I love words, don't you? As a writer, it's a kind of given - but not always. I'm talking about real obsessive love here. The bordering on OCD kind. As I see now, the logophile kind.
I love the look of words. I love the sound of them. I love the feel of words on the tongue, how some dance, while others fizz and dissolve, some click and clack, and some skip, hop and spill into a smile. And I love how all these aspects relate to the meaning of the words.
I love spelling words. (When I was younger, I used to continuously split words into two halves and spell them out with my toes. Weird, I know. But I never got less than full marks on any spelling test! ) I love guessing words. I love learning about the etymology of words too. I love comparing words in a different language (I especially love every single foxtrotting French word!) And I just love, LOVE finding the perfect word for the perfect sentiment - the instance that pushes the universe into perspective.
That's why I want to tell you about this blog: Otherwordly. It showcases all kinds of weird and wonderful words, from all different languages, (including Old Saxon English). Words that define vague states in black and white. Words that tether whimsical abstractions into the real world. Words that delight in nature's spectacles. Words that will make you stop and marvel at the power of language.
Anyway, here are some of my favourites, words that I feel are a necessity, not just a luxury, words that should exist in every language, in some form. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do:
Now, don't you feel as if you've seen the world anew? If words translate the world to us, then surely new words must shine a new light on our interpretation of it? We are forever discovering and re-discovering the world, why not language too? These words show just a glimpse of what language is capable of and its inherent alchemy.
If you like these selections, do check out the Otherwordly blog. It's also available on Facebook & Twitter. The words are also on the Writers Write Facebook page. (View them here)
Question: Have you ever met your favourite author? In real life, face-to-face, palm-to-palm? Have you ever met with any authors? I'd love to hear how you found it. Because frankly, I find it a bit weird.
I've never hankered after meet'n'greets with authors. Not like, say in the way I'd want to meet a favourite musician or celebrity. Writers just aren't the same. Musicians are used with meeting and greeting their fans, as for any kind of celebrity, it comes with the job description. But with writers... I don't know. Although they're not all reclusive, they're not the chattiest bunch of people either. Meeting with them can sometimes be...awkward.
I've met a few writers, one or two at book signings and talks, and others as part of workshops. Not huge famous names, but masters of their trade nonetheless. The most famous of them I suppose would be Irish/American fiction writer Colum McCann (above). He was doing 'an interview' with a journalist in my local setting. There was about 20 people at it, and come the end, we had the opportunity to meet Colum and have our books signed. Despite being an extremely interesting talker, well-articulated and intellectual, serious but capable of cracking a joke or two as well, the talkative and genteel interviewee seemed a bit tongue-tied when up close and personal with his fans, amicable yes, but a little... awkward. I wouldn't imagine it to be any other way I suppose - a writer's work is an intensely solitary occupation after all. And me, I have to admit I was a little star-struck, not in the sense of meeting a celebrity but meeting the mere man who put all those great words together, who created another world so grandly and easily. All you really want to ask is : 'How the heck did you do it?!' I was a bit surprised to have him turn all my questions back on me again then - 'Who are your influences? How would you describe your style?' when he surmised that I was a wannabe writer. Well, it was nice to be taken seriouslyby aserious writer. But unexpected, to say the least!
A while back I met Rita Ann Higgins, a poet from Galway, at a small poetry reading and had my book signed by her. But with no chit-chat. She signed the book and smiled and that was that, and again, seemed a little awkward, like a fish up a tree. Although, while she was reading, she was perfectly at ease. Strange isn't it?
I went to a poetry reading a few months ago of Carol Ann Duffy, the Poet Laureate of the UK, and one of my favourite poets. I felt like I should have taken a book or two for her to sign, (seemed a sacrilege not to) but then decided against it. I realised I didn't want to meet her, I just wanted to hear her read her work. That would suffice entirely. Anything else would be like going behind the curtain to see Oz, which only dismantles his (her) great and powerful aura of course.
As Margaret Atwood says,'Wanting to meet an author because you like his/her work is like wanting to meet a duck because you like pâté.' She has a point! There's no correlation really. The writer is the person behind the product of their books, the medium; it's the book, the completed work we adore, not so much the behind-the-scenes writer. It's different with the other arts - musicians for example are more involved with the music - they are the faces of it, the personification. Joyce Carol Oates echoes this sentiment, stating that 'the individual is irrelevant to art.' It's the art, ultimately, that matters.
