Well, after a week in which I saw 15 films, I almost forgot we had tickets to go see Sigur Rós tonight. Even though we were pretty much exhausted, it was a great show. This is ambitious and challenging music, and it can be an emotionally draining experience. The best way I can describe it is that this music might help you believe in God.
Category: Music
Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick
Thanks to Neil, I’ve inherited a musical baton with which to beat you around the head and shoulders. Here we go:
Total volume of music files on my computer: 22.82 GB (5,419 songs) on my work computer, where I listen to the most music. (For the sake of completeness, 26.11 GB on my home system, which is 6,289 songs)
The last CD I bought was: Ooh, it’s been a while, but I think it might be Thank You Good Night Sold Out, by The Dears.
Song playing right now: I Smell Winter — The Housemartins.
Five songs I listen to a lot, or that mean a lot to me:
- Rapture — Pedro the Lion
- I Got A Right — Iggy & the Stooges
- Bury Me With It — Modest Mouse
- Aliens (Christmas 1988) — Rheostatics
- Man-Size — PJ Harvey
Five people to whom I’m passing the baton:
For the statistically-obsessed, my Audioscrobbler page.
South African Object Lesson?
Back in the fall, Brooke and I bought tickets for tonight’s concert by the Soweto Gospel Choir as a sort of birthday present to each other. Tonight we were pretty excited about going. Even though we didn’t have the greatest seats (row YY, second from the back), we settled in expectantly. Then we heard her. Behind us, in row ZZ. An obnoxious Afrikaner woman. Before the concert even started, she was crowing about how this was HER music and she wondered how North American audiences would respond.
As the concert began, I let the music wash over me and I welled up a few times. South Africa has a long-established place in my heart. Back in the 1980s, when Nelson Mandela was still imprisoned, ANC head Oliver Tambo visited Toronto and I went to see him. He wasn’t a young man and I was impressed with his unflagging passion for his country. In fact, I was, and continue to be, deeply impressed with all black South Africans. Their pride in their country and their seemingly endless optimism are infectious, and that’s why I was enjoying the music (and dancing) so much. I was particularly looking forward to the end of the program, when they were going to sing Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika, the South African national anthem. It’s a song that has made me cry ever since I first heard it in A World Apart, the little-seen film about the life of South African activist Ruth First. But something began to go horribly wrong about ten minutes into the show.
Miss ZZ began to sing. Any song where she knew even a snippet of the tune was fair game for her clumsy humming. If she didn’t know the song, she chatted loudly with her husband. Of course, by the time we got to Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika, she was in full voice. It was as if she thought we were at a sporting event. Needless to say, the moment was spoiled for me, and probably for a few of my neighbours.
I chose to look at the whole farce as an object lesson. Here’s a white South African, trying desperately to hang on to and participate in a culture that isn’t fully hers, even from the back row, with a lousy voice and in a way that’s entirely obnoxious. Kind of sad and funny at the same time. But also very very annoying. The fact that her one off-key Boer voice was very nearly drowning out more than twenty beautiful voices singing in Zulu, Xhosa, Sotha, Swahili and English was a chilling reminder of the situation from which South Africa is trying so hard to escape. It’s incredible that South Africa recently celebrated ten years of democracy. I find it almost inconceivable that instead of revenge and bloodbaths, the government set up the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, and that the country is trying so hard to forge its many cultures, even the often-brutal colonial ones, into a new South Africa.
Another interesting thing about tonight was that, so soon after my “milestone” 40th birthday, it brought a few different parts of my life together. In addition to South African independence being a particularly close cause to me, there was something else. Two of the major sponsors of the event were Tyndale College (formerly Ontario Bible College) and Wines of South Africa. I graduated from Ontario Bible College in the late 1980s, and in my current job, our company represents three South African wineries in the province of Ontario. I even ran into one of my old professors from OBC, the Zulu-speaking Dr. Ebenezer Sikikane, whom I haven’t seen in almost twenty years.
So in spite of all of that, or perhaps because of it, the concert was glorious. The choir are in the midst of their first-ever North American tour. If you get the chance to see them, take it!
Ska for the Skeptical
I’ve never been skeptical, but some of you might need a little nudge.
Here’s a great introduction to one of my favourite kinds of music, including MP3s. I got into the second-wave (ie. British) of ska music around 1980, listening to bands like The Specials, The (English) Beat, The Selecter and Madness. I generally despise the third-wave (ie. Orange County) ska bands like No Doubt and Reel Big Fish, but here’s a chance to check out the origin of the music as well as its evolution. When I describe it to people, I say it’s like reggae you can dance to.
(via boingboing)
Write About It!
The Real Live Preacher hits another one out of the park.
Which caused me to want to write about something that happens to me sometimes. Not very often, but often enough to keep me on the “glass half-full” team. More than many things, this is why I am a Christian. Well, it’s why I’m a theist. The Christian stuff comes from somewhere else, possibly. What am I talking about?
Well, it happened most recently last weekend. I’d spend Friday night “holiday” partying with the GTABloggers, talking and laughing and drinking into the wee hours with a group of people I’ve grown to love. But it didn’t happen there.
On Saturday morning, I reluctantly woke about five hours after I’d crashed into bed, to accompany Brooke downtown. She was running in the Santa Shuffle, a 5K race to support the Salvation Army. I was being a good husband, showing my support for my closest friend and life partner. But it didn’t happen there, either.
It happened after she’d raced away from the starting line. I had about half an hour to wait for her to finish, and I went back inside, into the warmth of a nearly empty food court, where I sat with my coffee and listened to my iPod.
Sometimes I think music is like prayer. It’s a language to express things that can’t possibly be expressed any other way. Words and music blend together to speak about something much much bigger than any of our individual lives. I’ve noticed a certain earnestness and emotional vulnerability coming back into the kinds of music I listen to lately. Irony and cynicism are being stripped away and it’s now ok to be hopeful again. I call this the music of crazy optimism. It’s one of humanity’s most enduring traits. Hope. Longing. And it always speaks to me. Basic truths I try not to forget: life is so so good. And we’re all connected somehow.
I was listening to Modest Mouse‘s Good News for People Who Love Bad News (actually, the title has a sort of double meaning, I guess) and something about these lyrics from “Float On” just made me a bit weepy.
I backed my car into a cop car the other day
well he just drove off, sometimes life’s ok
I ran my mouth off a bit too much, oh what did I say?
well you just laughed it off, it was all ok
and we’ll all float on ok, and we’ll all float on ok, and we’ll all float on ok, and we’ll all float on anyway.
I’m not really expressing it well, am I? Well, that’s why we have music, I guess. Go and listen to some that you love.