Per my habit, the time has found myself occupying the black cushioned folding chair in front of my computer and I am smoking a cigarette. I can feel it burning my lungs, yet I continue. I look to my right at the blue candle that sits atop my writing desk. It has burned most of the way down, one side faster than the other, leaving no hint of its once uniform shape. The wax has melted and hardened into a frozen cascade, somehow capturing movement in a single moment. But it holds the possibility to be changed. I continue. My mind seems to resemble that wax, my thoughts seem to mirror that moment of motion, stopped in time, waiting for that flame to be lit, waiting for the motion to begin again, to begin to form a new shape but somehow retaining its fundamental quality. The hardened wax possesses so much detail, flattened pools of blue, stalagtites of drips, and a black wick rising from the center. Yet I continue.
There is a word I am trying to think of, an association of letters in a lockbox of thinking, and it sits there. I shall try to define it and you can tell me the word. I think: what is it one is supposed to do? I posit that I am asking. How does one know what to do? A cliche: what purpose do we serve? That's the question the word was coined for.
Two things come to mind: writing and love. Those I believe are the two fundamentals but I should prioritize them: love then writing. The gravity of love and foundation of words constantly remain limitless. They don't fight for room or breath, they don't find their way into a hierarchy. They are the breath of life, the water of happiness, the two we should drink and breathe with our spirit, our mind, our metaphysical representations, the populous of that world which we cannot see, neighbors of electricity and heat, of wind and cold, of energy and time. The things we cannot see, the things we cannot touch, matter most in a world where we depend so much upon on our eyes. There are two senses that have nothing to do with the physical representation of objects, hearing and smelling. Sometimes our ears and our nose tell us much more than our eyes ever could.
Smoking a cigarette slowly destroys the lungs. Lighting a candle slowly melts the wax. Living moves you closer to death. And seeing, well seeing only shows us what is there physically. But smelling and hearing show us what can't be seen. Do you base the existence of something on whether or not you can see it? Of course not. You may not see the rose around the corner, but you can smell it. Therefore a rose must be there. You can't see the thunder, but you can hear it. Obviously there must be a powerful transition of energy occurring. Can you see love? Can you smell words? Sure you can see love. You can see fathers and daughters embracing, lovers kissing, children playing, and you can even witness certain sacrifices. But you can't see the force behind it. When you smell a rose, your brain tells you it is a rose. But a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose, and as Shakespeare said, a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet. The smell tells you the word but you can't smell the energy behind it.
Love and words. Those are the fundamentals. One can create the other. And together they can create anything. Music. Heat. Clouds. Sugar. Roses. Sometimes what you look for is found in the place where you are not looking. Like Enigma says, silence must be heard. It has the right to be heard yet we talk too much for what we have to say.
P.S. There is a light that stays on over my stove during the night. Yet the people that live next to me do not know this. I have a reason for leaving this light on but I do not know it. Reasoning has no knowledge of comfort. And humans still have not reached the closest approaching point to Earth. There is a light that stays on over the Earth even when it is dark and people are sleeping. But we cannot see it.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
The World At Large
I have been exhuming some writings of mine which have been dead for quite some time and am working to revive a bit of the old stuff. The following is a short story I began and then somehow lost the interest for but I feel posting it here might get the creative juices going again and will allow me to find some direction for it. I had a working title for it of The Culpa Dock on Fuego Bay.
No moon shined that night over the Culpa Dock on Fuego Bay. Yet somewhere in the galaxy, hidden among the spiraling arms of the celestial and the elliptical orbits of solids and gasses, positioned behind the great arching bow of the constellation Orion, streamed an undiscovered comet, undiscovered by humans, and known as Aropa to those beings which had encountered its astonishing nature. The course it maintained could be considered negligible for it posed no immediate threat to planet Earth but, upon its existence rested a destiny that went beyond the knowledge of the magnanimous sky. It coursed like a majestic river, meandering with no concern for destination and at the same time full of intent and purposes, never contending, always yielding. For although it seemed to defy the boundaries and physics of its astronomical world, it eventually would come to face to face with these forces and discover a determination not yet known in its long existence, this great mastodon of the universe.