The workshops
were better. The writers are nearer their natural element there. And when you're doing a workshop with them, you're attuned only to
their writing skills - not personality, or ability to converse - gleaming wisdom from their every
word. There is no need for awkwardness on their parts. And if you can
get over the intimidation of revealing your work to them, you might be
pleasantly surprised. But once again, when it came to the end and you
approached them to sign a book for you, the bashfulness returned. One poet facilitator was all talk in the group, and quiet as a clam then in front of one person. And instead of flogging their books, they would go super shy and modest when it came to mention of them. Of course, every writer is different, but this has been my experience with the ones I've met.
I don't know about you, but I never know what to say to writers, except of course to gush my praises about their work, which only makes their demeanor more demure, suggesting that they aren't solely responsible for it. Of course, I know what they mean, know what they partly owe their success to: the writing genie. The force. The inspiration. That power we tap into on occasion. The alchemy that happens in pen and paper. The real star of the show.
Although it's great to say you've met your favourite writers in real-life, and can show-off your signed book whenever the occasion arises, I'd rather just meet them on the page, in their natural habitat, where they excel. Or read what they have to say about writing, instead of prod it out of them in person. On the page, there is a private dialogue between writer and reader that just can't be equaled in person.
How about you? Do you feel the same? Any writer meetings ah, worth writing home about?
Night-time is the best time for creativity. Especially those fuzzy moments just before sleep, when the receptors of the brain are relaxed and ideas seem to flow quickly and easily.
Did you know that 4am is supposed to be the optimal time for creative thinking? It's when the mind is at its most open and uninhibited. If you've been privy to such wee hours inspiration then you'll know exactly how it is. Like striking gold after digging in a muddy river for weeks, or suddenly turning to Technicolor when all you've had is black and white, from 2D flat words to 3D dynamics. There's a current in those wee hours that is available for us to tap into - a problem-solving, eye-opening, idea-generating volt. Tune into it, either accidentally or deliberately, and the mechanical side of creating vanishes. It's all energy and flow, exclamations and Eurekas!
It's all great when you're riding this flow of ideas, but then there are the times I've been hit by a few zinger lines and too tired to reach for the pen and paper, muttering sleepily, 'it's okay, I'll remember this in the morning...' But of course, I never do. They're fleeting, these night-time lines, and need to be caught immediately on paper or they float off to die a death in some ghost-yard of the mind, never to surface again.
That's why one of these contraptions would come in extremely handy. You never know, they might even invent an App for it yet...
Oh January is such a maligned month isn't it? Well, I've got a few things to share with you that may persuade you otherwise, on this 'Blue Monday' too, apparently the most depressing day of the year.
First of all, there's the January Mindful Writing Challenge (Mindful Writing) I've been taking part in. The concept is simple: notice one thing every day and write it down. ~Notice one thing every day and write it down.~ As Mary Oliver urges: 'Instructions for living a life: Pay Attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.' From sunsets to skies to food to clothes to coloured paraphernalia, I've been going around this month with my eyes wide open. The exercise encourages awareness, and with awareness comes gratefulness and a willingness to find significance everywhere.
Here are some of my observations, or small stones as they're called on the website. They're neither poetry or prose, just a small written note of significance:
Silver streamers flung on the clock from last night's celebrations make time sparkle today -(New Year's Day)
A constellation of pink stars sparkle around me - a sequined cardigan hanging in wait -(5 January)
The new moon always a surprise a wink of silver from a sympathethic eye -(6 January)
Tangerine sunset like a shot of Vitamin C for the soul (zing!) -(8 January)
Shining in the window the wolf moon bright as a floodlight white as a tooth howls for attention -(13 January)
Seagulls stretch their wings
delighting in the blue,
while we warm our winter faces in surprise sun, subtext singing
of Spring - (today)
I plan to finish out the month with these, and
hopefully continue on throughout the upcoming months. It's such a
great idea. Days you feel pass you by with nothing
seemingly happening, you sit down to write your small stone and realise
that something did happen, no matter how small, it had significance for
the fact that you noticed it, and partook in the act of writing it down.
You can read a kaleidoscope more here: www.writingourwayhome.com or try searching on Facebook or Twitter for the hashtag #smallstones. You don't have to write them to enjoy reading them. But reading them will only inspire you to write them!
