Voice and Verse

“Goooo” — TNGHT This is my SHIT.

Wed, 25 Jul 2012 01:21:00 -0400

“Goooo” — TNGHT

This is my SHIT.

“Esta Noche” — Azealia Banks That sample.

Fri, 13 Jul 2012 16:51:04 -0400

“Esta Noche” — Azealia Banks

That sample.

“Ocean Floor For Everything” — How To Dress...

Wed, 23 May 2012 15:47:00 -0400

“Ocean Floor For Everything” — How To Dress Well

It’s his voice and his Twitter. In Love Remains, Krell’s voice is always at the center of his songs. Whether it is destroyed through effects into an aggressive wail, or treated minimally to exist as a gorgeous release—it’s there. What’s nice about media today is that the passion you hear in someone’s music can be found in other places, like Twitter. Whenever I read Krell’s Twitter, I always love his music more because his tweets show that he really believes in what he is doing. He cares about his music and his listeners; so when he tweets that he has been dying for us to hear this song, there is no exaggeration.

And as if his passion isn’t enough, one of the best elements about How To Dress Well is change. Love Remains exists in its own lo-fi realm, but who could have expected the orchestral arrangements of Just Once? In this track, Krell incorporates the elements of his past work into a gorgeous heartfelt piece, where vocals are either backwards or forwards, where the music stands alone or is surrounded with a flourish, where Tom Krell’s passion is in every sound.

I recall How To Dress Well’s performance of Janet Jackson’s “Again,” and I used to think to myself that I would do anything for a studio recorded version. That would still be great, but I hear Krell’s performance of “Again” in this song—it’s transformed into his own reconstructed piece. Krell’s music is very concerned with the R&B of the past, but songs like “Ocean Floor For Everything” demonstrate that the particular future Krell sings about in this song is in his path as he grows from that past. “I’ll never fall in love with you again,” sing Jackson and Krell; and if never again means this kind of growth, I think we’re all ready to move on to something new because God knows that I do love you again, How to Dress Well.

“Lazuli” — Beach House Everyone is talking...

Fri, 11 May 2012 14:38:00 -0400

“Lazuli” — Beach House

Everyone is talking about My Bloody Valentine right now. Older people, younger people—the reissues has given a lot of critics the chance to talk about music that means a lot to them. Loveless especially has this aura around it—to the older listener who has followed the band since the 80s, this aura may be perfection while to the younger listener (like myself), it’s mysterious.

Loveless is great, but it doesn’t mean the world to me. I enjoy it, but I wonder if these reissues would mean more to me if I had been following the band longer and had been anticipating these releases. I’ve been reflecting on following and anticipating, and these thoughts have led me to Beach House.

Beach House is a band that I have followed. I first heard tracks from their debut self-titled LP when I was in high school. Alex Scally’s guitar solo in “Auburn & Ivory” or Victoria Legrand’s lyrics in “Master of None” are examples of earlier moments in my life when I began to identify with particular music. If it wasn’t for my friend posting some of these songs on her MySpace, I may not have discovered Beach House till much later with a very different sentiment towards the band. But as the years progressed, I continued to follow Beach House’s music and anticipate something greater each time. And fortunately for me, the band has continued to exceed my expectations with each release.

Beach House has come a long way. From the dreariness of tracks like “Apple Orchard” to the vibrancy of “10 Mile Stereo,” Beach House has developed sonically while maintaining their certain signatures. Teen Dream was a big step for the band, but you can’t help but find traces of Beach House or Devotion in that album as you listen to its ten tracks. Now their fourth LP Bloom is about to be released, and we are lucky enough to listen to it now on NPR and find those Beach House signatures in their progressive music. And rather interestingly, tracks like “Lazuli” lay them out directly for the listener.

When I read Jayson Greene’s review of “Lazuli” for Pitchfork, I found it incredibly moving. He describes “Lazuli” as “Beach House’s story as a band in miniature,” where the introduction of the song unabashedly incorporates elements of the first LPs and then is washed over with the cymbals that flooded Teen Dream. Greene’s simple analysis is exactly right and extremely powerful. “Lazuli” sounds like the growth or bloom of Beach House, and when I reflect on my relationship with the band, I hear my own growth in this song. I may be young, but when I reflect on music that was important to me during critical moments of my life, I will turn towards Beach House and think of how this is a band that I grew up with. In this sense, I think of those who have really identified with My Bloody Valentine over time, and their love of music like Loveless makes me happy. But I don’t have Loveless; I have Beach House.

