Music


Today mr. jolt and the boys dropped me off at work so I got to listen to the boys’ current favorite music.    They ask for these by track number on the cds; they know mr. jolt’s car music selection well.

BB: current fave song: The Boxer by Simon & Garfunkel

LB: current fave song: Given Up* by Linkin Park

Hmmm.

 

*We have the bleeped cd to avoid the f-bombs on the original.

Consider this post a respite from endless political punditry and the like:

I actually think its better if you minimize and just listen. 

For all the crimes committed in the so-called name of God, you have to admit God’s inspired a lot of sublime music, in every form you can think of.

mr. jolt and I were at a wedding in the big city over the weekend.  It was great to see a bunch of people we hadn’t seen in a few years.  The wedding was simple, the short version of a catholic wedding (because the groom wasn’t catholic) and featured this phenomenal cantor who sang some songs as well as some call and response bits.  The first time he sang, I couldn’t see where he was and I was looking around, thinking, holy cow, an angelic voice, am I converting? 

Seriously, the boy had pipes.  Several of us guests were speculating afterwards that the guy might be an understudy for the Lion King or something — there’s no way he can pay his rent as a cantor and he’s certainly got the voice for it.

One of my pet projects, that gets continually postponed (bad me) is taking voice lessons.  When I was in the city, there was a group that did cabaret lessons, with a mini -show at the end at a local cabaret venue, but I kept post-poning until I was on my second maternity leave & that spring they were all booked up and then we moved.  I keep thinking I’ll go back for their short course once I’ve accrued enough vacation.   Meantime, I got the name of a local voice teacher from another mom at the boys’ school that happened to mention she was taking lessons, but I haven’t called.

Anywho, my plan is to maybe start this summer since mr. jolt’s schedule this spring makes another commitment impossible (and the commitments I already have difficult).  Someone remind me of this come June, okay, so that I don’t let more time go by.

My only recent singing ‘gig’ was pre-recording a parodied theme song for a presentation the local law group I’m in performed last week.  We pre-recorded it because no one wanted the pressure of a live performance, and it worked out really well.  Seriously, people who are not related to me and know me only in a quasi-professional capacity thought the group sang beautifully. So I have not lost my blending voice.  If only I had the courage to do solos – but I’m assuming the voice lessons will get me there.

Make it stop.  I have that stupid song by Avril Lavigne – “Girlfriend” stuck in my head.  It’s catchy, but really irritating if you listen to the words.  The video isn’t much better.  It’s very irritating, and frankly, mean, for no apparent purpose other than to show that the cool semi-goth chick is hotter than the geeky red-head  and that the cool chick is a bit of bully and the boyfriend is an asshat stringing two girls along- or maybe it’s a joke?  Except not funny?   I know I’m not in the target demographic, but either I’m missing something or it’s just lame.

Update: Jill at feministe says it better

If you want to know why I’ve seen the video, as an occasional treat we let the boys watch a music video or two between bath & bedtime (make them dance out any last remnants of energy before crashing).  Obviously, the videos have to be those we judge unlikely to have anything too inappropriate (loosely defined) or unexplainable.  Combined, these ‘standards’ eliminate about 4/5 of those in the VH1 weekly countdown — bring back Regina Spector!  It also means that I don’t think they have seen any hiphop/rap (or whatever mainstream version of it that ends up on VH1 – do all those songs have to show someone dry-humping a person and/or the camera? I don’t mind some serious shaking, but really)  so they’re getting a pretty whitebread video exposure.  Anyway, the boys saw this video a few nights ago & insisted on it again last night, with helpful commentary from me, “Don’t you think they’re being really mean?  Why do you think they are so mean?” Etc., etc.

And before you criticize me for being bad mama in exposing my children to the worst of pop culture, having them watch that The Saints are Coming video by Green Day/U2 actually gave me a unique opportunity to talk about the failings of our government and what happened after Katrina (which aside from a jump-a-thon in school to raise funds, I don’t think they’d had much exposure to). BB’s response: “Next time, me and my superhero team will fly in and rescue everybody.” Oh kiddo, I wish it were that easy.  But still, a far more immediate and appropriate plan that what the gubmint did.

note: updated to correct typos & add link

So this lawyerly group to which I belong here in Middle Nowhere, not the local bar association, but similar, has this big bash every two or three years.  This is my first year in the group, but one of the group’s gala years.  They announced the upcoming gala about six months ago, began soliciting contributions, etc., etc.    Once I became aware that there would be a band, I started getting enthused.  Because, while I’m a pretty good lawyer, a decent mother, and competent enough at various other life tasks, one thing I know I’m damn good at is shaking my thang on the dance floor.

If the music is good and the dance floor has enough people for flow, but not so many I’m getting stepped on, I can go dance and be wholly within myself and outside myself at the same time.  If someone wants to dance with me, fine, but it’s totally not necessary.  I can get on a total body high that lasts for as long as the music does.  And look good while doing it (or so I’ve been told).

Sadly, once one has left school and the various dance related events there, and if clubbing is not an option (the clubs around here seem a leetle scary and little too young and meat-markety), all you’ve got is weddings.  And by your mid-30s, the weddings are fewer and no one seems to be throwing dance parties at their houses (keeps the kids up).  So, I was really looking forward to dancing last night.  I even had the best ever ‘dancing while dressy’ outfit ever.

See, I don’t like dancing in dresses – either I’m tripping over a hem, or if I’m shaking it down, all you see is this bell shape swaying that can’t quite keep up with the music.  So my outfit was black flowy pants, slit up to the lower thigh, with rhinestones running down the side.  Throw on a matching top with rhinestones at the waist and neck, and bam, I look good and I can move even better (if I do say so myself).

So there I was, at the party, having a good time,  there were people in the group that mr. jolt had taught that he could catch up with and the people I knew in the organization.  The band, which seemed pretty good at the start, played jazz for a few hours during cocktails and dinner.  Then they moved some tables out of the way, so the band could crank it up.

That is when mr. jolt realized that they had no bassist.  The keyboardist was filling in that sound, but couldn’t quite pull it off.  Combined with the fact that they did not play one damn thing past 1981, it made for an evening of ‘okay’, when I’d really been hoping for an evening of ‘get down’. 

Requests were futile-they either didn’t know it or claimed to have already played it-the liars.   And, hey, there is a ton of pre-1982 stuff that’s good, but most of it requires some bass to hold the funk ya know?  I mean, Superfreak and Play that Funky Music just are not the same without a good downbeat.

Ugh.  A classic case of way too high expectations on my part.  If I’d gone to the party expecting a dreary time, I probably would have had a blast.  As it was, I spent the last half of the evening moving without grooving.

I was planning to write a deeply insightful post, but I cannot concentrate because all day, all day, I have had Gwen Stefani’s “Sweet Escape” song running through my head.  Even now. (whimper).

Please.  Make it stop.