Not Ready to Love

I was listening to "One Man Guy," as performed by Rufus Wainwright (the song was originally written and recorded by his father) this morning and, for some reason, found his voice to be particularly comforting and appropriate for my mood today. Because of this, I decided I'd just listen to every Rufus Wainwright song I have with me on my iPod. I've collected random stuff by him over the years from several of his albums, but the only album of his I've ever bought in its entirety is "Release the Stars," his latest one which was released early last summer. While in San Francisco last May, I wandered into the Virgin Megastore off Market Street and encountered a display advertising the newly released album. It was on sale and, for some reason, I felt compelled to purchase it. I had never bought any of his other albums... don't know why I suddenly needed this one. But ANYWAY... I didn't even open it until I left on the bus from Seattle about a week and a half later to make my journey back to Arkansas. I'm really glad I didn't listen to it before then because it complimented the scenery of Eastern Washington and Oregon so well. The snow-capped mountains, the green that stretched forever in all directions... Wainwright's voice and musings on love just seemed to work well as an accompaniment for taking all of it in. I listened to that album a LOT over the course of that two-day ride back to the South. However, I hadn't really paid much attention to it since then. Until today.

When my playlist reached "Release the Stars," I immediately woke up from my Monday morning stupor as I recognized the beginnings of the album. I listened intently, hearing things I remembered fondly, hearing things I didn't remember at all. What struck me most was the fact that I don't remember feeling SO moved by these songs. I don't remember ever actively acknowledging the beauty of these intstrumental arrangements. I don't remember his voice creating this feeling in my chest, causing my breath to catch on certain notes. I don't remember getting chills as I listened to his lyrics. Maybe I was just in a different place mentally when I first experienced this album. Or maybe I just hadn't yet learned to listen this way. Whatever the case may be, I have found a new and amazing friend in this album and I feel so bad for neglecting it for so long.

Last summer, I recall loving the songs "Going to a Town," in which Wainwright criticizes America and how it has let the world down in the last few years, and "Slideshow," in which he ponders his love for a particular individual, whether it's real or not, and what it means for him to feel this way. This time around, I still find those songs lovely; even more so now because of the way I'm listening to them. However, I somehow overlooked this outstanding song called "Not Ready to Love" when I first bought the album. How, I will never know... because it is gorgeous and heart-wrenching and pulls from me a response that few songs can. On my second listen through the album today, I set aside everything I was doing to completely take it in. All I could do was close my eyes and listen, processing the layers of sound -- acoustic guitar, steel guitar, an almost hidden bass line, and later, piano -- overlapping, intertwining, creating an inexplicable beauty with his smooth as silk voice topping it all off like icing on a cake while putting forth words so heartfelt it made me want to cry. I probably would have had I been anywhere else.

I've been in a mood the past week or so stemming from any number of areas in my life. When I stop and really think about it, though, what it comes down to is that I feel lonely. I want someone to want me. I want to turn around and see someone there. I want to wake up, roll over, and see someone I love lying next to me. But, at the same time, I realize I am in no place in my life to want or have this sort of thing. I don't want to involve myself with someone that I will only leave in a number of months as I make my way to Seattle. I already feel like shit, knowing that I'll be doing that to friends I've been lucky enough to find here, those that mean more to me than they'll ever know. To walk away from that kind of love is bad enough, but friendships are designed to withstand time and distance and it's in this that I trust. In short, I don't want to involve myself in something until I can do it right and give another person the same sort of love, affection, and attention that I know I deserve and would expect from them. If I can't put myself in a situation where I can at least attempt to do things correctly, then I don't see the point. This, however, does not change the fact that I'm lonely. That my chest hurts. That I have headaches daily. That I'm filled with a longing that won't go away. That I can't sleep a lot of nights. That I want something I can't have, no matter what I do.

And I guess that's why "Release the Stars," and "Not Ready to Love" in particular, is speaking to me today. I love that music can do that... allow you to connect to SOMETHING, not matter what it is you're feeling or experiencing. When nothing else seems to work, when no one seems to care, when you think you could never find the right words to express what you're feeling, along comes a perfect song, out of the blue, that has the ability to encompass all of the impossibilities of the moment. I'd be lost without that.