In their recent interview with Pitchfork, Beach House discussed the title of their new LP Bloom, and what that word means to them and their music. In their terms, “bloom” describes the “cyclical nature of all things,” like “the bloom, the end of the bloom, and then coming back the next year.” I’ve talked a lot about this band’s growth along with my own, but maybe I should be talking about our bloom. Parts of me have come and gone—some forever, some to return—but I’m never really the same each year. And neither is Beach House. I have signatures, they have signatures, I have followed and anticipated them, they have moved and delivered—grown, bloomed, given the chance to replace. So when I listen to “Lazuli” and hear Victoria sing,”Like no other, you could be replaced,” I know it’s not a bad thing.

“Jumanji” — Azealia Banks I am kind of a big...

Fri, 11 May 2012 13:07:14 -0400

“Jumanji” — Azealia Banks

I am kind of a big fan of this right now. Summer is right around the corner and I want it to sound like this.

Earlier this year, Spanish producer John Talabot released his LP...

Fri, 27 Apr 2012 16:27:14 -0400

Earlier this year, Spanish producer John Talabot released his LP fIN to critical acclaim. Listening to the album has been floating around in my mind, but I just never got around to it. Fortunately with Spotify, I finally had the chance to indulge and let myself float around this album.

Hypnosis. Not being there while you’re there. Ecstasy.

That is how I would briefly describe the tracks of fIN. They start, they play, and they end. During that process, the music loops around you and changes without telling you. To pick out the details, each song would require active listening that can be very rewarding. However, it is also just as enjoyable to let these songs play themselves out and present their ear catching details to you. This album is a trance, but moments like the screams in “Oro y Sangre” remind you that you’re still there.

fIN is very aware of itself and the effect it creates for the listener. Once a sound catches your attention in the song, Talabot invites you to find all the other surprises he’s incorporated in this wonderful LP.

It’s an album that intentionally builds itself with each listen. Highly recommended.

See You On A Dark Night: Encountering The Other Spectator *This...

Thu, 26 Apr 2012 02:34:12 -0400

See You On A Dark Night: Encountering The Other Spectator

*This is a piece I wrote for my Sports Spectacle class—a class where we analyze the spectacles within the sporting world and find a way to talk about sports analytically*

When reflecting on our discussion of the artist’s control in Jennifer Locke’s “Match” (2005), I was reminded of another artistic endeavor that explores the relationship between the sports spectacle and the female artist. Grimes is the music project of Canadian artist Claire Boucher, whose album Visions (2012) has received widespread acclaim this year.

The video for “Oblivion” is a fascinating piece that explores the other’s invasion in the system of the sports world. Boucher, director Emily Kai Bock, and cinematographer Evan Prosofsky literally invaded two public sporting events and created a music video within these sports spectacles. Besides Boucher’s charismatic performance, it is interesting to observe the looks she gets as she draws attention away from the event and places it upon herself. Rightly so, most of Boucher’s spectators seem very confused. In an interview with Pitchfork Media, Boucher describes her video as a “voyeuristic look into a really violent community” where she attempts to assert “this abstract female power in these male-dominated arenas.” She claims the video is “somewhat about objectifying men. Not in a disrespectful way, though.”

When watching the video, I am forced to question how successful Boucher is in her attempt. The scenes in the locker room and the riot are clearly staged, but what does Boucher accomplish during the truly voyeuristic moments where the invaded arena turns away from the sport and focuses on her performance? Since Boucher wanted to invade male-dominated spaces, she certainly draws the male gaze upon herself through her unusual presence. However, rather than the terms and ideas explored in Nicholas Mirzoeff and Laura Mulvey’s work, I identified Boucher as the “narrative other” described in Perinbanayagam’s “Games and Sport In Everyday Life.” This may be a stretch, but what if we observe a dialogue between Boucher and the entire arena (including the game), where Boucher is an “agent” who is “participating in an eplotment of his or her self just as he or she may be following an already constituted plot of game” (Perinbanayagam 34). In these terms, Boucher creates a myth where she places herself against a “constituted plot” or system, and becomes an agent that combats against an opponent. In this case, the opponents are the surrounding spectators. She becomes the other, the antagonist, the threat to the sporting world. And as she told Pitchfork, some sports goers were “super into” them while others “were really angry.”