No moon shined that night over the Culpa Dock on Fuego Bay. Yet somewhere in the galaxy, hidden among the spiraling arms of the celestial and the elliptical orbits of solids and gasses, positioned behind the great arching bow of the constellation Orion, streamed an undiscovered comet, undiscovered by humans, and known as Aropa to those beings which had encountered its astonishing nature. The course it maintained could be considered negligible for it posed no immediate threat to planet Earth but, upon its existence rested a destiny that went beyond the knowledge of the magnanimous sky. It coursed like a majestic river, meandering with no concern for destination and at the same time full of intent and purposes, never contending, always yielding. For although it seemed to defy the boundaries and physics of its astronomical world, it eventually would come to face to face with these forces and discover a determination not yet known in its long existence, this great mastodon of the universe.
Tourniquet
Okay, enough of the blogging about these existential issues, they really just reflect more of a mood than anything else. One of the ideas to stem this flow of thought was through furthering my education and turning to a different career path than the one I am currently in which is insurance. Working auto claims naturally puts you into situations of conflict and you often have to present people with bad news which leads to lots of arguments and can leave me with a bad taste in my mouth when the working day is done. But I have also been furthering my education of my profession by taking these national insurance examinations which require self study and I just recently completed another one called the AIC 36 which covers the claims process, investigations and the inner workings of insurance policies. I stressed and studied for weeks over this test and when I took it last week, I passed. It gave me such a sense of satisfaction and success that I've noticed that its changed my attitude towards work over the past week.
I've started thinking that you create your own sense of worth when working a job, no matter what the job may be. Keeping a positive attitude in light of any circumstance completely changes your perspective and this is obviously accomplished through hard work and dedication and in the long run this leads to more satisfaction outside of the work arena. When I leave work after feeling I've done my work well for the day I can find more interest in the things I enjoy outside of work. The career works as more than just a way of earning money to buy housing and food, it provides a base to work everything else from. Who am I? I am a claims adjuster and I can be proud of that.
I've started thinking that you create your own sense of worth when working a job, no matter what the job may be. Keeping a positive attitude in light of any circumstance completely changes your perspective and this is obviously accomplished through hard work and dedication and in the long run this leads to more satisfaction outside of the work arena. When I leave work after feeling I've done my work well for the day I can find more interest in the things I enjoy outside of work. The career works as more than just a way of earning money to buy housing and food, it provides a base to work everything else from. Who am I? I am a claims adjuster and I can be proud of that.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
On the turning away...
It doesn't matter what I do, my creative drive is gone. This has become a daily struggle for me and it is driving me completely insane. I hate it and it depresses me. Nothing inspires me anymore and this is wrong. I've read numerous books on writing and authors instruct that inspiration isn't necessary for writing or for creating any kind of art; but I think it has to be necessary. Inspiration equals passion and if there is no passion there is no art. Music doesn't inspire me anymore and my day to day life is so mundane that it drains my soul and makes my heart void. I don't have any dreams and as cliche as this sounds, it feels like my soul is dying. It's the normal things we get caught up in, work, money, trying to pay bills, trying to figure out what the hell one is going to do with their life, self doubt, self censorship, things that hold you back, procrastination, the television, the news, social life, family, and I feel like my aspirations have all but disappeared. My brain needs stimulation and ideas; it needs something that isn't there anymore. I want to be surrounded by creative people, I want to feel alive again I want whatever this is that's stifling me to be washed away so I can find again what is living underneath, something that was buried once, something that I tried to kill but now realize I so desperately need back. These are lyrics from a Vangelis song called So Long Ago, So Clear and the song moves me intensely but it doesn't move me to write, it just moves me to be nostalgic and what good does nostalgia do me?