I'm not ready to love, I'm not ready for peace
I'm givin' up the dove to the beast
I'm not ready to surrender to another glove murderer

I'm not ready to love, I'm not ready to to fly
I'm givin' up belief in the sky
So you can take my sin in up above on high, say goodbye

I'm not ready to love, I'm not ready to love
I'm not ready to love until I'm ready to love you the way you should be loved
Until I'm ready to hold you the way you should be held
You should be held, but I'm not ready to

"Not Ready to Love," by Rufus Wainwright

"The Rhumb Line," by Ra Ra Riot

Seriously.... listen to this album.

_________________________________________________________________

Have I been too discreet
How long am I supposed to wait
I think about you nightly
Oh can you tell I'm losing sleep

What am I supposed to do
It's hard to stay cool
When you smile at me
And I get nervous every time you speak

My bed's too big for just me
When you turn your eyes
I promise I won't care
Standing by your sister fair

Oh baby baby please
My heart sinks to my feet
What am I supposed to do
I think about you nightly

My bed's too big for just me
When you turn your eyes
I promise I won't care
Standing by your sister fair

My bed's too big for me
When you turn your eyes
I promise I won't care
Standing by your sister fair

When I look into your eyes
I tend to lose my thoughts
Don't forget your stare
Oh what was that you said
Would you let me know
'Cause I can't read your mind
Oh can you tell
I can't even explain

Oh baby I can't even explain
What am I supposed to do
It's hard to stay cool
When you smile at me
And I get nervous every time you speak
Oh, standing by your sister fair

"Can You Tell," by Ra Ra Riot

"Cath..." in its Greatest Form

This is, in my opinion, absolutely, positively, without a doubt the best version of this song that I've heard. I have a recording of Ben Gibbard singing it alone during his solo tour last year, accompanied by nothing but the acoustic guitar he's playing. I've heard it played live while standing in the audience. I have the album (of course). I stumbled upon this performance of "Cath...," which is part of an interview Chris and Ben did while in England, while weeding through YouTube videos. This version is astounding because:
1.) The two guitars play perfectly off of one another. The give and take is so well-balanced. I know that has to do with the arrangement of the music, but I also think Ben and Chris just play so well together and that they've been doing it so well for so long that they make it look and sound easy now.
2.) The absolutely driving rhythm established by the two acoustic guitars is just outstanding. At times, I have to stop and REALLY listen, thinking "That can't possibly be just those guitars...." but it is. Watch Ben Gibbard's strumming hand. You can notice him knocking those beats dead on. Chris Walla contributes to it as well. Again, just watching the give and take between the two guitar parts is awesome.
3.) This is a really stripped version of "Cath..." You can hear with great clarity the beautiful melodic guitar lines that so frequently get hidden or down-played by other things in the album version. You can also watch Chris Walla's mad picking skills. It's SO FUN to observe these guys playing and interacting with one another. You can just FEEL the connection.
4.) As I stated in my previous post, I think Ben Gibbard's voice was made to accompany an acoustic guitar. His vocals stand out in this recording in a way that they really CAN'T in the album version.

I wish I could hire these guys to sit and play acoustic guitar and sing and talk to me all day long. I'd be in heaven.

Why I Cry...

A while back, I heard Ben Gibbard do a cover of "Why I Cry" on a video from the solo tour he did in 2007 (See below). I LOVE his version of the song, but I wish I could find a better quality recording of it. You should really check out this performance. I enjoy watching him play so much... and listening. I think Gibbard's voice was manufactured specifically to accompany an acoustic guitar. The two sound as if they were made for each other.



Yesterday, I found the original version done by the Magnetic Fields. Listening to it gave me that feeling of wanting to do nothing more than crawl into bed with the person you love and cling to them forever. Such sadness evoked by that song. Each note, guitar riff, and vocalization crushing my heart. But it's such a real feeling, one to be experienced, not pushed to the side or overlooked. It's not that surface sad that you know is expected of you so you force yourself to "feel" it, but that deep sort of sad that is undeniable as it penetrates all the way to the bone. I think it perfectly encompasses what it feels like to be left against your will by someone you thought would never be more than an arm's reach away. I recommend it if you want to experience something true and real for about three full minutes.

