and starts rapping.

It's incredible, too, how Timbaland is talking about how Jay is a genius. There's just a level of respect there that I find really amazing, to be honest. Plus, Timbaland says he's the best around and he's still recognizing that in someone else, and that is probably what makes me respect him.

I want to know what's going through Jay's head when he hears beats for the first time. He's probably come up with raps for beats he never even chose. I also wonder if he's ever driving around and listening to other peoples' music and coming up with rhymes in his head that no one'll ever hear.

I love hip-hop. I love what it stands for and how it started and where it's going. I love that it's like a bunch of families that get together and support one another, and that 'feuds' are mostly non-existent these days. It's probably, overall, my favourite genre of music.

Then again, next week I might change my mind and be listening to something else entirely and calling that my favourite.

This post is archived under jay z, kanye west, the roots, timbaland

This will probably come as a shock to no one, but I enjoy reading album reviews. A lot. I tend to stay away from magazines like Rolling Stone and Billboard, whose writers will throw out three or four paragraphs on a record and call it a review. It's not. It's a short overview, and it doesn't really mean a whole hell of a lot, to be honest.

I bought Sara Bareilles' record on Tuesday (the release date). I've been anticipating this, no lie, since I bought her first album. I love her music. I love her writing. I love the way she fits melodies and rhythms together. She's brilliant. In my opinion, she's one of the best writers in the business. Her bridges are some of the best I've ever heard.

So I like her a little.

Kaleidoscope Heart is close to genius. Not quite there, but very close. The record has a great feel to it, and she clearly hasn't given into the pressure of what's expected of a sophomore release. She just wrote her songs her way, recorded them, and said, "Here it is!" Not only are the songs great, but the production quality is some of the best I've heard in recent years. It's just a great record.

Still, despite the fact that I already know I love it, I wanted to read reviews; I wanted to know what other people were saying.

And I stumbled upon this: Sara Bareilles: Kaleidoscope Heart, by Enio Chiola which describes Bareilles' record as 'sugary sap'.

I'm sorry. What?

I read the whole review. I needed to know what this guy found so offensive about this album I love. With each sentence, I got more and more angry with this writer. He's obviously a moron who shouldn't be writing pop record reviews. He may know about music, but he clearly doesn't know about this music. His opinions are harsh and far too personal, even for an album review on the internet. And that's saying a lot.

(He also calls Dan Mangan a 'hipster' in another review, which I'm pretty sure will piss off at least one person who reads this blog.)

So of course, I had to comment and tell him, in my own special way, what an idiot he is and how terrible I found his review.

My comment to his review is here, because I love sharing.

What I got from this review of an album I adore is that Chiola made up his mind about Bareilles and her music before even listening to it. Whether or not that's true, it's the impression I got, which, to say, is not at all how a review should read.

It's unfortunate that Chiola's (and again, this is just an assumption on my part, based on the above) dislike for catchy, well-written pop music clouded what could have been an informed, and informative, critique. Of course, we all have different tastes and it's to be expected that not everyone will like this record. However, one can dislike a record and still give a well-rounded review, state the facts. Calling Bareilles' lyrics 'ridiculous' (especially when they aren't) is a cop out. If you're going to throw out words like 'ridiculous', your next sentence had better be explaining how you came to such a drastic conclusion.

I would not personally call this music 'unbelievably forgettable'. I wouldn't brand it that even if I didn't enjoy it. Nor would I ever compare Bareilles to Fiona Apple, in any capacity other than to point out that they are both women who play the piano. Making assumptions about an artist's future or longevity in the business like Chiola has above is not only unnecessary in an album review, but is completely unfounded information. Last I checked, album critiques were to be based on the album, not on an artist's entire body of work or career as a whole, especially when it's clear the writer either doesn't like the artist or the genre of music in general.

Chiola calls this record self-indulgent. You know what? Some of the best records are. I'd rather listen to an artist being 'self-indulgent' (which I would rather call 'self-aware, to be honest) than insincere or pandering to the masses for record sales and appearances on MTV.

If you're reading this review to get an honest, informed, accurate feel for this record, look elsewhere. Or better yet, listen to the music yourself.

This post is archived under sara bareilles

Okay, so I was asked about the five pieces of art that changed my world, and I copped out on Tumblr and gave just titles. Here are the explanations.

Monet’s Impression Sunrise

I know, I know. Monet is the cliché, right? The artist everyone claims to know all about when really they know nothing. I don't claim to be an expert. I don't claim to know much about him at all, really, other than he's impressionist and dug using pastels in his day.

I've been to the National Gallery of Canada more times than I can count on two hands, and I remember, when I got old enough to appreciate what I was looking at, standing in front of this painting and studying brushstrokes and colours. I love that, up close, it looks like nothing. It looks like...blue. Take a step back, and it looks like something more. Take two more and you see it for what it is. It's, in my opinion, the most gorgeous thing Monet ever painted. This painting opened my eyes to how intricate art (visual or otherwise) could be.