Perinbanayagam is describing the protagonist-antagonist relationship in regards to actual games, but what does it mean for there to be an other or outsider amongst sports spectators? I sometimes feel this way in class when the discussion is centralized around very specific sporting events, and I think other non-sports fans might feel the same way. In regards to Boucher being an outsider, it is interesting to consider the fact that no one else in the video looks like her. She already has a distinct look, but this appearance seems stranger in regards to the setting. The only person who comes close to Boucher’s strangeness is the streaker she includes; and that relationship is only built on the premise of an idea. What I think is important to consider is the fact that people like Boucher, the streaker, and non-sports fans like myself are nonetheless spectators of the events. We may not fully understand the dynamics of the game, but we remain spectators—other spectators—among the rest. To what extent can we identify with the crowd?

Lyrically, the song seems to be about overcoming the threat of a predator. The lyrics describe the fear of walking in the dark, the possibility of another individual harming you, and the ability to overcome those fears. I am sure invading two public sporting events was intimidating, and maybe it was actually scary. But when Boucher stands in front of the moshing boys, chewing gum, and singing, “See you on a dark night,” I think she feels pretty powerful.

“The Party” — St. Vincent Oh, hello again. I...

Tue, 17 Apr 2012 07:28:10 -0400

“The Party” — St. Vincent

Oh, hello again.

I have been out of the music listening loop lately, and I cannot point to an exact reason why. I am currently writing an essay on the use of semiotics in Julia Holter’s “Marienbad” from this year’s Ekstasis, but it’s an extensive and ongoing piece of work; meaning I am not sure when I will publish it. Also, I have been working on a piece describing the invasion of the other spectator in Grimes’ “Oblivion” music video for my sports spectacle class, but I will need to ask my professor for permission to post it here as it will be posted in a different internet source elsewhere. If you are interested, most of my listening has been focused on Julianna Barwick’s jaw dropping EP from 2008, Florine. Maybe I will write a post describing how powerful the EP is, because I feel like it literally grabs me and then throws me into the air.

This Thursday I will be seeing Keep Shelly In Athens, St. Vincent, and tUnE-yArDs in Pomona! I will write a review of the show, and I am assuming it will be amazing. Here is my favorite song from St. Vincent’s Actor, and maybe a song I feel like I relate to more that most. I have definitely sat transfixed by a hole in someone’s t-shirt too many times.

pitchfork: Carrie Battan discusses how the relationship between...

Wed, 21 Mar 2012 15:20:58 -0400

pitchfork:

Carrie Battan discusses how the relationship between homosexuality and hip-hop is changing— and who’s changing it— in our latest feature: “We Invented Swag: New York’s Queer Rap”.

“Tragedy Finale” — Julia Holter I’m not sure...

Sat, 10 Mar 2012 12:03:00 -0500

“Tragedy Finale” — Julia Holter

I’m not sure where I’m going to go with this post, but that seems appropriate because you never seem to know where you’re going while listening to Julia Holter’s Tragedy. No matter how many times I listen to it, I always seem to find new sounds that are buried beneath the intricate melodies and sound combinations. Tragedy is based of the Ancient Greek play Hippolytus by Euripides, so it seems rather natural that a concept grounded in a rich tradition is so richly executed.

Even if you just let yourself wade through Tragedy’s 50 minutes, you will at least be startled by the moods it creates. “Introduction” sounds like something that belongs on an album based on a tragic play, but the rest of the album’s texture will surprise you. My favorite moment comes at it’s finale, where the song sounds like a wedding hymn despite concluding the collapse and death of a family during the previous seven songs. And I think that’s what’s important here—Holter engages and exploits the tragedy tradition with her album, and she reclaims the ancient myth with her own beliefs and aesthetic.

This may be the ending for Hippolytus and his step-mother Phaedra, but “Tragedy Finale” seems to suggest a peacefulness and freedom in death. Holter’s voice sounds angelic as she layers her vocals against strings and horns. The most beautiful moment comes during the last minute and a half of the song when a distinct male voice enters, briefly muttering statements regarding “death” and “exaltation” while Holter’s layered voice waves in the background. We can assume that this point of the album is depicting Hippolytus dying as he forgives his father for falsely accusing him for the murder of his wife. And that’s how the album ends—a notion of forgiveness.

As the voices start to fade out, we hear one distinct Holter repeating the word,”exaltation.” This is a tragedy and Hippolytus is dying here, but this is tragic only in the tradition of the art form. Holter takes Hippolytus’ death and turns it into something beautiful—someone dying at peace, forgiving those who wronged him, and exiting with an exalted state of being. I’m overwhelmed as I hear Holter repeat “exaltation,” until she says it for the last time and never finishes the word. The album ends with a “shh” sound, and I am with Hippolytus—at peace, at ease, and everything but tragic.