All the summer days
Where we used to play
Walking hand in hand
Castles in the sand

So you said goodnight
But you meant goodbye
Now our love has died
This is why I cry

From the madding crowd
Pointing up at clouds
Summer turned to fall
Pictures on the wall

So you said goodnight
But you meant goodbye
Now our love has died
This is why I cry

Listen...

I just ordered Chuck Klosterman's first novel, Downtown Owl, which got released almost two weeks earlier than what I had marked on my calendar. Exciting stuff. I've always been a big fan of his writing, mostly cultural commentary. I love his perspective and his take on people. I envy his way with words. Somehow, he manages to express those ideas and feelings lurking in the depths of my mind that I only acknowledge in the time I spend alone right before falling asleep. It only frustrates me when I try to explain such thoughts. I hate stating something I find to be truly beautiful, profound, worthy of conversation, or just plain neat only to be greeted by blank stares, awkward silence, or a passing one syllable word or grunt. I think my mind works in strange ways as it's a rare thing for me to find a person that I feel I truly connect with on multiple levels. More often than not, I can only make these connections with music or books; Benjamin Gibbard, Chuck Klosterman, Jack Kerouac... you get the picture. I'm not trying to say there's anything wrong with any person I know for not wanting to talk about what I find interesting. I just often feel that there's this huge part of me that never gets to see the light of day because no one has any use for it and forcing it on someone doesn't do anybody any good. It only leads to a deeper realization that no one is listening... and then I'm back at square one.

I'm currently listening to the latest Mates of State album and I have to say I'm really feeling this music. And when I say "feeling," I don't mean it as a metaphor for really getting into it. I mean I'm honestly, physically experiencing this music. I feel it in my muscles, in my bones, in the blood pumping through my veins. I can see it when I close my eyes. It affects me so strongly at times it feels as though it should be something tangible residing within me. How could the simple process of manipulating airwaves ever produce such power? ANYWAY... I've owned "Re-arrange Us" for about 3 weeks now, but I'm finally relaxing into the sound of these songs, the layout of the tracks over the course of the album, and all of the subtle musical details hidden between the cracks. Like the gorgeous cello line in "Get Better," not emphasized that much at all until the end of the song... down-played very much by the piano, drums, and vocal harmonies. But it's there the whole time... and once you hear it, you'll never not hear it again because it almost instantly becomes one of those great comforts you depend on during gray mornings and long drives and lonely nights when there's no one to hear your heart breaking. "Everything's going to get lighter, even if it never gets better," sings Kori Gardner in her beautiful, strong, "I will not take this laying down" voice. She is backed by her husband, Jason Hammel, providing roughly perfect harmonies to her melody as he pounds out the driving rhythm on his drums. That line... I don't know what it is... but every time I hear it, something inside me swells. As though I'm finally realizing, or perhaps just being reminded, that no matter how hopeless the world may seem, there is always something that will be able to provide some sort of solace, make things "lighter," even if it's only for a moment and even if the world is shit again immediately afterward. All I have to do is step back and look for it. Like that lovely cello disguising itself amidst that piano line, there is always beauty to be found, in people, in places, in situations, in so many things, if I just slow down and make a point of looking for it. In this case, it's a song that you've probably never heard played by two musicians you probably never knew existed. Long story short, check out this album. Even if you don't like it, you've only lost about 40 minutes of your life. And if you DO like it... well, welcome to the club.

I wish you could hear what I hear. And I wish I could tell you how to hear it. And I wish that I didn't feel like an idiot, grasping at straws, as I try to explain how I crave things like this- musical experiences, connections, realizations, peace, plus some element I can't even put a name to, all rolled into one-more than the oxygen my lungs require to breathe. I want someone to understand me fully... and still want me afterward.