Another great tool to banish the January blues is this book: The Awe-manac by Jill Badonsky. Yes that's not a dud spelling on my part, it does say 'awemanac' rather than almanac - promising as it does a daily dose of wonder. Every day is noted with a special array of inspiring content such as:
- the Daily Soul Vitamin (inspiring quotes, which I heartily enjoy)
- Toast of the Day (appreciations of ordinary things, for example: 'here's to pens that make your handwriting look better than it
actually is')
-Aha-phrodisiacs (writing prompts - my
favourite from this month - 'write what accordion music would look like')
-Dose of Mirth (funny witty offerings of advice)
It's quirky, fun,
surprising and as it says on the tin, inspiring. I highly recommend it! Today's 'soul vitamin' is: "In order to achieve the impossible, you have to attempt the absurd" - Miguel de Cervantes Savedra. It's also National Hat Day. (The book follows the American calendar, so lots of interesting national days...) Like did you know that January is national gourmet coffee month? And it encompasses lots of cool interesting days like National Cat Day, National Make Your Dreams Come True Day, Festival of Sleep Day, National Bath Day and National Nothing Day! Did you ever consider January to be a bastion of such fun days??! I can't wait to see what trivia and whimsy the upcoming months will bring!
Another January joy I've stumbled upon is Vintage's decision to start a year long #shelfhelp book endeavor. Their idea being that 'shelf help' - reading good books - is better for you than reading (sometimes drippy) self-help books. It's book therapy at its general best! They have chosen a feelgood book for each month and an online bookclub space in which to share and discuss views. First up for January is 'The Examined Life' by Stephen Grosz. You can see the rest of the book selection here: http://www.vintage-books.co.uk/books/shelfhelp/
And if you don't agree with their chosen books, why not choose your own? For there is nothing better than a good book to make you feel better, pick up your mood, and put a swing in your step!
So there. I hope I've added a little joy and jest to your January!
'All writing is communication;
creative writing is communication through revelation - it is the Self escaping
into the open.' ~ E.B. White
In spoken communication, there is a lot of static. A lot of half-meant words, a lot of chewed-up sentiments, a lot of noise. When we communicate by talking, we can put on any emotion, any front, any self, change our colours like a chameleon to match our conversation partners. It is easy to disguise ourselves in the spoken word. But writing is different.
Writing is a way of telling the truth. Truth that is bent in telling is not so easy malleable in writing. And that goes for truth of self. When we write, we can't be anyone but ourselves. We
fictionalise, invent characters sure, but at the core, it is us, -'communication by revelation' EB White calls it. The
written word is the key that opens the cages our true selves may be
confined to. We are free to be ourselves on the page.
And on the page, the Self, like any free spirit, likes nothing better than to soar.
'New Year's Day is every man's birthday.' ~ Charles Lamb
Well, it's here, 2014. And I have a feeling it will be a good one, don't you? Sparkly and spontaneous and star-studded and brimming with hopeful possibilities!
I've been spending the day reveling in the shiny newness this time of year engenders. The feeling of having a blank slate, a new beginning to get going with. I love reading through all the various well-wishes and reflections online from writers and the like. And so here, I would like to share some of their wise words with you to mark this New Year.
First up, I stumbled across this lovely wish from writer Neil Gaiman doing the rounds on Twitter today:
Sentiments I agree with entirely! And if you go onto his blog (Neil Gaiman's Journal) you'll find more:
'I hope you will have
a wonderful year, that you'll dream dangerously and outrageously,
that you'll make something that didn't exist before you made it, that
you will be loved and that you will be liked, and that you will have
people to love and to like in return. And, most importantly (because
I think there should be more kindness and more wisdom in the world
right now), that you will, when you need to be, be wise, and that you
will always be kind.'
'And for this year, my
wish for each of us is small and very simple: And it's this. I hope that in this year
to come, you make mistakes. Because if you are making
mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things,
learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your
world. You're doing things you've never done before, and more
importantly, you're Doing Something. So that's my wish for you,
and all of us, and my wish for myself. Make New Mistakes. Make
glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody's ever made before. Don't freeze, don't stop, don't worry
that it isn't good enough, or it isn't perfect, whatever it is: art,
or love, or work or family or life.
Whatever it is you're
scared of doing, Do it. Make your mistakes, next
year and forever.'