Once, we did run
How we chased a million stars
and touched as only one can
Once, we did play
How the past delivered you
Amidst our youth we'd dream away, away
As if I knew the words I'm sure you'll hear
Of how we met as you recall so clear
Once, we did love
Long ago how did I forget
Holding you so closely Look, how I move
Chance would have me glance at you
To know how you move me, me
All barriers fall around us as we hear
Of memories known and matters so long ago, so clear
Once, we did run
How we chased a million stars
And touched as only one can
I often find myself saying, I don't know what to do. And I don't. I don't know to do. I can remember growing up how the smallest things fascinated me and how the world felt so much bigger than me but the older I get the less fascinated I am by it and the smaller it seems. I don't want to be familiar with the world that is out there but with the world that is in me. But the life I have led over the past few years has taught me that I must live in the world that is out there, I need to be familiar with politics, I need to have financial matters under control, I need to keep my family close to me, I need to work hard and own things and I need to socialize and all of these things I feel like I did with little or no effort at one time. But I look back and think, maybe I was doing something wrong then, maybe I wasn't working as hard as I should have been and maybe I didn't have enough experience to know what I was doing but it didn't feel like anything was wrong. And now, that things are so different, it feels like something is terribly wrong. I can never get caught up on the things I need to get caught up on and I had a realization that I never will because these are things that need constant and thourough maintenance and therefore I forget to maintain the things I truly to need to be happy. Where did I go wrong? Was I ever going right? Is the damage reperable? Or have I done any damage at all? Or have I even done anything that could be damaged? You would think that I should have the answers to these questions, that I should be mature enough to understand who I am and what I need to do but in all honesty, I don't. And that scares me to death. I don't like being frightened. I would prefer to dream and create and relate things to the world that is out there to things that are in me. But I have also discovered that to do this I must understand both worlds but both worlds don't like co-mingling if you know what I mean. One doesn't like the other being around and they are fighting a ferocious battle at this very moment and I am afraid that the one I dislike will win. My self control is non-existent and what I find of it is self defeating. I can't stand any criticism for living in the world out there but I can take all kinds of criticism for my inner world, for my writing, for my dreaming, for things that give me peace of mind. I am imprisoned behind some very strong walls and I need to break them down but I don't know how. I want to question things and I want to see things in a different light than how everyone else sees them. I don't want to conform. I don't want to work hard to fit societal norms. At first this seemed like something that went hand and hand with teen angst and college confusion but it has stuck with me. It is a sense of being different and I appreciate being different. I don't like ignoring that fact in myself. And I have been ignoring it.
I suppose the journey continues...
This week marks the 20th Anniversary of the Pink Floyd album, Momentary Lapse of Reason and here the lyrics from one of my favorites songs on that album:
Sorrow
The sweet smell of a great sorrow lies over the land
plumes of smoke rise and merge into the leaden sky:
A man lies and dreams of green fields and rivers
But awakes to a morning with no reason for waking
He's haunted by the memory of a lost paradise
In his youth or a dream, he can't be precise
He's chained forever to a world that's departed
It's not enough, it's not enough
His blood has frozen and curdled with fright
His knees have trembled and given way in the night
His hand has weakened at the moment of truth
His step has faltered
one world, one soul
Time pass, the river roll
And he talks to the river of lost love and dedication
And silent replies that swirl invitation
Flow dark and troubled to an oily sea
A grim intimation of what is to be
There's an unceasing wind that blows through this night
And there's dust in my eyes, that blinds my sight
And silence that speaks so much louder than words,
of promises broken
Once, we did run
How we chased a million stars
and touched as only one can
Once, we did play
How the past delivered you
Amidst our youth we'd dream away, away
As if I knew the words I'm sure you'll hear
Of how we met as you recall so clear
Once, we did love
Long ago how did I forget
Holding you so closely Look, how I move
Chance would have me glance at you
To know how you move me, me
All barriers fall around us as we hear
Of memories known and matters so long ago, so clear
Once, we did run
How we chased a million stars
And touched as only one can
I often find myself saying, I don't know what to do. And I don't. I don't know to do. I can remember growing up how the smallest things fascinated me and how the world felt so much bigger than me but the older I get the less fascinated I am by it and the smaller it seems. I don't want to be familiar with the world that is out there but with the world that is in me. But the life I have led over the past few years has taught me that I must live in the world that is out there, I need to be familiar with politics, I need to have financial matters under control, I need to keep my family close to me, I need to work hard and own things and I need to socialize and all of these things I feel like I did with little or no effort at one time. But I look back and think, maybe I was doing something wrong then, maybe I wasn't working as hard as I should have been and maybe I didn't have enough experience to know what I was doing but it didn't feel like anything was wrong. And now, that things are so different, it feels like something is terribly wrong. I can never get caught up on the things I need to get caught up on and I had a realization that I never will because these are things that need constant and thourough maintenance and therefore I forget to maintain the things I truly to need to be happy. Where did I go wrong? Was I ever going right? Is the damage reperable? Or have I done any damage at all? Or have I even done anything that could be damaged? You would think that I should have the answers to these questions, that I should be mature enough to understand who I am and what I need to do but in all honesty, I don't. And that scares me to death. I don't like being frightened. I would prefer to dream and create and relate things to the world that is out there to things that are in me. But I have also discovered that to do this I must understand both worlds but both worlds don't like co-mingling if you know what I mean. One doesn't like the other being around and they are fighting a ferocious battle at this very moment and I am afraid that the one I dislike will win. My self control is non-existent and what I find of it is self defeating. I can't stand any criticism for living in the world out there but I can take all kinds of criticism for my inner world, for my writing, for my dreaming, for things that give me peace of mind. I am imprisoned behind some very strong walls and I need to break them down but I don't know how. I want to question things and I want to see things in a different light than how everyone else sees them. I don't want to conform. I don't want to work hard to fit societal norms. At first this seemed like something that went hand and hand with teen angst and college confusion but it has stuck with me. It is a sense of being different and I appreciate being different. I don't like ignoring that fact in myself. And I have been ignoring it.
