There are kids everywhere. And how interesting they all are. The Arcade Fire, with their lyrical infatuation with childhood and all its innocence, has become posterboy for nostalgia. The masses watched Win and gang yell their hearts out over a trailer a movie “for the child in all of us.” Arcade Fire likes the kids. Understandably, the entire crowd thinks they relate. I was ten once! I played make believe! Lets see what The Suburbs has to say about that.
When I awoke, I knew that The Suburbs would probably be sitting in our mail slot in a few hours. So I made my way to our porch. My mind was restless. I was not necessarily excited for the album. Nervous is not the word I am looking for either. I was wary. Wary and rightly so. Funeral and Neon Bible were well…. perfect. For every indie music admirer, for everyone else, for each other, for the road, and for the kids. I had heard ‘The Suburbs’ was a departure from the other two and some negative fan reaction. No “Wake Up” and no “Keep the Car Running’. I was on pins and needles swinging back and forth on our wicker rocking chair. Dang it all, I am nervous! Then the mail-lady walked up my front steps and handed me the mail. COME ON, I got a conformation email that clearly said…! Then the package from a secret pouch. Phew.
The first ten minutes were tough for me. Tough mainly because I wasn’t really listening but picking it apart. So I started it over and calmed down a bit. You may need to do this as well. Here is what I found:
The Suburbs is not a true departure. There is the fast high ethereal guitar; there are the interesting (catchy?) piano pieces; there is sad crooning; there are violins and cellos.That being said, it has a different feel then before. It moves slowly. Its fastest point is the fastest Arcade Fire has ever moved. (Month Of May) There is less variety. And most importantly, it is personal. I do not recommend listening to this album without lyrics sheet in hand. Please give it a look. Win hits his stride. Many of tracks are revamped and darker versions of previous ideas. Instead of saying, “Man, when we were kids the world was great” it is “None of these kids are living real childhoods.” The Suburbs points to all of us in the crowd and says “Get out of your technology! Go turn off the lights!.” This idea is in no way novel but certainly relevant. Win feels for the kids. He says we are modern man and modern kids. In this way, he is more of a struggling comrade then an aloof parent.
There are some real gems in here. The title track is killer. We Used To Wait, is debatably the strongest track in the bunch. It packs a snythy, gritty punch and gives a farewell wave the big anthems (I used to wait for it. Screaming, “sing the chorus again.”) Sprawl II.
I did find it a bit unsettling how long The Suburbs was. It could be ten tracks long and say everything it does. As I get to know The Suburbs, I am sure I will become more ok with this. Still a viable complaint in my book.
Many will (have) called this a mediocre album. I understand that. I almost believe it. But there is something big here. Too big for mediocrity. This is not the album of the year and I am doubtful of its rank in Arcade Fires repertoire. But don’t give up on it. It will grow. As I sit here typing this Win is singing to me, “Hey kid, put the laptop down.” I think I will.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Porch
I found my porch.
I knew he was there along. Every morning and night, I take two strides across him to my front door. Heck, I washed him with a hose last week. Pollen and dust be gone. But it was not because I cared. For him, at least.
But yesterday... there it was. A white swing and two rocking chairs. A couple of hanging plants, droopy from the days heat. But it was cool yesterday around duskish. And it was then that I saw my porch. In all his glory.
I always admired other peoples porches. They are the best place of many houses. Besides kitchens maybe.
So here I am, with three hours ahead of me. Getting to know my porch. It's raining and breezy. I am unnecessarily watering our grass with cold coffee. And necessarily piping and reading.
I knew he was there along. Every morning and night, I take two strides across him to my front door. Heck, I washed him with a hose last week. Pollen and dust be gone. But it was not because I cared. For him, at least.
But yesterday... there it was. A white swing and two rocking chairs. A couple of hanging plants, droopy from the days heat. But it was cool yesterday around duskish. And it was then that I saw my porch. In all his glory.
I always admired other peoples porches. They are the best place of many houses. Besides kitchens maybe.
So here I am, with three hours ahead of me. Getting to know my porch. It's raining and breezy. I am unnecessarily watering our grass with cold coffee. And necessarily piping and reading.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Backyard Roomate Camping
We brought a pipe.
Two pipes, one for each us.
We brought some chocolate milk.
Two chocolate milks, one for each of us.
We spread a tarp because the grass was wet.
Or at least we expected it to get wet.
Thats what grass does to innocent outside sleepers.