A refreshing point of view to say the least. And then I came across this piece on singer-songwriter Woody Guthrie's New Year resolutions, an endearing mix of the banal and the sublime:
Woody Guthrie's New Year Resolutions Brain Pickings 1. Work more and better
2. Work by a schedule
3. Wash teeth if any
4. Shave
5. Take bath
6. Eat good — fruit — vegetables — milk
7. Drink very scant if any
8. Write a song a day
9. Wear clean clothes — look good
10. Shine shoes
11. Change socks
12. Change bed cloths often
13. Read lots good books
14. Listen to radio a lot
15. Learn people better
16. Keep rancho clean
17. Dont get lonesome
18. Stay glad
19. Keep hoping machine running
20. Dream good
21. Bank all extra money
22. Save dough
23. Have company but dont waste time
24. Send Mary and kids money
25. Play and sing good
26. Dance better
27. Help win war — beat fascism
28. Love mama
29. Love papa
30. Love Pete
31. Love everybody
32. Make up your mind
33. Wake up and fight
Tick, tick, tick! Here's the real deal alright - 'Keep hoping machine running', 'Stay glad, 'Dream Good', 'Learn People Better' - what could be better objectives to set? Take that all you diet preachers and practitioners bah!
I can't help but mention a catchy refrain that could be used as a pretty cool resolution too from my favourite band The National. From their song, 'Blank Slate': 'Gonna be a blank slate/gonna wear a white cape.' Not bad advice eh?! (And while we're on the subject of music, here are two songs I think capture the spirit of the New Year in sound: 'Chicago' ~ Sufjan Stevens and 'Better Days' ~ The Goo Goo Dolls)
Can't go without including TS Eliot's famous words on the New Year from his 'Quartet' piece, saying how the New Year comes with a sort of blank slate. Everything will be different from here on in. We all have a right to a new start.
'For last year's words belong to last year's language And next year's words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning.'
Indeed. New beginnings. Blank slates. The gateway to the future opening before us, the past a grey blur, the future gold and beckoning, ripe, prosperous, possible. Goodbye to the old, hello to the new or 'Ring out the false/ring in the true' asTennyson put it.
Whatever that may be to you, I wish you well with it. And may all your 2014 dreams flare into being. For as WS Mervin notes in the poem below, they are all still completely 'possible'. Everything is.
The National, live at The O2 Dublin, Nov 10th 2013
A little musical musing with a literary angle...
I'm always hesitant to write about music because I know there is a terminology to do so and I don't know it, but in this instance, I'm just going to have to try.
Because I had the great fortune of seeing my absolutely favourite band The National play live last week. And I feel I need to put my admiration for them into words, you know, to crystallize it. Why? Because I love them so! (And because I'd love nothing more than to persuade you dear readers to love them too - well, like at least - or if I could just pique your curiosity about them).
I say fortune, because, last time, I wasn't so fortunate. Or them either for that matter. December of 2010 when Ireland was under a snow-storm, they barely made the gig (they arrived 30 minutes late after having to drive from an alternative airport and thus missing sound-check, but went ahead anyway and played a stomper gig) while I was snowed-in, no public transport running and no resolve (or adequate footwear) to hike 4+ miles into the city centre through shin-deep snowdrifts to see them. Regret it I did, for a long while after.
This time no snow, but it did rain, torrentially. But that was alright, quite fitting actually. Because there's a lot if rain in The National's music. Water, in all its forms actually. It's just one example of the imagery they employ. In 'England'* from the album High Violet, it's raining in London and water seems to be an obstacle - 'put an ocean and a river between everybody, yourself and home; in '90 Mile Water Wall', the singer is wishing for a tsunami-like force to put distance between himself and his lover, 'I'm waiting for a 90 mile water wall to take me out of your view'; there's a dangerous ocean in 'Sea of Love', the song their recent album's title is taken from; much like the ocean that's mentioned in 'Terrible Love' - 'it takes an ocean not to break';in 'Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks' 'the water is rising'; in 'Little Faith', there's a gloomy lament that 'we're stuck in New York and the rain's coming down'; and in 'Sorrow' there'sa mournful plea: 'Don't leave my hyper heart alone on the water.' Their debut album cover also features a man in water.
Imagery, yes. You see The National are a very literate band. They've even been labelled an 'intellectual' band, such is the complexity of their lyrics and song meanings. A band, as the reviewer of the O2 gig (*below) puts it: that appeal to 'head, heart and guts.' But before I go into that, let me tell you a little bit about them.
The National are composed of two sets of brothers and 'a big blonde guy'
as one magazine put it. Aaron Dessner and Bryce Dessner are the
guitarist siblings that started it all going in Cincinnati, Ohio, but
now the band is based in Brooklyn. Bryan Devendorf is the drummer (hailed as one of the best in the business - just listen to 'Squalor Victoria')
and Scott Devendorf, his brother, is bass guitarist. Matt Berninger, the 'big blonde guy', is the lead singer and songwriter.
