Category: Uncategorized

So it’s the day of the election, which means that I’m going to be spending a long night staring at my computer screen refreshing Huffington Post and probably spending too much money on comfort foods and possibly ordering pizza house. But y’know. That’s pretty much every Tuesday night for me, except for that election part.

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The one thing that really makes me feel so strange about the election is how ridiculously unifying it is. I mean, to be totally fair it’s not unifying at all, but consider for a second that most everyone in the country has something to say about two men. There are two men out there right now that are being talked about more than anything else. You say the word “Romney” or “Obama” and it feels like you are speaking a raindrop that has traveled halfway across the world to fall upon your tongue. You know these men. You probably don’t know them, but you do. You have judgements on their character, on their opinions, and probably know at least something about their respective dogs.

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It strikes me sometimes that the world is global and that the butterfly effect is real. It strikes me sometimes that I am a person within an ecosystem within an ecosystem within a way of life within the world and I have a part in this reality. It’s a tremendous honor to be a human being and be where I am now, but it is a tremendous responsibility. It’s in many ways the honor I feel as an artist. I’m called to be something that is hugely important, to be a person that expresses and comments and keeps check on and celebrates and frightens and learns and cries. It’s an incredible responsibility. It’s an incredible task.

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I hope the election goes the way I want it to, but if it doesn’t, the world will keep flying through space and turning and turning and turning. Four years will pass and I will experience this strange awareness again, this odd overwhelming mix of duty, awe, and being totally overwhelmed. I’m proud to have taken part in America’s democratic process and I think that’s a pretty incredible feeling. I also think it’s worth taking note of the huge sphere of influence this election has over our lives. Not in the policy that comes from it, but from the social influence of campaigns and partisanship. I don’t know if I like that influence but I don’t really know if I like the influence that my stress eating habits have over my life, either. But so it goes. Another day, more food, more music, more life.

It’s a drug. It may not be marijuana or ecstasy or moonrocks acid Robitussin heroin meth, but it is most definitely a drug. You can’t buy it on the street; you can’t put it in your pocket. You can’t eat, snort, smell, shoot, or smoke it. You can’t pass it in a circle or offer some to your friends. You can’t even touch it. But when it starts, there’s no stopping it. It’s the taste that gets you going. The want need desire to find more. But I couldn’t even tell you where to find it if I tried.

Walking down the streets, no one knows your secret. You think about it on your way to class, watching the slide change and change, lights flashing, numbers words and pictures constantly written, but this never stops the need for a fix. The thing itself is innocuous, enjoyable when consumed in moderation. That’s how it is for most, anyway. A healthy dosage can be enough to make you satisfied. Enough so that you don’t have to get out of your seat during class because the thought of sitting in class while you learn about price points and net present value isn’t too much for you to handle while thinking about it. Enough so that you don’t miss the punch line to the joke your friend tells you on the walk home, or that you don’t have to re-read that page another five times to understand that it’s just a housing contract.

In most cases, you’re fine. It’s when you have the taste of that one type that sets you off. It’s different for everyone, which is what makes it so potent. Even if I tried to let you have a taste of mine, you wouldn’t understand. A drug so powerful that it changes your life. Ideals that you once held are now turned upside down inside out and thrown across the yard. The approach to your goals that you’ve stuck with forever are suddenly reevaluated. Then it becomes what you think, smell, taste, dance, carry with you everywhere and always because you can’t get enough. The all consuming nature can be tragically euphoric. Your whole world is changed. Colors brighter and darker at the same time, music playing to the beat of the influence. People staring because they don’t understand but it doesn’t even matter because what matters is that you have it.

It’s everywhere, in the air, water, sunlight, laughter and tears. It’s the drive from the tragedy you just witnessed, the inspiration for a life changing endeavor, the song that made you understand why they did that to you. It’s in everyone, but its finding that one spec out of a million that makes the change. It’s an unexplained desire to be consumed by it, and devote every waking moment you have to making sure that you have more of it ; live it ; breath it; taste smell and feel it between your fingers.

Have you found yours?