I suppose the journey continues...
This week marks the 20th Anniversary of the Pink Floyd album, Momentary Lapse of Reason and here the lyrics from one of my favorites songs on that album:
Sorrow
The sweet smell of a great sorrow lies over the land
plumes of smoke rise and merge into the leaden sky:
A man lies and dreams of green fields and rivers
But awakes to a morning with no reason for waking
He's haunted by the memory of a lost paradise
In his youth or a dream, he can't be precise
He's chained forever to a world that's departed
It's not enough, it's not enough
His blood has frozen and curdled with fright
His knees have trembled and given way in the night
His hand has weakened at the moment of truth
His step has faltered
one world, one soul
Time pass, the river roll
And he talks to the river of lost love and dedication
And silent replies that swirl invitation
Flow dark and troubled to an oily sea
A grim intimation of what is to be
There's an unceasing wind that blows through this night
And there's dust in my eyes, that blinds my sight
And silence that speaks so much louder than words,
of promises broken
Sunday, November 4, 2007
The only redeeming quality I can find in human beings is their ability to be loved.
I should be satisfied with such simple questions as, "Why does Ivory soap float?" I am simply satisfied enough with the smell of cow patties that just finished roasting in the summer sun somewhere in a distant Oklahoma pasture. The images flit through my head with the word 'happiness' filling up bubbles that burst once they float too far.
I should know that internal battles within myself afford nothing, such as wanting to go to yoga because I know it is good for me as opposed to wanting to go because I have a true desire of it; and that in the end I don't go because I can't afford it which is a decision influenced by depression because of the realization that I am totally broke. But somehow those kinds of egregious arguments, egregious to future direction and egregious to well-being, bring on about 15 minutes of tranquility that becomes shattered by a phone ringing or my own labored breathing.
And I find myself again in front of this computer, in almost the same exact spot I was in 2 years ago. But that gap is filled with extraordinary adventure. I once had imagined this adventure as a fuel for everyday affairs. But it is not. Instead I find my focus fading again and that inevitable since of "what now" settling in like September morning-dew over my medulla oblongata. Gotta. Gotta get up and go to work tomorrow.
I gotta be satisfied with the mystery of why Ivory soap floats. Even though I may actually know why it floats. I know people mean well when they lobby congress to protect open land and near extinct species of animals. I applaud it. But we are failing to protect another precious treasure. Mystery. I depend on it. And I feel my adventures during the last two years have taught me more than anything to destroy the mysteries and, gasp, to lose faith in human beings. And when this inevitably bred contempt, I lost interest in human beings. I struggle to regain this. I want to lose this existential weakness.
Amidst all of this I find myself thankful. I am thankful I did not marry and have children before now. It would be a much different and terrible perplexion if these additional characters were involved. Oh, how I could cover the ground of whether or not that is selfishness. Who doesn't have those battles? Parents do. Spouses do. Pastors do. Politicians do. A majority of children. I see myself in them. But it is just a part. Right now I am only fulfilling a part. There are other things I should be doing. And I don't.
When you are on a diving board, with your toes hanging over the edge, ankles poised, and you make that spring...one moment you are completely out of the water, and the next...completely in it.
That moment before the feet leave the board but right after you lift your ankles for the spring forward, that's where I am right now. And my fear lies in the fact that I have always had an inclination to walk away. I know I can't walk on water. But I can swim.
This tells me there is a lack of love in my life. Not romantic love. Faith like love. The kind of love that drives someone to solve mysteries. The kind of love that drives someone to do something more. The kind of love that allows you to sleep at night. As Roger Waters lyricized, I have been "Attracted by a paling way of feeling".
I should know that internal battles within myself afford nothing, such as wanting to go to yoga because I know it is good for me as opposed to wanting to go because I have a true desire of it; and that in the end I don't go because I can't afford it which is a decision influenced by depression because of the realization that I am totally broke. But somehow those kinds of egregious arguments, egregious to future direction and egregious to well-being, bring on about 15 minutes of tranquility that becomes shattered by a phone ringing or my own labored breathing.
