Friday, December 05, 2008

She asked me with words,
But with words I could speak not
By beauty silenced.

Tuesday, December 02, 2008

I'll get back to reaming the Democrats for sport some time in the future, but for now, I'd like to talk about something else: music. When I was young, I remember three albums playing continuously: a Marty Robbins greatest hits collection, one for Ben E. King (the guy from The Platters, and the singer of "Stand By Me") and the greatest hits of The Eagles, 1971-1975. I'm pretty musically provincial; there are many artists and genres that are unknown to me. But you could do worse than these, by far.
I also think it readily explains my musical taste, which ranges from Alan Jackson to Blackstreet, from Bryan Adams to Babyface. I skipped over "rock" per se; better said, I skipped the white '60s, at least outside Nashville. Which is fine by me; I think music (and political ideas) from the rebellious teen years of (white) Boomers is ridiculously overrated. I don't particularly like Jimi Hendrix or Bob Dylan, because they couldn't (or can't) sing. Ditto for many others. It could be a political hostility that bleeds into the music. The only thing that angers me about Viet Nam is that "we" lost. I concede that Nixon is in the running for Worst President Ever; however, I pity him rather than hate him. I think the Carpenters rule. If the activist types lamented that we lost our taste for rage, that we retreated into the soothing of Richard and (and especially) Karen, well, too bad. Because in all the rage, they lost a feel for melody. More to the point, they lost joy. It's not to say you can't make authentic, good, sad/angry music; it's just that those feelings are best understood relative to joy and happiness. Good sad music yearns for joy; good angry music is indignant at the robbing of joy. The only music I utterly hate is either: 1) jarringly discordant, or 2) nihilistic, or both. I've written 10 posts like this; sorry.