Seven Songs
Posted on June 5th, 2024 in entry
I don’t write about music — I listen to it, but I’m not equipped with the proper vocabulary to tell you what I’m hearing. Where a music connoisseur would say “Oh, that’s some pop-infused thingama with deep shades of post-progressive somethingorother” I’m just going to say “Oh, hey, it’s got a good beat and I can dance to it.” Like when I taste wine I say “Yum” or “Ick” — never catch me going on about the woody notes or hint of cheese. But Warren says he wants me to meme along, so blame him.
Let’s see, what am I doing?
“List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re not any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now, shaping your spring. Post these instructions in your blog along with your 7 songs. Then tag 7 other people to see what they’re listening to.”
So:
“They Do Not Come Knocking There Anymore” - Natural Snow Buildings
I have no idea where I got this one — I don’t have the rest of the album or any recollection of downloading it. It’s still very chilly here at night, and it’s hard to remember it’s already June. In the early still-dark mornings, here, the foghorns are louder than any music I’m playing. It’s very easy for me to lose track of the music in a room — it hovers on the edge of my consciousness and keeps my fingers moving, but if I’m not sitting back and just listening I don’t always know what’s playing. This track is just harsh enough to cut through work-fugue and catch my attention. If I loop it, I realize how much the beginning sounds like an orchestra pit having difficulty tuning up in the next room — but at about the six minute mark it shifts to a train leaving the station. Dunno. There’s something about the slow march of layer on layer of dying notes that makes me keep it on list, yet. I don’t see it lasting on rotation into summer.
“Momentary Drowning” - Young Coyotes
Another one I’ve got no idea where came from. It’s the precise opposite of the previous track, a stomp and call that doesn’t care if it’s in tune, because what does it matter? I’m not fond of the primary vocals on this one, but the beat, the claps, how can you say no to that? I do not think this one plays if you aren’t close enough to the water to have the scent of salt in the air — it’s got a definite beach band flavor (beyond the mention of waves in lyric, I mean).
“Black Cat” - Ladytron
Pretty sure it was McKelvie that told me there was new Ladytron, and this is the first track I heard. It’s…. well it’s Ladytron. It’s good, it’s a little defiant, with that “I’m pretty but I’ll cut you” undertone you expect. It’s older, somehow — the sound is tighter and deeper than earlier tracks, maybe the word I’m looking for is matured, or maybe, hell, maybe it’s that I’m older, who knows?
“Dance Dance Dance” - Lykke Li
&
“Heels on Fire” - Sargasso Trio
Got both of these off Warren, actually, and they’re one after the other on the playlist because one segues into the next no matter which order you play them in. (Which amuses me, as I don’t know that you’d see one act opening for the other, ever. But they’ve both got that same pitterpatter beat.) They’re just two ridiculously spinny little numbers that put a bounce in my step when I’m walking to market. Very much morning and afternoon music — if they come up late at night they’re a little too loud for the room.
“The Beat That My Heart Skipped” - Dan Le Sac vs Scroobius Pip
I don’t know who the hell I got this one off of… Gillen or Kitten, maybe? It’s from last year, but it didn’t get much rotation during the winter. This is one of the rare songs on my list that makes me listen to the lyrics — something between the repetition and force on each word draws my conscious attention. The beat’s what I want it to be — just strong enough to make me nod, just fast enough to match my walk or the turn of a wheel, just loud enough to bring up my pulse rate a little.
“Take this Waltz” - Leonard Cohen
This one is very old, but it comes out every spring. I don’t know why. It sounds like spring - blue sunlight on budding leaves, damp earth in the chilly morning. It’s the waltzing strings, the soft swells that always seem to rise just as a spring breeze lifts a strand of my hair to my cheek. It’s sweet, and a little bitter (like much Cohen, and everything in my herb garden).
Apparently, I’ve also been tasked with passing the disease on. Well, joke’s on you Warren — no one reads my blog, so your dirty little game dead-ends here. Although, I suppose I could throw it up on Whitechapel. At least there it would be contained. We’ll see. That’s probably cheating. But I might not care.