They've
been in the music arena for 14 years now, staying on the tender hooks of
alternative cult followings until they hit the bigtime only recently, with the release of their fifth studio album, the highly acclaimed High Violet in 2010. They were tagged as
'alt-country' when they first came out and their early albums do
include a country twang, but now they are filed under 'indie
alternative', even rock. They're old in terms of band ages
these days (all over 40 now) but all the wiser sound
for it. Their latest album, Trouble Will Find Me, released in the summer of this year,
has catapulted the band into arena status worldwide. And, a coveted claim for any band - The National are revered by critics and fans alike. A band that come with many superlatives attached.
Their music has been described by many tags, including: Brooding. Sombre. Intense. Gloomy. Dour. Dark. Miserablist. Melancholic. Morose. Epic. Sublime.
The National's unique sound comes from wide orchestration. They employ a vast string and brass section to their songs, including: violin, viola, harp, cello; trombone, clarinet, coronet, saxophone, bassoon, trumpet, French horn - that adds a signature gusto to the
climatic denouement of most of their songs. There's
no denying their sound isn't saturated with a wearied bleakness which has earned them the accolade of 'miserablists'. But I prefer
magnificently morose myself. For it takes a great band to articulate
sincere sadness. And The National map the emotional spectrum well. All the way from darkest ebony right through all the shades of black and grey -
disillusion, ennui, disappointment, disaffection - finally to the
luminous and uplifting white of epiphanies. But their main muse is sorrow. In their song 'Sorrow' from High Violet, they declare morbidly: 'I live in a city sorrow built/It's in my honey, it's in my milk.'They
are nothing if not dedicated to melancholy. Earlier this year, they
participated in a live art installation in MOMA in New York, singing 'Sorrow' on repeat for six hours. Six hours! Can you imagine?!
The National's recognizable sound is very much due to Berninger's low vocals. His voice is a broody baritone, with a low enough register to plumb
the depths of despair, the perfect medium for all
those malevolent heavy 'D' words their songs are themed on. His voice has been described as 'purposeful and harrowing'
and he has been likened to Nick Cave at times. It was, without doubt, the first thing that drew me to the band.
It was a voice you couldn't forget in a hurry, a voice that stuck with you, a voice
most able to convey the dark nights of the soul. A voice so weighted
with emotion, it was hard not to be affected by it.
As for the lyrics. Well. They are smart, to say the least.
Obscure references, allusions and wordplay, give them an altogether poetic slant. Puns on language like: 'It's quiet company/It's quite a company' as a deliberately confusing one-liner in 'Terrible Love' demand attention from the listener. Metaphors are common too in their songs - there's an implication of zombies in 'Conversation 16':'I was afraid I'd eat your brains' and songs with titles like 'I Should Live in Salt', 'Lemonworld', 'The Sin-Eaters' and 'Mr November' are laden with allegorical intent. Recurring motifs like spiders and birds and characters called Jenny, Karen and Joe add a continuous narrative thread to their oeuvre. They're prone to oxymorons too. In 'Demons', the first line beguilingly states: 'I get the sudden sinking feeling of a man about to fly'. And in 'You Were a Kindness', they proclaim: 'there's a radiant darkness upon us.' There is.
Another
feature of their lyrics is lots of catchy choruses that lodge in your
mind with all the zing of a memorable hook, but pesky annoyance of an
incomplete crossword puzzle: 'Now
we'll leave the silver city cause all the silver girls/Gave us black
dreams/Leave the silver city 'cause all the silver girls/Everything
means everything.' Not to mention the many arresting lines that pop out at you, what fans have termed the 'cryptic couplets'. 'Bloodbuzz Ohio's' refrain of: 'I was carried to Ohio/ in a swarm of bees' is one of these that buzz unrelentingly in your head after hearing it. From the new album, 'Don't Swallow the Cap' declares in a deadpan tone: 'I have only two emotions/careful fear and dead devotion', which one reviewer commented was the best lyric of the whole album, if not one of the best he's ever heard! 'Graceless', also from the new album, propels this head-scratching line at us: 'There's a science to walking through windows', whilethe album ends with 'Hard to Find' and the line: 'they can all just kiss off into the air.' Phew.
Founding member and lead guitarist Aaron Dessner even remarks - 'Our songs are like these riddles that you need to unlock'. Riddles
most definitely! (Google their song meanings and you'll see much
dissension among fans who write in with their different
interpretations). And very like poems in this regard, which are mutable and open to interpretation. They'd make great material for a critical analysis thesis!
