Lyrical Note Poetry

When I was in high school, then later college, I learned the lost art of shorthand. It’s a skill I used to take notes in class, during my time as a reporter and has followed me to every communications job thereafter.

While I rarely use the technique any more, I’m a still a prodigious note taker. All meetings, events, training, parent-teach conferences -- even church – will find me with a notebook, back of a flyer or spare grocery receipt taking my notes.

I also listen to music when I write, which is pretty much all day long. Combine those two and I will regularly jot down song lyrics as they strike me.

This week I went through my notebook sorting notes and adding them to the various project folders. As I went I transcribed every song lyric. The result is a very loving, pseudo-stalker-but-with-loving-intentions poem.

  

Love, love is something I believe in

I’ve seen her walking home alone,

Get back temptation

Do you know who you really are, are you sure it’s really you?

Come away little lamb come away to the slaughter,
To the ones appointed to see this through.
Lay me down, let me go
I'm feeling heavy, the ground is cold
Pardon me for being so cruel,

But the general consensus, you see, is that I fucking rule

I’m looking right at the other half of me

The vacancy that sat in my heart

Is a space that now you hold

She got that good love, she give it just to me

Oh what a lovely day, breaking the chains of love

Hoping you won’t find a new love

Cause I know baby, you’re mine

In addition I also found some very unprofessional comments I made to myself. I’m sure myself agreed with them all.

• “This looks really basic and a waste of time for us."
•  “Why no water on the table? Lame!”
•  “I hate her.”
• “Why does she wear so much make up?”

The Soundtrack of My Life

This morning the ball of fire sang chapter and verse of Adele’s “Someone Like You.” He remembered every word, found every note. I played that album somewhat obsessively for a few months, but have since moved onto Norah Jones’ new love fest. But those few months obviously left an impression.

It made me think a lot about music when I was a kid. The soundtrack of my life was set for me in those early years too… Fleetwood Mac, Allman Brothers, Charlie Daniels Band, Santana, Black Sabbath and Led Zepplin just to name a few.

I remember the first time I heard Pink Floyd’s "Momentary Lapse of Reason". I was at a high school party with my first REAL boyfriend. We were chatting with a friend in a bedroom that was absolutely trashed. As we sat on the unmade bed, feet in a pile of discarded clothing, I was momentarily jarred from my disgust (who LIVES like that??)  by the sound of "Learning to Fly."

My best friend Jen Bahl let me listen to Metallica’s "Unforgiven" during yearbook class. I didn’t hear much after that-- rewind again and again.

"Say Hello 2 Heaven" by Temple of the Dog eliminated Pearl Jam forever, and began a life-long love affair with my musical muse, the infamous Chris Cornell. ("Like Suicide by Soundgarden"… do I need to say more??)

Foo Fighters’ album "One by One" held reign over one of the worst and best years of my life.

Norah Jones’ "Come Away with Me" played almost continuously in the car while I drove around and around and around to lull to sleep a very grumpy, sick baby ball of fire.

Audioslave’s "Cochise" broke me from a post-work commute trance and required me to immediately call the station and ask “was that Chris Cornell I just heard?“

White Stripes, Raconteurs, Muse, the Black Keys ... the list goes on for miles. Music is so important to me, I tattooed it on my skin. Note by note in painful black ink.

Every day music plays in my house. Every day I'm setting the tracks for the soundtrack of his childhood. I hope he remembers it as fondly. It's filled with likes of Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin Norah Jones, Adele, Chris Cornell, Dave Grohl, Queen, Stevie Wonder, Red Hot Chilli Peppers and more classical music than he will ever remember.

Not a bad set list if you ask me.

One list, two list, me and you list

I believe art comes in many forms -- writing, painting, music and photography to name of few.

For me, art is the perfect playlist.

I have arranged and rearranged my playlists from the first day I had my steely blue iPod. (Still the best gift ever.)

Before the iPod, it was the ever-appreciated mixed CD. I mixed and mashed my CDs and gave them away like candy. For me, that’s the other indisputable quality of art: It gives. Peace, joy, sadness, love, whatever suits you, it gives again and again.

Because the ball of fire and I like to bebop around the house sans TV, I always have music playing. When we are home, I have to use my BOF-appropriate playlists. For the longest time it was Aretha Franklin, then the Love album remix of the Beatles, lately Nora Jones.

This week I started one called the Lullaby League. Slow, sweet, mostly blues, heavy on the guitar and long on love. Blue Jean Blues by the Jeff Healey Band, Daydream by Robin Trower, some Sarah McLachlan, Nora (always), Starlight by Slash. And then a little John Mayer.

Because in our little world, lullabies are never just about babies in tree tops.

In the Mood

I have noticed the past few years that my choice in music is dictated by my mood.

When I’m home – sunshine warming the living room, ball of fire playing in the yard, the smell of wood polish on my hands – we listen to a lot of Beatles and Aretha Franklin.

When I’m in the car – skipping from one lane to the next, sun roof open, breeze in my hair – it’s more like Muse, Foo Fighters or Audioslave.

