Saturday, November 4, 2017

Aftermath

My posts are almost comically untimely, but thanks to a pathetic asshole with a rented truck, I’m momentarily back in sync with the rest of the world.


9/11:

I remember. Usually it's things immediately surrounding the day, as opposed to the day itself, which will always be a f*cking nightmare, and just too much to bear.

I remember a lot of friends and family members covered in soot walking across bridges to get home. And later finding out about three acquaintances who didn’t make it. Me? I got off scot-free, and still feel residual survivor’s guilt. (Beat’s the hell out of not surviving, right Jaybee? Right.)

I remember places, too. Spots where you can stand and be pretty certain somebody died right there.

And things, like charred pieces of paper floating all the way to my house in Brooklyn.

And about what would happen next. It turned out even worse than I imagined.

And how long it took to feel joy about anything.  You have to mourn first. And then have some hope.

And yes, I remember music, too. What I was hearing at the time, but also what it made me feel under those circumstances. Sometimes not at all what the artist intended. But a handy container for my emotions nonetheless.

The memories feel frustratingly random, until I suddenly realize why I'm remembering it.

Like how, in late August of that year I was at J&R Music World - my favorite record store at the time - which was just a few blocks from the Trade Center. And how, while I was there, a dozen firemen came in to check on a reported smoke condition. Then it hits me how unlikely it was that any of those guys made it on 9/11.

I bought a lot of records that day, but don’t play them often. Like Luna’s Penthouse, an otherwise excellent record, but one whose lyrics and music - admittedly taken out of context - only serve to remind me of the day:

Like “Chinatown”:
In the tiny tiny hours
Between the evening and the day
We have placed our final bets
We have come out to play

Lookin' lost in chinatown
Why are we hidin' from our friends
Rushing 'round in taxi cabs
Is it time to make amends

You'll get yours and i'll get mine
You can't be lucky all the time

It’s about running around the city late at night and having fun. But to me it sounds like the end of the era of a carefree New York.

And “Sideshow by the Sea Shore”:
And all the comforting words
Provide no comfort
We can all go mad together
That's what friends are for

Maybe about not having a good time at Coney Island, but under the circumstances the words sting.

“Moon Palace” is meant to sound slow and lazy, like most of the rest of the album, but it ends up sounding shellshocked and weary.


Mourning and Hope:

Earlier that year, I started a new job, which began to suck almost immediately. I consoled myself with streamed music (at least until the network manager told me I was being naughty).

Those music streaming services never quite persuaded me to get anything by the bands they played, possibly because in my mind they all got jumbled up into the big messy ball that was  9/11 and an awful job.

But this past 9/11 got me thinking about that time again. And I finally felt comfortable enough to get something by a couple of those bands.



Low: Things We Lost in the Fire (2001)

An appropriate title, don’t you think?

And the opening lines to the first song “Sunflower” begin:
When they found your body...

Well, it certainly starts in the right place, doesn't it?

This one is all about texture and harmonics. The pace is funereal - it rarely picks up to even a trot.

The two lead vocalists sing low and minor key harmonies most of the time. Nothing very sweet here.  And on the rare occasion when they get a little melodramatic, it doesn’t work for me.

The moody, mournful tone is otherwise sustained throughout the record, yet I’m never bored. That's pretty impressive.

And it expresses - accidentally or not - what I’m feeling about that day, and 10/31/17, for that matter.

A-

“Closer”



The Innocence Mission: Glow (1995)

They sound like an American version of the Sundays, especially when they play fast, but that isn’t too often.

Karen Peris’ sandpaper voice is a little too cute for my taste and the “hit” “Gone to Yellow” has what had sounded to me as a contrived melody. I took it as being pretty on the outside but maybe a little hollow inside.

But their insistently melodic songs (which would have sounded vulgar in late 2001) won me over. The lyrics aren’t dumb. Just sweet.

Like in "Keeping Awake":
Hearing your voice in the blue light
Calming people in the house
Traveling upstairs -
Good to be there
Now, right now

Like someone who arrived home safely - something we can’t take for granted anymore.

I catch religious overtones in the words, which are not my cup of tea, but if it brings them hope who am I to complain?

And they sound it. Hopeful, I mean.

A-

“Keeping Awake”


Going for Joy:

And Hope, like I said, is what you need if you ever expect to get to joy again.

Is it wrong to want joy after all that horror? It does feel a little selfish sometimes. I guess as long as it isn’t heedless - of what happened or of what is happening now - it’s okay.

After all, we’ll need our strength. And I don’t where else to get that from except joy.

And it turns out that even Luna has a little hope, even if it’s just in the music itself:

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