Their song titles also, in themselves, make for intrigue - 'The Theory of Crows', (birds, as well as water, feature a lot in their songs), 'Looking for Astronauts', 'Patterns of Fairytales' ('and
I turned it into fairytales/with glitter and some glue'), 'Sugar Wife',
'Slipping Husband', 'Anna Freud', 'Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks', 'Don't
Swallow the Cap,' 'Pink Rabbits' are just some of the titles that stand out. Their sophomore album boasts a title you'd think twice about asking for in a shop - Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers - ahem. I'm
always partial to a band with good song titles. It promises a story
therein and an invitation to personal interpretation. A very writerly aspect again.
More than you get in your average pop and rock song anyway.
It's not just the lyrics that make them a literary kind of band. One of their songs, 'City Middle' from the album Alligator references literature straight-out - Tennessee Williams specifically ('I think I'm like Tennessee Williams, I wait for the click...'), and since that I've haven't been able to stop equating the band to American southern fiction. They especially remind me of the bleakness and greatness (and the sound and the fury) of Faulkner, Steinback and O'Connor; quirky, dark, wry and contrary, but all the time, deeply contemplative and resonant. They've been compared to the likes of poet/songwriter Leonard Cohen and even to the dark humour and world-wearied feistiness of Charles Bukowski (see article below).
Not to end the literary comparisons there, the lead singer, Matt Berninger, could easily be mistaken for a college professor, what with his onstage get-up of suit, tie, waistcoat and nerdy glasses, complete with intense disposition. He has even been compared to a 'writer-in-residence' by one reviewer. He is married to a former literary editor of the prestigious arts & culture magazine The New Yorker andsounds exactly just like a tortured writer when he says,' 'I used to be the type of writer who would describe writing every word as bleeding drop by drop from the forehead', echoing Hemingway's famous catchphrase. On stage, he appears as a raconteur, an earnest poet almost, intense in his delivery of emotionally saturated songs, clutching at the microphone as in fervent prayer. And his writing technique? A notebook of course, in which he scribbles 'scraps' of lines that come to him sporadically (oh, that he can never find he says, much like myself...)It's this intelligent, contemplative and charismatic frontman that lend the band their sombre and brooding presence.
Their most iconic song, 'Fake Empire' from the album Boxer encapsulates their themes entirely I think, detailing as it does the state of delusion we often stray into it 'with bluebirds on our shoulders,' but dismay in our hearts, not oblivious to the darkness around us, but rather, sillily thinking it can be something it is not. The first time I heard The National, it was this song (and it has been my favourite ever since.) It was on a favourite TV show at the time - One Tree Hill - in a scene which smacked of disillusion for the main female lead. The song just morphed from the background to the
foreground so perfectly did it fit the disillusion, dejection
and disappointment of the scene (without getting into it too much - a realisation of the soulless nature of LA). It was - undeniably real. Rubbed raw
real. I'd never heard anything like it. It seemed like every key of it was a tear track. Cold hard truth, that's what it was. An epiphany of existential woe. A punch in the gut. And the vocal - well it was just maybe the most morose delivery of a lyric I've ever heard, with the slow pacing and defeated phrasing complimenting the subject-matter exactly.
'We're half awake in a fake empire...'
And so off I went in eager search of more songs, balm to soothe a troubled soul, something to fill the crevices in the black and white version of life on offer all around. The National soundtrack all the grey areas of life that other musicians glaze over. Theirs are songs of failure, songs of disenchantment, songs of dreams gone long in the tooth, songs of sorrow that sink into your spirit like a drizzle of rain and lay there long enough to sprout a seed of defiance, songs that can open doors to the light amidst all this, to realisations, epiphanies, good and bad. Their sound is one that makes sense of a grey landscape, a grey narrative filled with downs as well as ups, and can most appease a heart eager to know that there is something more to it all.