When my tennis shoes are tied and it’s time to run, I have a clever mix called Dance, Dance, Dance that combines the best of Lady Gaga, Gold Frap, Depeche Mode and a little Pink for spice.
For writing, it’s metal or nothing.

Lately, my house must be dominated by the moon of estrogen because I crave a soulful voice. I need the mellow sound of love and longing. That deeper well of desire and loss. This can only be filled but Sade, Sarah McLachlan, Tori Amos, Jill Jack, and Alicia Keys.

The one drawback to answering this siren’s call is my own melody. I have a tendency to sing. Out loud.

I am a decent singer, but when you can’t hear the tune and it is bits of song floating by, it’s hard to determine the quality of my voice.

Usually when a co-worker walks up behind me, they tap me, maybe say, “Caught you!”

I laugh, ask them what they want. Then it’s: “Now go away so I can put the music back on.”

Maybe I’ve had a touch too much estrogen lately. "Even a glamorous bitch can be in need."

Smooth is as smooth does

Sometimes my subconcious had a tuner all of its own. A subterranean rumble that picks certain frequencies and attaches.

That was the situation a few weeks ago in my local Starbucks. Mid-conversation, I paused -- subterranean rumble. Sade.

Melody with spice. Love making with strings. I love Sade.

After that coffee, I didn't think of her again until my latest issue of Rolling Stone appeared.

Soldier is the first Sade album since Lovers Rock 10 years ago, which was her first since Love Deluxe eight years before that. Like those albums, Soldier is sumptuously melancholy, exquisitely beautiful R&B, perfect for crying on a very expensive sofa. She's been making hit records longer than anyone in the xx has been alive, yet she works in the same style: the hushed, voluptuous tones of heartbreak, reduced to a sexy-librarian whisper, with a very British sense of reserve.

I always feel sorry for people who don't appreciate Sade. Obviously they are missing something from their soul, the tuning fork for that sweet spot, the subterranean vibration that reminds you that loving music is as primal as making love.

Gleefully obsessed

I blame Jolee...

My next wish is for fat free, yet tasty, chocolate

An e-mail flashed first thing this morning on my Blackberry from my musical-butt-buddy, James. We have traded many an e-mail and text dissecting music from all walks. I introduced him to Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, he turned me on with Eagles of Death Metal.

Today's topic of discussion was not a new band but a fucking wish come true. Soundgarden, back together and in the studio. Thank you, sir, may I have another!

I love Soundgarden, which you would know if you look at any one of my posts about Chris Cornell. I had hoped for an Audioslave redux or even ... desperately ... Temple of the Dog. But Soundgarden will do.

Cornell and other members of Soundgarden spent most of 2009 hinting that the long-awaited reformation was on the way. In March, all of the band but Cornell rocked together onstage during a Seattle stop on Tom Morello’s Justice Tour.

"Don't come over here, piss on my gate!"

Put on your red shoes and dance the blues

The ball of fire and I watched "Arthur and the Invisibles" for the millionth time this week.

If you haven't seen this one, I highly recommend. It's funny and the "cast" -- which I use loosely since it is mostly a cartoon -- is top notch.

One of my favorite characters is Maltazard, which is a bad guy, but wonderfully voiced by David Bowie. In a particular scene, the heros start a fight with some of Malhazard's bad guys and Snoop Dogg (as a cartoon, he is even uglier) plays the intro to "Let's Dance." It's part of the dance fighting scene too. So yummy.

Ok, just those few beats makes me want to download that song. Then, I think, "Hey, it's Christmas and what's better at Christmas time then a really great mix of Christmas music!?"

David Bowie mix, coming right up. That's what we are listening to for Christmas morning. Bing Crosby can suck the left one, becuase "China Girl" will reign.

I could use some suggestions though. "China Girl, Let's Dance, Under Pressure..." What else?

Weigh in. I'll publish the final delicious ground-control-to-Major-Tom list when I'm finished.

Now I'm ruined

I'm like a teenager caught in the grip of first-time-lust. But without the night time emissions! I am crazy for the new Norah Jones CD.

I am a fan of Norahs from way back. In fact, during the ball of fire's early years, I would often put "Come Away With Me" in the CD player when we traveled somewhere. The low melodic timber of her voice coupled with the sway of the car would knock that kid out like a light every time.

Her second album, "Feels Like Home" is also good, but almost too slow and maudlin for my taste.

Enter her newest tome, "The Fall." Mix in a little Johnny Cash, maybe a dash of Janis Joplin and a swirl of Billie Holiday and you have one hell of a good album.

She put together a new backing group that has worked with such artists as Erykah Badu, Al Green, Elvis Costello and Tito and Tarantula. That's a wide sweep of some amazing musical styles. Her guitarist Marc Ribot has a twang that fits in that smooth groove between your eyes and your brain, making that oh-so-mellow feeling that only good music can offer.

If you have any penchant for blues or blue grass, please pick this one up. Then put it on every night while you drink sweet glasses of wine and make dinner with someone you love very much.

Maybe even dance in the living room a little.

And the super shall reign

I know I've talked about the "super group" (trademark pending) before. It seems like some killer bands have split and reformed to make additional killer bands in the last few years.