And I find myself again in front of this computer, in almost the same exact spot I was in 2 years ago. But that gap is filled with extraordinary adventure. I once had imagined this adventure as a fuel for everyday affairs. But it is not. Instead I find my focus fading again and that inevitable since of "what now" settling in like September morning-dew over my medulla oblongata. Gotta. Gotta get up and go to work tomorrow.
I gotta be satisfied with the mystery of why Ivory soap floats. Even though I may actually know why it floats. I know people mean well when they lobby congress to protect open land and near extinct species of animals. I applaud it. But we are failing to protect another precious treasure. Mystery. I depend on it. And I feel my adventures during the last two years have taught me more than anything to destroy the mysteries and, gasp, to lose faith in human beings. And when this inevitably bred contempt, I lost interest in human beings. I struggle to regain this. I want to lose this existential weakness.
Amidst all of this I find myself thankful. I am thankful I did not marry and have children before now. It would be a much different and terrible perplexion if these additional characters were involved. Oh, how I could cover the ground of whether or not that is selfishness. Who doesn't have those battles? Parents do. Spouses do. Pastors do. Politicians do. A majority of children. I see myself in them. But it is just a part. Right now I am only fulfilling a part. There are other things I should be doing. And I don't.
When you are on a diving board, with your toes hanging over the edge, ankles poised, and you make that spring...one moment you are completely out of the water, and the next...completely in it.
That moment before the feet leave the board but right after you lift your ankles for the spring forward, that's where I am right now. And my fear lies in the fact that I have always had an inclination to walk away. I know I can't walk on water. But I can swim.
This tells me there is a lack of love in my life. Not romantic love. Faith like love. The kind of love that drives someone to solve mysteries. The kind of love that drives someone to do something more. The kind of love that allows you to sleep at night. As Roger Waters lyricized, I have been "Attracted by a paling way of feeling".
They Might Be Giants
I used to do concert reviews when I lived in Denver for a website called The Grateful Web. The following is one I wrote with a fellow concert goer when we saw They Might Be Giants in Boulder. I wanted to post it on here because it was the first thing I ever published on the web where I thought to use hypertext links. It was fun doing it. I am not even sure how many of the links even work any more.
I Am Actual Size: A Giant Encounter
By John Souders and Becca Friesen
Sometimes there are those kinds of bands that are just out in the open. Everywhere you look, there they are, the Beatles, U2, Rolling Stones, the Who gracing your television commercials with their songs, selling their images on merchandise, and even making political stands. But then there are those bands that aren’t so easily seen but often heard and have just as profound an impact as the aforementioned acts. They Might Be Giants is one of these bands.
Don’t think you’ve ever heard their music? Think again. Ever seen the show Malcolm in the Middle and found yourself singing along, “you’re not the boss of me now”? How about Comedy Central’s, The Daily Show with Jon Stewart? Yep, both are They Might Be Giants opuses. Some interesting Giant bits I gleaned from Wikipedia: in 1988, their second release Lincoln removed U2’s Joshua Tree from the top of the Billboard College charts and their third album Flood, which featured the wildly popular hits Birdhouse in Your Soul and the remake of Istanbul(Not Constantinople), went Gold. TMGB, a duet consisting of John Linnell and John Flansburgh, has released over ten studio albums, several compilations, EPs and demos. And please check out one of their lesser known but very fun works, Dial-A-Song.
The band’s name is ultimately derived from Don Quixote who in his adventures mistook windmills for giants. This year witnessed their latest release, Here Come the ABCs, following their popular children’s album No! The Johns and their backup band have found themselves on tour once again and on Saturday July 9, 2005 and on Sunday, they played to packed houses at the Fox Theatre in Boulder.
The show on Saturday was a 21 and Over performance, reserving Sunday evening for an all ages show and both opened appropriately with Corn Mo, an accordion wielding Meatloaf look-alike equipped with a foot operated electronic cymbal and a Casio keyboard. From the Queen-ish Bye Bye Girls to the polka-ish Lollipop, Corn Mo’s fluid performance rocked the house with lyrics about making out with a girl in his parent’s basement while listening to the B-Sides of Pyromania. In between songs Corn Mo recounted stories that led to the inspiration behind his songs remembering such times as when someone peed on his friend Jason. The tour de force came in the form of an hysterical rock-metal Bar Mitzvah song called Gila Monster which he “karaoked” since his back up band could not be there. Ross turned to me and said, “What the hell just happened?”