'Mr November' is another similar offering to 'Fake Empire'. From the earlier album Alligator, when the band first started to come into their own, it's a song of aging angst, chronicling the regret of a failed high-school popular guy later in life, the Mr November of the title. The repeating frantic riff is a gut-deep plea for some kind of redemption and escape from the gnawing nostalgia that plagues him: 'I wish that I believed in Fate/I wish I didn't sleep so late/ I used to be carried in the arms of cheerleaders...' And November, being the bleakest and darkest of the months, is a most appropriate metaphor/personification. If you've ever felt the slightest twinge of regret in your life, this song is wrecking, to say the least:
'I'm the new blue-blood, I'm the great white hope'
But just as 'Fake Empire' can tear you down, the next track from that album Boxer (the band's fourth) 'Mistaken for Strangers' oils up your fighting spirit again with its feisty kick-ass drumbeat. As does 'Squalor Victoria', a defiant riposte, an almost-anthem for the doomed youth of today in material squander. On Alligator (the band's third album), lest you get too low, the mood rises with high-jinxed high-speed shouty anthems like 'Abel', 'Lit-Up' and the dark-humoured 'Karen'. Not to mention the tongue-in-cheek sardonic, wry and ironic 'All the Wine' which you can't help but chuckle at, especially Berninger's cool deadpan delivery: 'I'm put together beautifully/ Big wet bottle in my fist/big wet rose in my teeth/ I'm a perfect piece of ass/ like every Californian/ so tall I take over the street/ with highbeams shining on my back/ a wingspan unbelievable/ I'm a festival, I'm a parade/and all the wine is all for me...'
Other songs like 'Afraid of Everyone' from High Violet,
are almost dystopian in their bleak visions: distrust of the
government, distrust of everyone in relation to the dangers inherent in
modern society. The band's most 'political' song to date they say. From the same album, 'Bloodbuzz Ohio' changes the tempo again - a great grizzly guitar-powered track of what seems to be a mix of nostalgia and regret, rejection and redirection. Of course it refers to Ohio of the band's hometown, but is it saying that 'you can't go home again' or that they miss home? Is it recognition of a loss or remonstrance of that loss? A lamenting or a lambasting? 'I never thought about love when I thought about home,' Berninger drawls. Here's a live version of the song which captures its spirit, and the band in all their amped-up glory:
'I still owe money to the money, to the money I owe...'
They can do touching tender love songs too, without sentimentality. 'About Today' is a heart-beat-mimicking quiet song that develops
its way to a mournful conclusion of loss, helped along by a fragile violin keening and an half-whispered vocal. 'Daughters of the Soho Riots' is lullaby-like in its tone and soft drumbeat and plays with language subtly: 'Break my
arms around the one I love/ and be forgiven by the time my lover comes/
break my arms around my love'. '90 Mile Water Wall' is as endearing as it is clever. 'Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks' grapples with the hard truths of life and love: 'All the very best of us/string ourselves up for love' in haunting acoustic tones. And 'Son' always stands out to me as an one-of-a-kind in their songs, the soft beat a lulling reflection of fulfillment. But it's 'Slow Show' from Boxer, a firm fan favourite, which captures that exact warming feeling of when you realise who it is you want to be with; the startling acknowledgement of true love, with the surprising adage: 'You know I dreamed about you/ 29 years before I saw you':
'I want to hurry home to you...'
Theirs is also the music of soaring epiphanies, lots of goosebumps included. 'Terrible Love', perhaps their best-known single to date (due to extensive radio-play and it being in a certain phone provider's ad) is raucous and loud in its cathartic realisation and release of the need to put an end to a bad relationship. Like many of the songs on High Violet, it has a big build-up crescendo and an ending almost shattering in its urgent loudness and power. Yes, it's got gusto this song - and isn't afraid to flaunt it! The whole album infact, marks a new departure for the band intoa more developed sound than the earlier ones. Indeed High Violet is often deemed 'epic' by reviewers. The wordplay and metaphorical reference is evident once again in 'Terrible Love': 'And I won't follow you down the rabbit hole/I said I would but then I saw/Your shiver bones/They didn't want me to':
'It takes an ocean not to break...'
'England', perhaps their most uptempo, uplifting song, is triumphant in its acknowledgement of longing and loss: 'You must be somewhere in London/you must be loving your life in the rain'. But it's the accompanying rising melodic tones that indicate an emotional renewal of some kind, a crushing but enlivening feeling at the same time, like tears filling up a vale, so high that you become buoyant. It's a beautiful song, epiphanic and elated. The kind of song that your skin prickles to; a song where you can easily imagine all kinds of impossibilities becoming possible; a song of happenings. (The instrumental version was used in the soundtrack to last year's film 'The Vow', a true story ofa couple trying to find their way when the wife is left incapable of remembering her marriage after a brain injury. 'England' plays first at the wedding and returns, now and then throughout the film, at the 'epiphany' moments as a sort of theme tune to the miraculous remembrance of love.) And maybe that's what the song is too - remembering, tinged with nostalgia. It's most certainly memorable:
'Someone send a runner for the weather that I'm under/ for the feeling that I lost today'
Emotional dirges feature a lot on The National's albums. An earlier one that I find particulary striking is 'City Middle', a song that can crush you with its concentration of feeling filtered through the rising swell of music and voices towards the climatic end. The simply stated lyrics are in stark contrast to the rising tone and emotean existential crisis of the greatest magnitude: 'Parking your car, you said, I'm overwhelmed/ You were thinking out loud, you said, I'm overwhelmed...I think I'm like Tennessee Williams I wait for the click, I wait, but it doesn't kick in.' The music is an overwhelming. This was the song, after 'Fake Empire', that alerted me to the fact that - damn, here was one good band. I swear, listen to this song and see if doesn't cast its hook in you and pull hard.