“Marked” — EMA When Emily Dickinson was dying, she ordered her...

Mon, 05 Mar 2012 17:30:00 -0500

“Marked” — EMA

When Emily Dickinson was dying, she ordered her family to destroy all of her poetry. Only a handful of her poems were published during her lifetime, and she trusted her family to destroy any evidence of her prolific writing career. Fortunately for us, we have Dickinson’s extensive collection at our disposal and we are free to explore the brilliance of this unique individual. But the fact remains that we are still intruding upon her privacy—she never wanted us to read any of her greatest poems.

Dickinson was trying to get something out of her when she wrote all those poems—the good, the bad, and the extremely personal were expressed in her slant rhymes. I can’t help but think of Dickinson when I hear EMA’s outstanding Past Life Martyred Saints, particularly the heartbreaking “Marked”. Although EMA has released this music herself, I almost feel as if I am invading her privacy as I am absorbed by this song about physical abuse, subjection, and mental release. The heaviness of this song is remarkable—as she lays out her “bloodless plastic, skinless plastic” arms, the screech created from the guitar strings cuts into the listener’s hearing. The physical abuse pervading the song becomes a physical sound created by the artist herself. Recreating the abuse is disturbing, and it becomes horrifying as EMA declares,”I wish that every time he touched me left a mark.” This lyric stands as the most disturbing statement in Past Life Martyred Saints, but arguably one of the most critical in understanding EMA’s mental, emotional, and spiritual growth. Begging an abusive lover to leave a mark is two-sided: she is subjecting herself to his abuse and it serves as a reminder. Fortunately, however, it seems EMA realizes how unhealthy this is and the song’s second half flowers into a gorgeous anthem.

“I wish that every time he touched me left a mark” is two-sided in its connotation, but it also is two-sided by having a lyrical partner: “I wish I had another hole to get it out.” The song abandons the painful guitar scraping and fills with other instruments as EMA begs hopelessly for freedom from her abuse. She realizes the bad place she was in as she cries out,”I fell down in the dark,” and now she is ready to get out of there. Leaving someone is hard enough, but dealing with the mental affliction can be gruesome. It’s heartbreaking to hear her beg for another hole to get the memories out, and the entire thing seems hopeless as she describes the drugs she cannot stop taking. It is hopeless sounding, but it is hopeful in essence: a few minutes ago she begged for abuse, but as she reflects, she wants it gone. “I want to get it out” is how the song ends, and listening to this song alone doesn’t offer any answers. I won’t ruin the rest of Past Life Martyred Saints for you, but when I hear the consolation in the closing of “Red Star”, I think back to the marks created in this song.

Marks turn into scars and scars turn into reminders. The hopeful second half of this song makes me think that EMA did get something out from Past Life Martyred Saints. The marks once stood for the relationship she was in, but they now serve as a reminder to never go back there; she just needed to get it out. Emily Dickinson didn’t publish her poetry, but she must have found comfort and understanding as she continued to write for her entire life. Although not as extensive and definitely much more explicit, EMA’s seems to have found something in herself through “Marked” and the rest of the album. It’s extremely personal, but maybe her marks can remind us that we can get it out too.

Expression As A Form of Language “Bros” —...

Thu, 01 Mar 2012 14:00:00 -0500

Expression As A Form of Language

“Bros” — Panda Bear

Lately, I’ve been obsessed with William Basinski’s fascinating The Disintegration Loops (2003). For those of you who aren’t acquainted with Basinski’s loops, they are pieces of music salvaged from 20 years ago that he attempted to transfer from tape to digital file. As he was converting the loops, he noticed that the sound had literally aged over time and that the transferring process was physically destroying the tapes and causing the sound to change even further. This music is literally the sound of decay; or as Basinski stated,”it was as if the music was dying.” In “d|p 4”, for example, the sound is murky but the music itself is triumphant and progressive. It’s all grand until you reach the point where you can actually hear Basinski’s tapes being destroyed—the music is chopped up and an aggressive static overcomes the originally joyful tune. Hearing it for the first time is shocking, and maybe even disturbing if you are aware of the process that created this sound. It’s a reminder that everything in this world, including you and I, are decaying and will eventually be taken over by something greater than us.