A conundrum I’ve always tried to elucidate is whether an acoustic/folk album comprised of songs that essentially sound the same is a display of the artist’s ability to produce specific, cohesive and polished music, or whether it should be seen as a disability of the artist to diversify their creativity. I’ve struggled with this quandary with practically every Jack Johnson record, the Avett Brothers, a lot of John Mayer’s music and (although I don’t at all agree with this) I’ve heard Bon Iver be criticized for it as well. I am presented with this problem most recently by the Mumford & Sons release Babel, which is their second studio album. In my opinion, both of Bon Iver’s albums are similar, but not identical in sound; their variances are easily noticeable due to the array of instruments used and definitive stylistic deviations throughout the albums. Even Jack Johnson records incorporate different methods to the point where I can readily distinguish between the individual tracks. Try as I might, though, I cannot say the same for Babel.

Although it is easy to identify one or two of the songs without looking at the track list, the majority of this album sounds almost identical. It seems as though the chords and rhythms progress without alteration throughout the entire piece. This happens not because the band fails to utilize a wide array of instruments- in any given song there can be a combination of guitar, drums, mandolin, keyboard, accordion, dobro and, of course, banjo- but because they use all of these instruments in practically every song. With the exception of “Babel,” “Ghosts That We Knew” and “Hopeless Wanderer,” it took me a substantial amount of full listens to be able to differentiate between the tracks; they simply all sound the same.

The important question lies in the significance of this resemblance. Does this mean that Babel is a weak album? Or that Mumford & Sons are only capable of creating one type of music? In my opinion, the answer is definitely no to the first question, and for the most part no to the second. Babel is undeniably an impressive record; despite this flaw the songs all still sound marvelous. In an “If it ain’t broke don’t fix it” mentality, I don’t mind listening to songs that sound similar as long as I still enjoy listening to them. I particularly appreciate this music while studying as it drowns out any disruptive, outside noise but changes so minimally that it does not distract my focus away from the work. As to the second question, I think it is important to clarify that although Mumford & Sons have only ever produced stylistically similar music, this does not mean they are not talented artists or that they are only capable of composing a single genre of music. It just means they know what they are good at and have become extremely successful within that category. Granted, it is more impressive when artists show some sort of growth and development, but as this is only the band’s second album I think there is still potential for this maturation. In any case, as long as it continues to sound as fantastic as this piece, I’ll keep listening to anything they produce. The magic of this music is that it never gets old- I will always have a hunger for some soothing folk, bluegrassy tunes to accompany me in the library.

My first post on this blog, The Irrelevance of the Artist, spurred some debate with an intellectual friend of mine. He insisted that the artist was integral to the art because so much of art is its meaning and intention, which is derived directly from said artist. I disagreed: once the artist is done creating his work, his intention and his opinion matter no more than any other observer’s. Very quickly, I realized the foundation of our argument was not disagreement regarding the role of the artist as much as it was a disagreement on what art is.

To him, I gathered, art was something deliberately created to carry the artist’s intent. To me, such a definition was too limiting. It meant art could only be man-made and have a specific purpose or statement in mind. To me, art is an interaction and a provocation. Not necessarily something meant to elicit anger and frustration but something meant to elicit. Period.

Therefore, in a way, everything is art, n’est-ce pas? From the laughter of a child which inspires awe to the cockroach which sparks repulsion. From Picasso’s The Old Guitarist to the strum of a guitar of an old man on the street. Even intangible concepts such as the incomprehensible infinity of the universe and unimaginable promise of the future are art. Art is thought and emotion and physicality and dirt and nonsense and sense. It is human consciousness and everything the consciousness reacts with. The idea that something that vast could be narrowed down into something physical, created with an intention in mind is ludicrous, perhaps even blasphemous.

While art is as old as the human race itself, the need obsession with defining exactly what it is has come about fairly recently (that we know of). I will not pretend to know why nor will I publish my thoughts with a possible why if and when I do come up with one. Because it doesn’t matter. My opinion – this entire blog post – is not fact. It is truth. It is art. You, reading this, what is happening right now is art. And as the artist typing this blog post, I want to let you know that it’s almost done. So I’m about to step back now and let you think and feel what you want. Maybe I’ll leave you with a Herman Melville poem because… hey, why the hell not? It even rhymes.

Art

In placid hours well-pleased we dream

Of many a brave unbodied scheme.

But form to lend, pulsed life create,

What unlike things must meet and mate:

A flame to melt – a wind to freeze;

Sad patience – joyous energies;

Humility – yet pride and scorn;

Instinct and study; love and hate;

Audacity – reverence. These must mate,

And fuse with Jacob’s mystic heart,

To wrestle with the angel – Art.