James Taylor’s Sweet Baby James album

It's not a secret that I love James Taylor. Fire and Rain was the first song of his I heard. It was on vinyl, and I was probably all of 7 years old, and my dad was singing along. He asked if I liked the song, and I said yes. That became the only music my dad and I would listen to together for probably close to a year when we were home alone. He'd put on this record and I'd listen to James' lullabies and words. As I got older, I realized James Taylor wasn't exactly 'current', and I didn't care. I needed to hear more. Now I own every record he's ever made. Between my dad and I, we have some albums on vinyl, cassette, and CD.

To be perfectly honest, I can't remember exactly why this changed everything, just that it did. Maybe it was the hiss of the vinyl, or the lyrics, or the guitar, or the line 'But I always thought that I'd see you again' which I remember listening to as a kid and thinking was beautiful and sad all at the same time (I didn't know that was possible before Fire and Rain). Whatever it was, I still listen to this record at least (at least) once a month.

Piet Mondrian’s Broadway Boogie-Woogie

This is a weird story. A very weird story. As a kid, I took piano lessons. I also hated classical piano music at the time, so when it came time to choose whether or not to take Conservatory piano, I politely declined (okay, there may have been foot-stomping) and said I just wanted to play piano and learn theory and not have to take all the tests and everything. (I'd later regret this decision, to a degree, but I digress.) One of the piano books I bought which contained popular American standards for me to learn had this crazy cover. It was yellow and blue and red and cool. I loved it. At 10 years old, I thought it was just a crazy design and left it at that.

Cut to me at 17 standing in MoMA in front of this huge canvas with my piano book painted on it. I felt like such a moron. Seriously, this huge, famous piece of art was under my nose the whole time and I thought it was just a bunch of cool random squares. It was so much more amazing in 'real life', too. The colours were brighter, and the art itself seemed to be moving. I realize that doesn't really make any sense, but it did when I was standing there.

The point was, and it hit me very quickly, is that a piece of art (again, visual or otherwise) can have a huge impact on your life without you even realizing. The connection between music and visual art kind of tripped me out, too, how I'd learned to play songs on piano after literally judging a book by its cover.

Ella’s Sophisticated Lady

When I started getting serious as a jazz singer, everyone and their dog gave me suggestions of songs to listen to. Strange Fruit, Mack The Knife, How High The Moon, The Way You Look Tonight. Yeah. Great. Throw out all those clichés. I didn't want to sing like Billie or Ella. I wanted to hear what they were doing and learn from it and use bits and pieces of that in my own voice.

The first time I heard Ella's version of Sophisticated Lady, I cried. I legitimately cried. Not only because she's so damn good that it's hard to even fathom, but because this arrangement, this performance is so well-rounded and complete that it makes me feel full when I listen to it. The sound fills your body and it's completely overwhelming. It feels like you're inside the music as much as the music's inside you. You can hear the reverb of the violin on the solo. You can hear the saxophonist's saliva between his reed and his mouthpiece. It's fucking beautiful.

This is one of the only songs I ever wanted to copy someone else singing just for the sake of sounding like them. Nearly 10 years later, I'm still probably not that close. When I hear this song, I just have to close my eyes and let it do to me whatever it wants.

John Green's Looking For Alaska

I still don't know how I could read this book and feel simultaneously hopeful and inadequate, but that's what happened.

I want my characters to be this flawed, this perfect. I want my dialogue to be this powerful, this simple. I want my story to be this heartbreaking, this funny. I want my historical references to be this strange, this relevant.

I know this is classified as 'teen' literature, but I think that's a bullshit label. This book is brilliant, and I've recommended it to everyone I know who still reads books these days. The details are incredible, from bufriedos to COFFEE TABLE to the fox hat. It's a story about friendship and love and death and religion and yearning and grief and acceptance and just about a million other things I wish I was talented enough to spin together into a novel like Green has.

I read this book just as I was really starting to feel like a writer. I don't want to write like John Green. I want to write like me. In a really strange way, this book told me to do that. Maybe it was the idea of a 'Great Perhaps'.

This post is archived under ella fitzgerald, james taylor, john green, money, piet mondrian

People are not forgiving. We aren't.

We all like to pretend we are, but we aren't. We hold grudges, and we talk behind peoples' backs, and we hold things over peoples' heads. It's human nature, and it's terrible, but that's just the way things are. We get hurt and we can't just let that go. Forgive and forget? I don't think such a thing exists. I think we're all really, really good at pretending it does.

So when a celebrity makes a mistake, no matter how monumental (or on the flipside, insignificant) it may be, it's like career suicide. Which is terrible for a number of reasons, not the least of which being that celebrities are humans and mistakes happen. Should he have said that? No. Should she have done that? No. Does it affect me personally? Usually not.

Why do we care?