The first time I ever saw They Might Be Giants was at Denver’s LoDo Music Fest in 2002 where they threatened the crowd into a giant conga line. Their fun and innovative showmanship carried into Saturday’s performance. The lights went down inside the Fox and fog began rolling over the stage when after a technotic intro, the entire set burst into action with a heart-stomping version of Istanbul followed by Memo To Human Resources.
One of the trademark sounds of TMBG is John Linnell’s accordion, his Main Squeeze, as the sticker states. During the show Corn Mo came out on stage and they both jammed out a duel accordioned Particle Man. John’s easily recognizable and melodic voice put a grin on everyone’s face.
The performance was incredibly smooth. They played in front of a backdrop of white curtains and a carnival of lights. The only hitch came with Experimental Film, a song showcased by Homestarrunner.com, when Mr. Linnell stopped due to a “frog in his throat” and he wanted to do the song properly later on in the show. Someone in the audience yelled, “It’s just the altitude!” In true TMBG wit, John replied, “No, it’s the latitude!”
The show continued with the Alphabet of Nations song where the dramatic chords and bright lights made shouting the last line, “Zimbabwe!” a geeky pleasure. We were rocked for exactly 34 seconds with Boss of Me and an over-the-top rendition of Super Taster. I am a huge fan of their album Apollo 18, especially the song Fingertips, a collection of 21 very short songs that cover nearly every category of music and every crazy lyrical structure they could find. So I was happy to hear a new one that followed this style, a narrative tale of many venues they have played that I will assume is called The Venue Song. TMGB structured each quick melody with lyrics that were fitting to each new place ranging from “all of the House of Blues”, to a place in Dallas that had a “worrisome lack of fire exits”, and from Dallas a quick drive to Albany, then to Canada, then to the Electric Banana and on to Philadelphia. They hit Charlottesville, Virginia, “the Batcave of Thomas Jefferson” to Asbury Park where they were “kicked in the head” at the Stone Pony and ultimately back home to Brooklyn.
And then, they did it. They built birdhouses in our souls and everyone around jumped up and down in ecstasy to an extended version of this song that had more rock and roll in it than the words rock and roll themselves. We all know the excitement of hearing one of our favorite songs live but to hear it fleshed out hard and loud is pure bliss.
One final treat came during the encore when Corn Mo came back out on stage and together with They Might Be Giants debuted their rendition of Hocus Pocus by Focus to a totally enamored and awestruck audience. Corn Mo’s voice came across like a rock angel over that mic and gave rock music the true feeling it deserves. I can’t state this enough but TMBG really rocked the house that night. I was not expecting an energized rock show but that is exactly what they gave us.
Naturally we returned the next for the all ages show. Fun as it was, the second time around neither band’s sets were as fluid or well performed but they still afforded everyone there a memorable experience with the addition of more tracks from Apollo 18: Spider, The Guitar and Turn Around.
Being that I am only familiar with Apollo 18, let’s hear from a true fan, Becca Friesen. On the second night she wore a t-shirt that read: Talk Nerdy To Me and I have to thank for her for helping me with the naming of this piece. Here is what she has to offer:
One might say that a concert is just a concert, but to me this particular gathering was so much more. I never knew there were fans as crazy about They Might Be Giants as I am. They provide us with good, clean, fun, educational music about factual situations that are either humorous or enlightening in a day and age that more often than not bombards us with lyrics of hate and violence.
I know personally that I can pick up any album (they have plenty, but keep them coming) at any time and listen to any random song knowing that I will feel instantly better. Each song is individual and unique, flowing together so well that to listen to one song inevitably creates the desire to hear the next. I have always honestly said, “Who needs Prozac when there's a Might Be Giants album in the house?”
Needless to say, I had no idea that there were others out there that felt as deeply about them as I do. I was pleasantly surprised to see such diversity in the crowd as well. What defines a TMBG fan? Nothing does, seeing as there are no rules. The young and old came together to create quite an entourage and we all waited patiently for the show to start. When the first chord was struck, oh the roar coming from the dance floor was unbelievable. People screaming and yelling, proclaiming their undying love for the band. Both men and women hoping to catch the eye of a John for just a minute, the feelings were intense. I felt the atmosphere changing right before my eyes as I stood in pure amazement of what unfolded throughout the night. I wondered where all these people came from and why I had never stumbled into any of them before! I wanted the night to last forever!
