Mind Over Matter; or, I Actually Like California Rock

source

I first heard Young the Giant at Rock Island Brewing Company (affectionately known as RIBCO to locals and dedicated Thursday-night college kid partiers) back in 2010, before everyone knew "Cough Syrup" and "My Body" from commercials, the radio, what have you. They were the opener for one of RIBCO's most unmissable shows, followed by New Politics and Neon Trees. Neon Trees were already hot by the time they came into the Quad Cities, with "Animal" playing regularly on Top 40 stations all over. I still wonder how a small-time town like Rock Island managed to convince a well-known band to come not for a concert at the massive i-Wireless center, but to a cramped bar downtown. 

So, squeezed somewhere in the middle of the sticky dance floor, blinking through a light haze of smoke, I watched Young the Giant perform their chill-but-cool opening act. I wouldn't say I was entranced by them-that's not quite the right word. It was a more relaxed sensation, a kind of gentle acceptance of their every word. I bought their album the second the crowd cleared enough for me to make it to the front of the bar.

You may call me a hipster for this whole I knew them before they were cool attitude, but for me it was always more than bragging rights, the fact that I already knew who they were by the time they were popular. I truly felt like I knew them. Young the Giant's music became so natural to my brain waves that I found myself integrating their work onto every consecutive playlist I made. Their self-titled album was one of few CDs that I was willing to play over and over again on every long drive I took.

What amazes me the most about my love for Young the Giant is that it's most certainly not the kind of music I normally listen to. For lack of a better explanation, anything reminiscent of warm weather is almost immediately off my radar after the first 20 seconds. I'm a self-proclaimed "not a beach person." I don't do tropical temperatures. The fact that something so inherently California rock stuck with me as much as it has continues to amaze me, even now that they've released a second album.

I worried when I first heard about Mind Over Matter that I wouldn't like it--this band had already convinced me to ease off my warm weather sound snubbery once, but surely they wouldn't be able to pull it off again. I was almost ready to believe what I had told myself the first time I heard the first released single, "It's About Time." I distinctly remember asking someone if Young the Giant was trying to sound like the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I wrinkled my nose at the song, despite the fact that it wasn't the California sound I'd been expecting. I don't recall exactly what it was that made me listen to Mind Over Matter in its entirety, given how unsure I was of the debut single, but I'm so pleased that I took a chance on it. Young the Giant did not disappoint.

I still stand by my initial thought that Young the Giant was trying to sound more like the rest of the alternative genre, picking up a few rhythmic trends here and there that also appear on Top 40 hits. But at the same time, that friendly California breeze in their sound still comes through, and, to my surprise, I still dig every beat of it.

A Reaction to Coldplay's Ghost Stories, Three Listens In

(source)

For the first time in my 8 years of loving Coldplay, I wasn't excited to hear their music.

I was instantly disappointed when I heard "Magic" for the first time. Where was the energy from Mylo Xyloto? Where was the upward spark? Sure, "Magic" had a pulse, but a skull-penetrating bass bump isn't quite enough to make me excited for the rest of the album. No matter the circumstances, I am not a fair weather fan. I remember strongly disliking "Every Teardrop is a Waterfall" when I first heard it. Maybe it's a marketing strategy unique to Coldplay: hand out a single that demonstrates the latest style shift, build unsure reactions among your fan base, and then reveal your most amazing album yet and chuckle as everyone swears they liked the single after all (and the rest of the album). 

I came to Coldplay in a very backwards manner. I jumped on Viva la Vida after hearing its namesake single and went in reverse chronological order, eventually falling into Parachutes. It's entirely possible that tracking Coldplay backwards like that made each stylistic shift easier to bear, and perhaps that's why I've had a strong reaction to each album following Viva la Vida. With MX, I went into it nervous, remembering the clangy sound of the first released single, but by the end I was blown into obsession, a full on mind-meld with the music.

Ghost Stories fell quite short of the emotional reaction I was expecting. This isn't to say that I didn't enjoy the calm, sometimes ethereal vibe of the album. I relaxed into it. But that's exactly the problem with the album, I think. There are plenty of slow-paced albums in the world that have this blossoming power that totally captures you as you listen. And then there's Ghost Stories, which feels like waiting on the beach or the ocean foam to reach your toes and going home totally dry. It simply does not reach the blockbuster caliber that we, as fans, have come to expect of Coldplay even in their quieter moments.