We unzipped our sleeping bags most of the way.
It was too warm outside for enclosed feet.
But too cool for outclosed torso.
We talked about serious stuff.
The stuff you talk about at sleep overs.
We laughed about hilarious stuff.
I woke up when the sun woke up.
That time is around five o'clock.
Ants and spiders running laps on my pillow.
Grass clippings glued to my arm and face.
Raspberries for breakfast.
Two pipes, one for each us.
We brought some chocolate milk.
Two chocolate milks, one for each of us.
We spread a tarp because the grass was wet.
Or at least we expected it to get wet.
Thats what grass does to innocent outside sleepers.
We unzipped our sleeping bags most of the way.
It was too warm outside for enclosed feet.
But too cool for outclosed torso.
We talked about serious stuff.
The stuff you talk about at sleep overs.
We laughed about hilarious stuff.
I woke up when the sun woke up.
That time is around five o'clock.
Ants and spiders running laps on my pillow.
Grass clippings glued to my arm and face.
Raspberries for breakfast.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Thanksgiving Mayhem (Part 1)
I awoke to my alarm scwaking and bleeping like a repetitious warning of doom. This was usual for the mornings. (Someday I will invent a machine that will softly smack my face with a pillow. It will look like a windmill and it will be more enjoyable than this screaming fellow.) I hastily arose from my mattress and walked promptly into the side of the door. With a grunt of indignation I fell back onto my bed, let a second more accepting grunt escape and slept.
This time it was my mom who woke me. "Stephen!" she urgently exclaimed "You need to wake up."
"...whazit?"
"You are gonna be really late for work, its 7:45!"
"...."
"Stephen?"
"whatisithappening?"
"You need to get up right now!"
Then my mind woke up... Zounds!
I raced around the room pulling on clothes obviously not for work and then ripping them off in frustration. Finally I got it right: A red tee-shirt that said Coca Cola on the front and had pictures of glittery glass bottles on the back. I do not know why we at Fergeson and Hasseler wore this shirt but my fellow baggers and I always did. When I was first interviewed for the position, i was handed a pile of these shirts. No one told me that I had to wear them. I wore them anyway.
I shoveled two pieces of buttered toast down my throat. No time for orange juice. No time for see ya!'s. Hurry, Hurry, Hurry. After a short drive across our small town of Quarryville, we arrived with a shreech at the back of the grocery store. My mom shouted some inaudible encouragement as a raced out of the car and to the back door. I swung it open vigorously and there they were: my co-workers huddled around our manager. She, Anna Mary, was a Mennonite woman who was somewhere between forty and one hundred years old. On most occasions she was a gentle creature who would usually let you off work if it was important. I liked her. But at this moment in time and space, her resolve was bitter and her face bristling determined. What time is this? Thanksgiving Eve.
I had heard about this legendary day from many a wiser bagger. Fred was the most eager of the bunch to tell the tale. He spoke about it with reverence as if it was a deceased war hero or a golden idol. In his gleeful and whithered voice, Fred told me, "So many folks showed up last year traffic was backed up at both directions for miles. Yesssiree. Aisle number twelve dropped to the ground because the crowds were so rouoty. Goodness to heavens, I reacall there was canned peaches everywhere. Pheewwee!"
With that conversation in mind (and many others), I had an idea of what was coming next from Anna Mary: a pep talk. She looked at all of us a women who wanted nothing more than the day to be over. Let me tell you, there is nothing more disheartening than a leader who looks like she has given up. But it was over in a second. She straightened her shoulders, wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and said "Good luck friends." With a quick couple steps, she elbowed her way through the hodgepodge of baggers and opened the door leading to the store. It was 7:58. Two more minutes. A loud rumbling sound reached the ears of the tightly knit group as they neared the front of the store. What we saw out of the huge plexi-glass windows was utterly astonishing.
You know those disaster movies were millions of people are trying to cram their way onto a tiny boat headed to the zombie free shores of Africa? It was like that. Body upon body was pressed against the walls banging their fists against the window panes. I am skeptical that I heard one comprehensible word from that fierce crowd before the store opened. It was mostly groans and howls and shrieks and screams and chants and that sort of thing. As the mass of humans swelled, Anna Mary looked once again over her frightened workers. "Lets do this" she said and swung open the doors.
This time it was my mom who woke me. "Stephen!" she urgently exclaimed "You need to wake up."
"...whazit?"
