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Column: There are lyrics I remember
SOMETIMES, I GET RANDOM, undeniable urges to listen to very specific songs —Friday night, it was “In My Life (There Are Places I Remember),” by none other than The Beatles.
I don't know if it's the ongoing controversy over the recent Gargoyle senior staff editorial, or an exceptionally tiring week of school, but I felt somewhat blue until this song popped into my brain and said, “Play me, Jono — I'm the perfect blend of a strong, but laid-back beat, smooth Beatles lyrics and vocals, mellow guitar, and a simple message of love.” And so I did.
My brain hit the mark. Sometimes listening to something like The Who's “My Generation” medley from “Live at Leeds” puts me back into the mood with its energizing instrumental and vocal combinations (The Who's members were all masters and at the top of their game, and their meshed aptitude is what makes The Who so incredible, especially in their live recordings, which do an amazing job of unleashing their sheer power) and intense rock ‘n' roll, underground attitude.
Other nights, I might slap some electronica (Prefuse 73 or DJ Shadow, for instance) onto my iTunes and start tapping out the rhythms, dancing — I even try human beatboxing on occasion — usually I'm alone. But Friday night, something mellow was the perfect pick-me-up. It carried me away gently from a slightly depressed and somber mood and placed me in a new mindset, a positive mindset that didn't demand I feel upset.
And while “In My Life” lifted me out of my initial rut, the next song that came onto my computer's speakers actually pulled me over the threshold into a good mood — “Poor Places” by Wilco, which is my favorite band for a reason.
This song says “summer” to me. It begins fairly thinly, with Jeff Tweedy's lyrics accompanied only by a low-volume beeping that's reminiscent of the last rays of a late summer evening's setting sun in Champaign; the heat's finally dying down, the cicadas are calling out, and there's a sense of completeness and perfection in the still humid air.
But then, instead of dying out like the day gives way to night, the delicate and intricate pairing of Tweedy's voice and the electronic underlay is upset by the introduction of strong chords played on the piano, and “Poor Places” erupts in a brilliant display of new power, as drums and less subtle electronic elements begin to take over.
Tweedy's voice prevails through the entire ordeal, and seems to conduct every minute detail within the piece — the song's resulting sound is orchestral, not just in metaphor, but in bright, emotional music. “Poor Places” rises up in the air as it progresses, and eventually reaches a stratosphere of miscellaneous instrumental sounds incorporating practically every percussion implement from sleigh bells to washboards.
I turned the song off before it reached such heights — unfortunately, my left ear is giving me problems, and the last minute or so of “Poor Places” bothered it Friday night. But the effect of the four previous minutes had already carried my spirits high enough, and that's how music should always be, and I believe I'll remember this “Poor Places” for a while.
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