'I have weird memories of you...'
The band's latest album Trouble Will Find Me is another collection of songs with significance, songs that can pummel meaning through like a punch. Songs all couched in an unmistakeable sound, but this time, clarified and even more concentrated. There are dirges and defiant anthems, brooding reflections and flights of feistiness, and of course, sorrow, by the bucketloads. There's one lyric from the adamant refrain of 'This is The Last Time' that seems to explain a lot about The National's overall thematic preference: 'It takes a lot of pain to lift me up/it takes a lot of rain in the cup'. I think it was Matt who commented that sadness can be 'sweet', and sometimes I suppose, it is. The bittersweet lounging in melancholy that adds substance to us. Their music, full of 'radiant darkness', makes it tolerable, makes it known, and gives it meaning.
'I won't be vacant anymore/I won't be waiting anymore...'
All music translates feelings, but when it comes to The National, I think they do it differently somehow. More effectively, yes. Achingly, yes. Cleverly, yes.
Whenever I'm asked to describe what kind of band The National are, I falter. They are so many things that it's hard to define. I hope I've tried here to get a handle on them, but then there's that other factor that slips away, the real x-factor, that unwordable fact about a band you love that is vague, but delightful in that vagueness, mysterious, magic. A marker of a great band.
The National occupy a special place in my collection as the band that always bring me back to myself. You know that feeling, when you wander off, lose yourself, get unmoored in the unpredictable rhythms of life? Well, they are the ones who bring me back. All it takes is the first few familiar chords, and I'm found. As simply and as surely as that. It's like in their melodies, in their lyrics, there's a code that can unlock everything that's locked up in me. And I suddenly remember who I am, what's important to me, via their music. Music I suppose, as the map that can lead us back to ourselves - to the innermost shelved emotions, the memories, the knowings. Music as a compass too, helping us navigate the routes of life, especially the silences. In them, it keeps us sound, keeps us sane.
And The National just happen to be my port of call as a band that consistently do this. Their music says something to me that can't be ignored. And I'm so lucky to have found them. Cause once you find a band you love, you're never alone, really. ~
'Every time you get a drink
And every time you go to sleep
Are those dreams inside your head
Is there sunlight on your bed
And every time you're driving home
Way outside your safety zone
Wherever you will ever be
You're never getting rid of me You own me
There's nothing you can do
You own me Lucky you' ~ 'Lucky You'
To see them live, as to see any band or musician you like live, was an exhilarating experience. The music becomes more 'alive'. You always rediscover a few more songs based on their live performance and listen to them then again
with newly tuned ears. The concert was of course, brilliant. The beats
louder, the lyrics more fervent, especially when sung by a collective
audience of 10,000+. Everything more real. And it was great to see them
in the flesh (even if it was at a great distance). (The acoustic singalong of 'Vanderlyle..' at the end was superb. Watch here) And of course, the
complimentary buzzing you get for weeks after, floating on a cloud of
the music reknown. Well, you just can't beat that.
I don't know if I've managed to explain here how great The National are or how much I like them better than oh, say, the proverbial 'fuckin' brilliant' comment that appears under all their songs in YouTube (sometimes it's the only and best in-awe reaction). They
won't appeal to everyone I know - for example if you're a bubblegum-pop fan
listening to the likes of Katy Perry, their superior musicianship may be
lost on you. But if you're a fan of good music, I
guarantee they will work their charms on you. They're a band that may
require patience at first, but if you put a bit in, it will pay off immensely. Oh, and did I mention, The National are also the ideal band to listen to in November? No one better to channel and overcome the bleakness of the month than they! Mr. Novembers, most certainly.
Comments most dearly welcome on who your favourite band(s) is/are and why.
Here's to the power of music :)
~ Siobhán
*(There's nothing as inadequate as a blog about music without music, so as you can see I've included some audio videos of the songs here. Also you may notice that nearly every song mentioned is highlighted - just click on it to take you to YouTube to listen to that song. Enjoy.)*