Take for example Audioslave, the magical combination of Rage Against the Machine and Soundgarden. Then you have the Raconteurs, which, well, they are the shiznick.

Recently a friend introduced me to Them Crooked Vultures.

Now in the pantheon of "super groups" this one is going to reign supreme in my heart. Formed by Josh Homme from Queens of the Stone Age, Dave Grohl from the Foo Fighters and John Paul Jones from this little band you may have heard of called LED ZEPPELIN. (If I have to link to Led Zeppelin so you know who they are, then get the fuck off my blog.)

Needless to say, while worried for the future of my beloved Foos, I pretty much creamed my panties when I found out about this band.

I require music the way some people require soda or chocolate chip cookies. Sure, I can live without it, but why the hell would I? And when your soda is made of pure unadulterated rock, then addiction must be guaranteed.

It's called rhythm and blues

It is subtle infusion of blues guitar and smoky bar, tinged with a lack of inhibition triggered by a sweet shot called the red-headed slut.

The hair on my arms prickle and raise as the bass beats a soothing rhythm in my chest. I smile, and sink into the music, letting it wash over me and invade that hollow palce in the back of my mind where doubt and loneliness sometimes rein. Only the music can brush it aside.

There are no commitments to be met, no agendas to set. I am not obligated to smile, reciprocate, or even speculate. Merely to be imbued.

This is a love affair that transcends the emotional. I cannot resist the lure. The love I give is returned note for note. It may be the only true relationship there is.

I wished for something true...

Why won't Dave Grohl marry me?

Do oldies make you old?

Spent the weekend with the parents recently. My dad and I have two major things in common: cooking and music. On a drive into the Cardinals game on Saturday, we listened to the oldies station, singing and trying to remember the names of the artists. At one point the Doobie Brothers were on.

My dad sighed and said, these guys shouldn't be on the oldies station! That makes me feel so old. I agreed and we moved on.

Today on my drive into work, again listening to the oldies station (because it's safe for the ball of fire, FYI! Don't be a hater ...) and the Eurythmics, "Sweet Dreams" came on.

Now what the hell!? The Doobies are old. Annie Lennox, that's my generation. That's just not cool.

I immediately flipped over to the alternative station to absorb some of that youth-infused crap they call music today.

Oh yeah, that comment doesn't make me sound old.

When all else goes wrong...

...You can always hear Jimi. "Music, sweet music..."

Lights on, or out?

My latest obsession..

Lightly toasted with a bluesy after taste

I think I'm verging on a taste change in my music slection. I went through the hard hair band phase. Did the grunge. Been on the alternative wave for a while. Lately I've been switching around to my bluesy favorites.

Enter Jack White....

Apparently Jack has started yet another new band, The Dead Weather. Par for course, it kicks ass. The Raconteurs has been an excellent addition to my catalog. The White Stripes never fail to please. This new gig is a mix of the Raconteurs, White Stripes and Queens of the Stone Age. The lead singer of Queens is also frontman for Eagles of Death Metal which is a lot of fun.

I see this trend emerging ... great artists who collaborate with other greats to create a music for the sheer joy of creating music. Maybe we'll see the end of the corporate band and find the perfect niche of music for music's sake.
Maybe. Until then, at least I have Jack.

This and thats

I've lost things. Lots of things. Not vital things yet things I am now looking for on a daily basis. When does this part end? When does all the stuff find the appropriate spot where it belongs and can be found at the tip of fingers when the need arises?

In the meantime, concert season is upon us. We already have tickets for the Killers in May. Franz Ferdinand? Maybe. U2 is only getting as close as Chicago.

I think one my "sources" is hooking me up with the new Yeah Yeah Yeah's album. And I'm kinda hooked on the new song by Pink.

In the meantime, the this and thats remain MIA.

Birth of a stalker

I'm loving Chris's new album. It's completely different than his previous work but still soo... what's the word ... Chris.

It's so easy to see how stalkers come to be. I know if he met me, he would LOVE me!

Phantom Menace

The ball of fire is entranced by "Phantom of the Opera." Last week, in a harmless moment, I made a cup of tea with gallons of honey and decided to watch the movie version of Andrew Lloyd Webber's masterpiece. It's PG. We had a pint-sized guest. I was confident that if they ran through the room, they wouldn't see anything that would scar their impressionable minds. Little did I know.

They did run through. And stayed. And watched the whole thing. And loved it.

Great, right? It's better than Barney! Oh. Good. God. If I have to hear "Music of the Night" one more time, I may gouge out my own ears.

There is an upside. When the CD is finally silenced, he will sing the songs using his own words, which usually involves the activity of the moment. Have you ever heard the tune of "Point of No Return" sung about legos?

Lyrical

The Killers are coming to town on May 2. I'm going, without a doubt although I'm not a big fan of their new song.

In the meantime, I'm waiting for the new album from Franz Ferdinand and I'm loving the new Fall Out Boy song. Seriously, lyrics like this are magic, pure magic!!

I don't care what you think, aslong as it's about me
The best of us can find happiness, in misery
Oh, take a chance, let your body get a tolerance,
I'm not a chance, but a heat wave in your pants