(We care because celebrities spend 90% of their time screaming "Look at me! Look at me! Care about the work I'm doing!" That whole practice comes back to bite them when they slip up and want everyone to turn the other way. They've made their beds and unfortunately, we all stand back with our arms crossed and our brows raised and critique the way they've done it.)

So when Chris Brown did something completely unspeakable and terrible (let's not kid ourselves, what he did was disgusting), we all kind of said, "Well, it was nice until we learned you're a complete jerk. Later, CB." It's unfortunate, because that kid is crazy-talented. I'm talking, like, once-in-a-generation talented. Now, I'm not saying that we shouldn't have judged so harshly. We absolutely should have. I'm just saying that with 'celebrity', sometimes the art gets overshadowed by the image (don't get me started on the role marketing and promotion plays in all this). The wires get crossed and we immediately say Chris-Brown-The-Idiot is the same as Chris-Brown-The-Artist.

They are not the same thing. The guy can still sing and dance like nobody's business, but Chris-Brown-The-Idiot made Chris-Brown-The-Artist's audience turn their backs.

I've been waiting all along for him to do something to bring the positive attention back to him. Does he deserve a universal "We forgive you"? Probably not. Does he deserve a universal second chance? Yes. He's a person. A young person at that. He's going to make mistakes like anyone else. The fact that there are cameras in his face and people watching his every move doesn't change the fact that he's still a 21 year old kid. His mistakes are his to make and learn from.

I'm not saying the mistake he made is justifiable - absolutely not - I'm just saying that maybe instead of being closed minded, people should stand back, say, "Okay. Prove you're worth the second chance, kid," and watch him perform.

And then the BET awards come along and he puts on a tribute to Michael Jackson that is so impressive it's almost hard to watch. He didn't take the selfish route and try to outdo MJ. He imitated him, in just about the least cheesy way possible. He proved he can dance better than the best of them (which we already knew from his MTV Video Awards performance a few years ago). Then he sings an incredible song with the perfect message, breaks down in an honest way (no publicity stunt here, people). That means more to the public than any apology he could have spoken on any talk show.

The irony? All he's probably wanted all along is for people to listen to his music, watch his performances, and no one would give him the chance. And now it's a performance that has everyone talking about him in a positive way again.

Good on him for that one. And good on BET for giving him the chance to perform his apology.

Now tell me art isn't the most important and influential thing in the world.

This post is archived under chris brown, michael jackson

If there's one genre of music I admittedly shy away from (other than, like, techno and, say, Miley Cyrus/Leona Lewis/Justin Bieber) it's Christian music. I'm not a religious person; it's just not how I was brought up, really. My parents took us to church some Sundays, had us baptized, took us to communion classes, all that. Then it was up to us to decide. I won't get into a big discussion about why I am not exactly religious. I'm just not.

I've said before that there are a few artists I can listen to sing about Jesus (Vince Gill, Dave Barnes, Brian McKnight). They all have songs that are blatantly about religion and Jesus, and they are still great. Barnes' Your Love Will Never Change and Carry Me Through are amazing examples.

That said, I tend to shy away from strictly Christian artists. (Someone who doesn't believe in love isn't going to buy a compilation of love songs, are they?)

But see, I'm not too closed minded to give any given artist a chance. I'm just not. (Except, say, Miley Cyrus, Leona Lewis, and Justin Bieber.)

So when I heard Love Is Not A Fight by Warren Barfield, I loved it immediately and had to Google him. When his name came up on Wiki with the description of him being a Christian artist, I was only slightly turned off. (Hi, listen to that voice...It'll take more than just that label to make me not at least give his other songs a listen.)

Anyway, I went to iTunes and sampled his music. (Have I ever explained how much I love the thirty second previews on iTunes? I wonder whose job it is to decide which thirty seconds of the songs get chosen. How awesome would that job be? I'd do that in a freaking heartbeat.) There are a couple songs on his latest album that are obviously about Jesus and God and religion, but not in a way that turns me off his music completely. (I don't enjoy being preached at in any capacity, unless I'm actually in a church. I hope that does not offend anyone.)

The bottom line is (and I know I've said this before), if the music is good, it doesn't matter what label is put on it. Folk, soul, acoustic, Christian, country, rap, R&B, rock, whatever. It doesn't matter. If the songs are good, if the music is good, I want to listen to it.

Also, music is (obviously) about expression (as much as I hate using that cliché). So who am I to judge someone for singing/writing about what they believe in? That'd be the most hypocritical thing for me to do, especially since I consider myself a fellow artist. Even if I don't like the music, I'm in no way ever going to tell someone that there's no place in world for what they're singing about. Chances are, if they believe it, someone else does, too. This goes for all genres, all art forms.

And as I write this blog about Christian music, I'm listening to Drake. I'm eclectic that way.

This post is archived under brian mcknight, dave barnes, vince gill, warren barfield