The play list chosen was pure perfection for their opening night show. They graced us with just enough of the old stuff, mixed with the new to entice everyone to want to come back for the second show on Sunday. John and John took the extra time to bond with their fans making the whole night very personal by sharing stories of adventures on the road and songs created on a whim inspired from the venues played. And to top it all off, not in a million years would I have expected to hear them go into Fingertips! That alone was priceless! The room exploded as everyone sang along, which made me feel like we were all part of this huge monster.
That phenomenon made me stop to ponder that perhaps the very name "They Might Be Giants" does not actually refer to the Johns themselves as a band, but to what their die-hard fans may become in their presence. The inspiration, the knowledge, the spontaneously combustible nature, and the observational humor that laces each and every song will forever be felt in the heart of a true fan. May all who witnessed this show hold on to the thoughts and feelings that were present. Never have I seen a more compatible entourage. No fights, no hating, no judging, basically all differences were set aside for those three hours and the world seemed just a little better. I must say thank you to the Johns for bringing such happiness to us all. I was moved.
So let's all keep them alive and well and play their albums every day through the morning commute and sing along at the top of our lungs, because you know that you know the words.... and that's, ok.
I Am Actual Size: A Giant Encounter
By John Souders and Becca Friesen
Sometimes there are those kinds of bands that are just out in the open. Everywhere you look, there they are, the Beatles, U2, Rolling Stones, the Who gracing your television commercials with their songs, selling their images on merchandise, and even making political stands. But then there are those bands that aren’t so easily seen but often heard and have just as profound an impact as the aforementioned acts. They Might Be Giants is one of these bands.
Don’t think you’ve ever heard their music? Think again. Ever seen the show Malcolm in the Middle and found yourself singing along, “you’re not the boss of me now”? How about Comedy Central’s, The Daily Show with Jon Stewart? Yep, both are They Might Be Giants opuses. Some interesting Giant bits I gleaned from Wikipedia: in 1988, their second release Lincoln removed U2’s Joshua Tree from the top of the Billboard College charts and their third album Flood, which featured the wildly popular hits Birdhouse in Your Soul and the remake of Istanbul(Not Constantinople), went Gold. TMGB, a duet consisting of John Linnell and John Flansburgh, has released over ten studio albums, several compilations, EPs and demos. And please check out one of their lesser known but very fun works, Dial-A-Song.
The band’s name is ultimately derived from Don Quixote who in his adventures mistook windmills for giants. This year witnessed their latest release, Here Come the ABCs, following their popular children’s album No! The Johns and their backup band have found themselves on tour once again and on Saturday July 9, 2005 and on Sunday, they played to packed houses at the Fox Theatre in Boulder.
The show on Saturday was a 21 and Over performance, reserving Sunday evening for an all ages show and both opened appropriately with Corn Mo, an accordion wielding Meatloaf look-alike equipped with a foot operated electronic cymbal and a Casio keyboard. From the Queen-ish Bye Bye Girls to the polka-ish Lollipop, Corn Mo’s fluid performance rocked the house with lyrics about making out with a girl in his parent’s basement while listening to the B-Sides of Pyromania. In between songs Corn Mo recounted stories that led to the inspiration behind his songs remembering such times as when someone peed on his friend Jason. The tour de force came in the form of an hysterical rock-metal Bar Mitzvah song called Gila Monster which he “karaoked” since his back up band could not be there. Ross turned to me and said, “What the hell just happened?”
The first time I ever saw They Might Be Giants was at Denver’s LoDo Music Fest in 2002 where they threatened the crowd into a giant conga line. Their fun and innovative showmanship carried into Saturday’s performance. The lights went down inside the Fox and fog began rolling over the stage when after a technotic intro, the entire set burst into action with a heart-stomping version of Istanbul followed by Memo To Human Resources.
One of the trademark sounds of TMBG is John Linnell’s accordion, his Main Squeeze, as the sticker states. During the show Corn Mo came out on stage and they both jammed out a duel accordioned Particle Man. John’s easily recognizable and melodic voice put a grin on everyone’s face.
The performance was incredibly smooth. They played in front of a backdrop of white curtains and a carnival of lights. The only hitch came with Experimental Film, a song showcased by Homestarrunner.com, when Mr. Linnell stopped due to a “frog in his throat” and he wanted to do the song properly later on in the show. Someone in the audience yelled, “It’s just the altitude!” In true TMBG wit, John replied, “No, it’s the latitude!”