What does any of that have to do with Panda Bear? Well, nothing directly; but Basinski’s demonstration of death is fascinating when compared to Panda Bear’s celebration of life. Basinski’s “d|p 4” portrays life in a familiar way: life begins, we progress over time, and eventually we are silenced by our inevitable end. Panda Bear utilizes these ideas, but he cleverly reverses them. In “Bros” Panda Bear, like Basinski, uses sound to account for the entire human condition. The two share the same idea, but while Basinski’s work features no human sounds, Panda Bear unites us all through a universal language: crying.

I’ll save the tears for later, so let’s talk about the song itself first. “Bros” begins simply enough: an owl hoots and the cheerful melody that carries the song collapses in. The song continues to utilize different samples, always sounding positive and joyous as it seamlessly flows for its 12 minutes. There aren’t very many lyrics, but Panda Bear does use words to explore the idea of individuality and the exhilaration it can bring. “Don’t you know that I don’t belong to you?,” he cries at the beginning of the song; it’s harsh, but he is forced to question authority when “you’ve got problems of your own”. There’s a lot of open space in this song, and I think that Panda Bear utilizes that space to convey his idea that “everything is so new” and he needs “to be alone” for awhile to engage with it. And although he is talking about himself, he is inviting the listener to engage as well to realize that in life, we “may find that we’re alright.” For someone who initially seems scornful of those around him, the song actually sounds rather inviting. Panda Bear knows he is “being way too hard”, but he needs to be for our sake. He is demonstrating through his music that life is an experience, and he utilizes intuitive language to demonstrate that this is actually a shared experience.

This intuitive language is of course the sound of people crying. Towards the beginning of the song, we hear a woman screaming and what sounds like an older man crying. Like Basinski’s static take over, it’s a surprising sound to hear in something that sounds so triumphant. Panda Bear doesn’t give the sound clip much time to settle and the song continues to grow into something new. As we pass the halfway mark and the song takes on a different sound, we are again introduced to another clip of a person crying. But at this point, the crying is rather unusual—it almost sounds like laughing. Could this person be crying of laughter? Well, hopefully; but it is crying nonetheless. And then a few minutes after this strange clip, Panda Bear utilizes the most profound sound on all of Person Pitch: a baby crying. We hear the baby unleash its cry, and all the sounds of the song collage together and are accompanied by something that sounds like rockets or fireworks shooting into the air. If this doesn’t sound like a celebration, I don’t know what does.

But what is profound about the baby crying? As I mentioned earlier, “Bros” utilizes the ideas of life’s progression in Basinki’s work but in reverse. We are introduced to the older man crying, the seemingly younger person crying, and finally the baby crying. Three stages of life connected by a natural human act; an act that embodies happiness and sadness. Crying is the sound of life. I think Panda Bear reverses the cycle to demonstrate the way in which we fear what it is inevitable. The older man crying has had the chance to experience life, and he weeps as it reaches its close. The younger person’s cry may be the cry of laughter, which seems to be ideal for Panda Bear; its the idea that you still have so much more to live. And finally, my favorite of them all, the baby. We cannot tell if the baby is crying because he/she is happy or sad—I like to think that this baby is just being born and crying is literally its only way of communicating. Nonetheless, these stages of life are connected and a discourse is created amongst them through natural human communication. The owl hoot at the beginning is essential to understanding the use of crying in this song. It is an animal sound—it is in no way human and there is no human experience there. But like the baby crying, it is its only way of communicating. Language is a gift; and even though there are so many of them, we are still capable of connecting through human expression.

If you order the sounds in this song in reverse, Panda Bear lays out a simple path for us to follow: the fireworks explode as life begins, the baby cries as it is born, the young carefree person cries of laughter, the older man cries as his life reaches its end, and the owl hoots as there are no humans around. Unlike Basinski’s foreboding progress of life, Panda Bear offers an honest but powerful analysis of life. Although the sound of the old man crying sounds sad, I like to think that Panda Bear is warning us not to reach that point of fear. We came into this world crying and we will leave this world crying. But if we realize that we are all united through simple interactions, if we realize that we are all bros, then I think human experience can sound like this. “Bros” is a celebratory song; “Bros” is the sound of a person. One day, none of us will be here; but for now we have this. It’s complex and full of depth, but as a baby born crying into this world, Panda Bear invites us to dive in and give it your own go.

Top 15 Songs of 2010 — #1 “Good Intentions Paving Company” —...

