Thursday, October 16, 2003
Broken Social Scene - You Forgot It In People
~
2003.10.16 00:59 KST (EST + 13 hrs)
Broken Social Scene's latest offering is beautiful. It raises my hair on every listen. The intro track, capture the flag, is perfect and like a hero's welcome with French doors and bay windows alight with wonder and warmth, you enter the album. The initial shockwaves and afterthrusts of kc accidental reminisce of pillows of clouds of heat covering surfaces as raindrops would a lake.
Moving throughout, pacific theme is, well ... simply luscious as it aptly tumbles into anthems... (which I'll get to in a moment). Amid the airy, sad jam that is shampoo suicide, we fall into the rocking, telltale, cat-rubbing-its-face-with-its-paws solace: lover's spit. Reminiscent of Brian Eno, whispering, salt-shakers rattling the backgrounds like minutes speeding away from the loves we once clenched, tight-fisted only to find them evaporated. Breaking the waves and holding the tide is I'm still your fag with its harmonious refuge from where -- across tree tops in a felled plantation -- the sky and clouds scud around us in a perfect off-blue sky.
As for the astutely placed seventh track, anthems..., I should offer preamble.
Seeking solace in the long moments that are my own, this morning, shrunken but eager, I shambled back to my concrete four walls, crawled into my sleeping bag, set my alarm for an hour-long nap before work, put on the album and experienced the wonderful waking dreams we secretly wish for when we blow out our birthday candles. Remember those times when your body rests, but your mind races, thinking the whole time that you're not really sleeping -- that you're only extending the closed-eyedness?
Well, that.
Without warning, amidst the seventh (as yesterday and since the first listen), like clockwork, my body shocked, shot up, lunging to write, hypnotically, the following -- which I've titled after the sixth track:
looks just like the sun
blades and crown tops dance
to breeze blown gusts
sunday afternoons
cross-legged on checkers
wicker carry-all
and stopping to laugh
with food still freshly chewed
"hold on a minute, I'm not done" you say
but it's a moment
smiling
and you get carried away
like grasshoppers mating
on rough-hewn coke
over twin steel rails
plunged and plowing through rural
three o'clock wind
as distant chimes whisper
your future
With thanks to this Toronto collective for music and inspiration that may, from here to there, be of some use or comfort to all. For now, I will mine these new sounds for the good that they bring, sharing it with everyone I meet.
S*
2002.10.17
2003.10.16 00:59 KST (EST + 13 hrs)
Broken Social Scene's latest offering is beautiful. It raises my hair on every listen. The intro track, capture the flag, is perfect and like a hero's welcome with French doors and bay windows alight with wonder and warmth, you enter the album. The initial shockwaves and afterthrusts of kc accidental reminisce of pillows of clouds of heat covering surfaces as raindrops would a lake.
Moving throughout, pacific theme is, well ... simply luscious as it aptly tumbles into anthems... (which I'll get to in a moment). Amid the airy, sad jam that is shampoo suicide, we fall into the rocking, telltale, cat-rubbing-its-face-with-its-paws solace: lover's spit. Reminiscent of Brian Eno, whispering, salt-shakers rattling the backgrounds like minutes speeding away from the loves we once clenched, tight-fisted only to find them evaporated. Breaking the waves and holding the tide is I'm still your fag with its harmonious refuge from where -- across tree tops in a felled plantation -- the sky and clouds scud around us in a perfect off-blue sky.
As for the astutely placed seventh track, anthems..., I should offer preamble.
Seeking solace in the long moments that are my own, this morning, shrunken but eager, I shambled back to my concrete four walls, crawled into my sleeping bag, set my alarm for an hour-long nap before work, put on the album and experienced the wonderful waking dreams we secretly wish for when we blow out our birthday candles. Remember those times when your body rests, but your mind races, thinking the whole time that you're not really sleeping -- that you're only extending the closed-eyedness?
Well, that.
Without warning, amidst the seventh (as yesterday and since the first listen), like clockwork, my body shocked, shot up, lunging to write, hypnotically, the following -- which I've titled after the sixth track:
looks just like the sun
blades and crown tops dance
to breeze blown gusts
sunday afternoons
cross-legged on checkers
wicker carry-all
and stopping to laugh
with food still freshly chewed
"hold on a minute, I'm not done" you say
but it's a moment
smiling
and you get carried away
like grasshoppers mating
on rough-hewn coke
over twin steel rails
plunged and plowing through rural
three o'clock wind
as distant chimes whisper
your future
With thanks to this Toronto collective for music and inspiration that may, from here to there, be of some use or comfort to all. For now, I will mine these new sounds for the good that they bring, sharing it with everyone I meet.
S*
2002.10.17