The show continued with the Alphabet of Nations song where the dramatic chords and bright lights made shouting the last line, “Zimbabwe!” a geeky pleasure. We were rocked for exactly 34 seconds with Boss of Me and an over-the-top rendition of Super Taster. I am a huge fan of their album Apollo 18, especially the song Fingertips, a collection of 21 very short songs that cover nearly every category of music and every crazy lyrical structure they could find. So I was happy to hear a new one that followed this style, a narrative tale of many venues they have played that I will assume is called The Venue Song. TMGB structured each quick melody with lyrics that were fitting to each new place ranging from “all of the House of Blues”, to a place in Dallas that had a “worrisome lack of fire exits”, and from Dallas a quick drive to Albany, then to Canada, then to the Electric Banana and on to Philadelphia. They hit Charlottesville, Virginia, “the Batcave of Thomas Jefferson” to Asbury Park where they were “kicked in the head” at the Stone Pony and ultimately back home to Brooklyn.
And then, they did it. They built birdhouses in our souls and everyone around jumped up and down in ecstasy to an extended version of this song that had more rock and roll in it than the words rock and roll themselves. We all know the excitement of hearing one of our favorite songs live but to hear it fleshed out hard and loud is pure bliss.
One final treat came during the encore when Corn Mo came back out on stage and together with They Might Be Giants debuted their rendition of Hocus Pocus by Focus to a totally enamored and awestruck audience. Corn Mo’s voice came across like a rock angel over that mic and gave rock music the true feeling it deserves. I can’t state this enough but TMBG really rocked the house that night. I was not expecting an energized rock show but that is exactly what they gave us.
Naturally we returned the next for the all ages show. Fun as it was, the second time around neither band’s sets were as fluid or well performed but they still afforded everyone there a memorable experience with the addition of more tracks from Apollo 18: Spider, The Guitar and Turn Around.
Being that I am only familiar with Apollo 18, let’s hear from a true fan, Becca Friesen. On the second night she wore a t-shirt that read: Talk Nerdy To Me and I have to thank for her for helping me with the naming of this piece. Here is what she has to offer:
One might say that a concert is just a concert, but to me this particular gathering was so much more. I never knew there were fans as crazy about They Might Be Giants as I am. They provide us with good, clean, fun, educational music about factual situations that are either humorous or enlightening in a day and age that more often than not bombards us with lyrics of hate and violence.
I know personally that I can pick up any album (they have plenty, but keep them coming) at any time and listen to any random song knowing that I will feel instantly better. Each song is individual and unique, flowing together so well that to listen to one song inevitably creates the desire to hear the next. I have always honestly said, “Who needs Prozac when there's a Might Be Giants album in the house?”
Needless to say, I had no idea that there were others out there that felt as deeply about them as I do. I was pleasantly surprised to see such diversity in the crowd as well. What defines a TMBG fan? Nothing does, seeing as there are no rules. The young and old came together to create quite an entourage and we all waited patiently for the show to start. When the first chord was struck, oh the roar coming from the dance floor was unbelievable. People screaming and yelling, proclaiming their undying love for the band. Both men and women hoping to catch the eye of a John for just a minute, the feelings were intense. I felt the atmosphere changing right before my eyes as I stood in pure amazement of what unfolded throughout the night. I wondered where all these people came from and why I had never stumbled into any of them before! I wanted the night to last forever!
The play list chosen was pure perfection for their opening night show. They graced us with just enough of the old stuff, mixed with the new to entice everyone to want to come back for the second show on Sunday. John and John took the extra time to bond with their fans making the whole night very personal by sharing stories of adventures on the road and songs created on a whim inspired from the venues played. And to top it all off, not in a million years would I have expected to hear them go into Fingertips! That alone was priceless! The room exploded as everyone sang along, which made me feel like we were all part of this huge monster.
That phenomenon made me stop to ponder that perhaps the very name "They Might Be Giants" does not actually refer to the Johns themselves as a band, but to what their die-hard fans may become in their presence. The inspiration, the knowledge, the spontaneously combustible nature, and the observational humor that laces each and every song will forever be felt in the heart of a true fan. May all who witnessed this show hold on to the thoughts and feelings that were present. Never have I seen a more compatible entourage. No fights, no hating, no judging, basically all differences were set aside for those three hours and the world seemed just a little better. I must say thank you to the Johns for bringing such happiness to us all. I was moved.
So let's all keep them alive and well and play their albums every day through the morning commute and sing along at the top of our lungs, because you know that you know the words.... and that's, ok.
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