Thu, 01 Mar 2012 13:57:00 -0500

Top 15 Songs of 2010 — #1

“Good Intentions Paving Company” — Joanna Newsom

Earlier this year, Drag City released three songs at different times from the mysterious Have One On Me—the peaceful “‘81”, the fun road song “Good Intentions Paving Company”, and the difficultly dense “Kingfisher”. All of these were glimpses of what Joanna Newsom’s new work would be like, and each one of these could have easily been my song of the year. However, I am unfortunately forced to choose. “‘81” reminds me of The Milk-Eyed Mender and “Kingfisher” reminds me of Ys; but it is the fantastic “Good Intentions Paving Company” that sounds entirely fresh, like nothing I have ever heard before. I would like to mention here that this song is best heard with head/earphones or really loud in the car.

The song starts off easy enough: a few simple piano notes repeated a few times, and Joanna’s vocals. Simple, lovely, and what you could expect from Ms. Newsom. But then suddenly, more instrumentation follows in and something I was not expecting: multiple layers of Joanna’s vocals—maybe three or four of them. Each one of them sounds different, and they are richly woven together so beautifully. But as I mentioned before, this is a fun song, and Joanna is happy to tease you; the layered vocals disappear and we are back to just her with the layered instruments. She builds the song up with various humorous lyrics (how wonderful is the line “I regret how I said to you / ‘Honey, just open your heart’ / When I’ve got trouble even opening a honey jar”), and the music progresses forward with Neal Morgan’s percussion and Ryan Francesconi’s acoustic orchestration. The layered vocals happily return and they jump up, down, and around tongue twisters within the lyrics—sounding so graceful and effortless.

This song is describing the initial portions of a relationship, and the music I just described so wonderfully expresses all the excitement of starting something new. But this is Joanna Newsom, and we are only twenty miles away from the show, so she has to attempt to tell you as much as possible before we arrive at the end. At the middle of the song, things slow down with the fleeing of the extra instrumentation, and we are left with Newsom and her piano. This second half of the song shows the hesitation of starting something new, as it can be frightening to fall for someone “as easy as falling asleep”. Joanna’s voice and lyrics are gorgeous here—lines like “but, like after the rain, / step out of the overhang. That’s all” or “I am at home on that range” are sung simply enough to make you teary eyed. I also find the amount of self-reflexivity interesting: she references her own singing, she provides two-sided meanings to the idea of her as a performer, and she asks her lover to hold her until she can’t remember her name. Like the overhang, Joanna is asking her lover and the car to just stop for a second and offer safety for a moment—from the outside and from herself.

The second half of this song is so plainly beautiful, and it features some of my favorite lyrics from Have One On Me: ”But, in our quiet hour, / I feel I see everything, / and I’m in love / with the hook / upon which everyone hangs.” I am so incredibly attached to this part—it’s like there is too much love, but in the best way possible. Something new is starting, and although there is hesitation and fear, sometimes you have to fold at the top of your game. It is one of the most intriguing forms of love presented in Have One On Me, and it’s told so incredibly.

In the span of seven minutes, or twenty miles, Joanna Newsom has constructed a masterpiece that reflects on something universal—the excitement and fear to love. While some people may detest the idea of letting yourself go, Joanna is putting forth the idea of risking yourself and driving down the unknown road you turned onto. And maybe once we open up the honey jar, fall for someone as easy as falling asleep, and step out of the overhang, we’ll finally pull over to be held and fall in love with the hook upon which everyone hangs.

Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav’ns joy,Sphere-borne harmonious Sisters, Voice, and...

Thu, 01 Mar 2012 13:46:00 -0500

Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav’ns joy,
Sphere-borne harmonious Sisters, Voice, and Verse,
Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ
Dead things with inbreath’d sense able to pierce,
—John Milton, “At A Solemn Music”

Hello.

For a long time now, I’ve been meaning to create a tumblr that is devoted entirely to my writings regarding music. My personal tumblr somewhat became my venue for my musings, but the fact remains that it is a personal tumblr and I have other elements filled throughout my posts.

Voice and Verse. This blog will consist entirely of my thoughts regarding certain songs, albums, and artists in general. I don’t believe I would categorize my writing as “reviewing”—I believe that I explore and expand upon ideas or themes I find in songs. I am an English and Media double major, and one of my goals in life is to study and write about contemporary music. So much of today’s music is a rich and thought-provoking as the poet’s work that inspired this blog’s title.

I don’t want to explain myself in this miniature bio—I’d prefer my writings and ideas to be the representative of this blog. I encourage discussion, so if you would like to contribute to the thinking in any way, feel free to message me. To begin this blog, I have taken some of my favorite writing from my other tumblr and posted it here; just so we can get started.

Thank you—and go out and listen.