If time followed the reverse chronological scale on which I came to love Coldplay, I would venture that Ghost Stories would be their debut album. The lyricism is somewhat clumsy and uninteresting, but any listener can tell they do in fact have musical talent behind them. As it stands now, Ghost Stories seems almost like a bonus album, an EP without the same allure as Prospekt's March, that isn't likely to stand the test of time. 

Better luck next time, boys. I'll be loyally waiting.

I'm a Word Nerd: A Few Archaic Favorites

I've been in (more than) a bit of a poetry craving recently, to the point where I've considered redesigning most of my life to pursue a master's degree, publish my manuscript (I actually do have a manuscript), and teach at a cozy little nook of a college a few days a week. I've written all of two poems after graduation, and my sad little stab at NaNoWriMo didn't produce much more than an idea and a lot of loathing. Writing fiction in first person is just awful to me. But then again, I hate to write about myself for much more than a paragraph, so that probably explains my first person woes.

So in my quest to become a better poet, and after many failed attempts to keep a running list of interesting words, I picked up a little ditty called Let's Bring Back: The Lost Language Edition. My fellow English majors, if that doesn't leave you salivating, we might not be able to be friends. Thoughtfully compiled and complete with a few well-done illustrations, this book is a word nerd's dream. A few highlights include:

Attic Salt: a term from the 1700's serving as another word for "wit." Attic salt. Does that not tickle your brain in the best possible way? Think about it. Wit comes from your intellect, which is housed in your brain. The attic of your body, all the way at the very top. It's brilliant in this wonderfully unassuming way, and I fall in love a little more each time I think about this particular phrase.

Devil's Teeth: perhaps it's my odd obsession with teeth as of late (see my complete and utter fawning over Lorde's lyrics) but this phrase was seventeenth century slang for dice. "Devil's bones" was another option. Cue chills of delight.

Owl Light: this particular phrase stopped me not because I was captured by it, but because it reminded me of my favorite poetry professor in college, who once told a story in class about her accidental plagiarism of a poet who used "owl light" to describe the dusk. What I didn't know about this phrase is that saying someone "walks by owl light" means they are evading arrest. In either context, this sweetly haunting phrase is on my poetry "to-use" list.

Words, to me, are like microscopic books. There's an energy in every word, an emotion, that mirrors the way books completely enthrall me. So yes, when I see a word I really, really like, I'm bound to get a little over-obsessed. This post is only a small example.

Next on my quest to poetic glory is a trip around Chicago's staple bookstores. Does it directly relate to poetry? Maybe, if I swing by on a day where there's a reading. But otherwise, the chance that I'll stumble upon some glorious old relic and become immediately compelled to create is good enough for me. Stay tuned for more favorite phrases and general bibliophilia!

Musical Musings: Lyricism in Lorde's "Pure Heroine"

source

On a pre-sunrise drive one early summer morning, I was suddenly snapped out of my sleepy haze with one line:  "I cut my teeth on wedding rings in the movies." The idea of cutting teeth--not chipping, cutting. The sense of a risque story without revealing really anything at all. It was poetry on the radio, and I was hooked.

That's often what gets me to fall in love with a song--finding one little tidbit that speaks to me outside the accompanying music--and that line in particular evoked something I wanted to see so badly in my own poems. Who was this woman on the alternative station, crooning such a unique and thought-provoking lyric?

Hearing a song for the first time, much like reading a book, is something you never get back. Now that Lorde's "Royals" has been entirely overplayed, I'll admit that I won't go anywhere near it. But that first listen was so mentally rich that, after being incredibly slow to the pitch (as always), I was determined to see what else I could discover from New Zealand's latest. And thus, my review of Pure Heroine unfolds.

Pure Heroine is this come-and-get-me pursuit of happiness that's astoundingly mature in style. While my initial interest in Lorde was her poetic lyrics, my ultimate dedication to her music is actually more in terms of the way it sounds. I could have her album breathing into my ears for days and not get tired of it. Pure Heroine details being the little person in an unloved city, being on the outside of people's talk, and the intimacy of friendship among it all, and I can sense that in every passing measure of her music.

What I dislike about Pure Heroine is exactly what I like about it: the lyrics. For a phrase or two, I'm totally entranced, caught up in how well a teenager can pair words and rhythm in this savory, swaying sound I've come to love. Her word choice, tone, and imagery remind me of my own at times, so I've almost come to think of this album as a similar poetic soul. But without warning, Lorde drops her lyrical maturity for something, well...immature.

I noticed it first in "Ribs," when Lorde sings "My Mom and Dad let me stay home." I was willing to ignore it (still am) because I liked the frenzied repetition. I also hadn't listened to enough Lorde to notice the pattern quite yet. Let's look at a few songs from the rest of the album:

Team
There's something about Lorde's interest in teeth that I'm inexplicably obsessed with, and it pops up again here: "A hundred jewels on throats /A hundred jewels between teeth."

Yes. I'm hung on her words in this syrupy sort of happiness. I'm a poetry nerd that's relatively easy to please, and this song is exactly the kind of simple fix I need. "Team" is light and enticing, and I'm completely engaged. We come to the chorus:

"We live in cities you'll never see on screen
Not very pretty, but we sure know how to run things
Living in ruins of the palace within my dreams"

And I'm in the throes of the verse, loving every word, until suddenly: "We're on each others' teams."

What? Here the moonlit dance scene, the hometown in ruins, the whole scene of the song vanishes. It seems like a classic case of running out of applicable words that rhyme, but nonetheless. Those five words drop me out of the chill party haze this song conjures in my brain, and I have to remind myself to get back into it. It doesn't take much for me to regain my interest in the song, but this is just one example of something Lorde does throughout Pure Heroine.

If you're going to get colloquial, there has to be a good reason, I think. Take this song's repeated phrase: "I'm kind of over getting told to throw my hands up in the air / So there." Finally, an artist directly slaps a dunce cap on pop music. That's what I needed to hear. That's colloquialism I can get behind.

Tennis Court
This song has not ceased to frustrate me since my first time around on Pure Heroine. There's something about choosing high school stereotypes (the class clown, the beauty queen) that irks me; what happened to the lonely outcasts looking on to the rest of the party? Wasn't there any other way of describing those two personas without resorting to a common phrase?

As aforementioned, Lorde slaps pop culture around a little bit in "Team," which is greatly appreciated. So why does this song essentially ignore that rejection of the idiocy of pop culture? Throwing in a deep-throated "Yeahhh" here and there is entirely reminiscent of the same old Top 40 nonsense we hear on a daily basis, and that's exactly what happens here.

I don't mean to say that Lorde suddenly embraces the glam lifestyle that is the theme at large in pop music. I just mean that there's something shortsighted about relying on a repeating "Yeahhh" in a song that's about so much more.

Really, though, the most frustrating thing about this song is that despite it's shortcomings, I still can't stop listening.

400 Lux
Truth be told, I don't have much to complain about when it comes to "400 Lux." Its innocently sensual beat and evocation of a slow and winding drive is exactly why I had it on repeat for a solid two weeks. It's really just a small moment, my complaint.

In the second verse, Lorde gives us some specifics, and it's fine at first: "Now we're wearing long sleeves and the heating comes on." But then, sung in the background and almost hidden from the rest of the song: "You buy me orange juice." And the verse sort of collapses from there. What does your beverage of choice have to do with this ethereal, late night drive? Even the mention of teeth right afterwards doesn't do it for me.

I've seen this kind of thing with poetry: everything's lovely, you trip at the clumsy part, and the end result is still pleasing. But it could be just a little better with one or two more revisions.


I could go on about this album for hours (from the inherently mature nature in most of Lorde's verses to the excellently-crafted synthesized beats) so here's the bottom line. It's very clear that Lorde is just beginning her musical career. But when you look around the minor missteps that are scattered throughout Pure Heroine, Lorde's skill with wordplay is solid, as is her musical comprehension. Her talent goes without question, so I wholeheartedly believe she's only going to get better with age.

So, here we go!

Suburbanite by nature but adventurer at heart, I've set out to make the most of where I am. In the months that followed my 2013 graduation, I constantly worried that I wasn't doing enough to prevent a lackluster career path or a bland, common life. That's where this blog comes in.

When I say that I want to become an escape artist, I don't mean that I want to break free from my life. Instead, my escapes are reading books, visiting art exhibits, burying myself in new music, and determinedly searching for something new to explore. And now, to get the most out of my suburban setting, I plan to tell you all about it.

The reviews and commentaries I'll be posting here are not meant to be professional. I'm not a graduate student working to perfect my journalism skills (although that certainly sounds awesome). I'm not pretending to be an expert in any certain field. I'm simply an enthusiastic writer looking have some fun, expand the list of things I love, and be a little more present in my own experience.

And now, with a happy smile and finger crossed, my project begins.