"You are gonna be really late for work, its 7:45!"
"...."
"Stephen?"
"whatisithappening?"
"You need to get up right now!"
Then my mind woke up... Zounds!
I raced around the room pulling on clothes obviously not for work and then ripping them off in frustration. Finally I got it right: A red tee-shirt that said Coca Cola on the front and had pictures of glittery glass bottles on the back. I do not know why we at Fergeson and Hasseler wore this shirt but my fellow baggers and I always did. When I was first interviewed for the position, i was handed a pile of these shirts. No one told me that I had to wear them. I wore them anyway.
I shoveled two pieces of buttered toast down my throat. No time for orange juice. No time for see ya!'s. Hurry, Hurry, Hurry. After a short drive across our small town of Quarryville, we arrived with a shreech at the back of the grocery store. My mom shouted some inaudible encouragement as a raced out of the car and to the back door. I swung it open vigorously and there they were: my co-workers huddled around our manager. She, Anna Mary, was a Mennonite woman who was somewhere between forty and one hundred years old. On most occasions she was a gentle creature who would usually let you off work if it was important. I liked her. But at this moment in time and space, her resolve was bitter and her face bristling determined. What time is this? Thanksgiving Eve.
I had heard about this legendary day from many a wiser bagger. Fred was the most eager of the bunch to tell the tale. He spoke about it with reverence as if it was a deceased war hero or a golden idol. In his gleeful and whithered voice, Fred told me, "So many folks showed up last year traffic was backed up at both directions for miles. Yesssiree. Aisle number twelve dropped to the ground because the crowds were so rouoty. Goodness to heavens, I reacall there was canned peaches everywhere. Pheewwee!"
With that conversation in mind (and many others), I had an idea of what was coming next from Anna Mary: a pep talk. She looked at all of us a women who wanted nothing more than the day to be over. Let me tell you, there is nothing more disheartening than a leader who looks like she has given up. But it was over in a second. She straightened her shoulders, wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and said "Good luck friends." With a quick couple steps, she elbowed her way through the hodgepodge of baggers and opened the door leading to the store. It was 7:58. Two more minutes. A loud rumbling sound reached the ears of the tightly knit group as they neared the front of the store. What we saw out of the huge plexi-glass windows was utterly astonishing.
You know those disaster movies were millions of people are trying to cram their way onto a tiny boat headed to the zombie free shores of Africa? It was like that. Body upon body was pressed against the walls banging their fists against the window panes. I am skeptical that I heard one comprehensible word from that fierce crowd before the store opened. It was mostly groans and howls and shrieks and screams and chants and that sort of thing. As the mass of humans swelled, Anna Mary looked once again over her frightened workers. "Lets do this" she said and swung open the doors.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Midnight is almost upon me
I must finish this before midnight! Otherwise, my school things will be locked inside the upstairs. Warning: the end of the blogpost may be blunt... And we're off!
Robert and I recently came into the possession of roughly (exactly) 150 dollars worth of itunes gift cards. I will not tell you how much we paid for it but I will give you two facts. It was less than thirty-one dollars. It was more then twenty-nine. Some people have all the luck. (<-- I bet you are saying this). Look at the bottom of the page to find out which song I purchased.
Robert (Heiskell) and I recently mulched together for a couple hours. We discussed Wendell Berry and Sufjan Stevens. Isn't he the coolest?
Robert (Dr. Kapic) and I have a meeting set up to talk about my schedule. For some reason, I think about my future classes all the time. I spent roughly three hours over break looking at classes and weighing my options. Why? I think it is due to the fact that I am ready for my next year at Covenant. Aren't you?
Iron and Wine- Such Great Heights
Robert and I recently came into the possession of roughly (exactly) 150 dollars worth of itunes gift cards. I will not tell you how much we paid for it but I will give you two facts. It was less than thirty-one dollars. It was more then twenty-nine. Some people have all the luck. (<-- I bet you are saying this). Look at the bottom of the page to find out which song I purchased.
Robert (Heiskell) and I recently mulched together for a couple hours. We discussed Wendell Berry and Sufjan Stevens. Isn't he the coolest?
Robert (Dr. Kapic) and I have a meeting set up to talk about my schedule. For some reason, I think about my future classes all the time. I spent roughly three hours over break looking at classes and weighing my options. Why? I think it is due to the fact that I am ready for my next year at Covenant. Aren't you?
Iron and Wine- Such Great Heights
Saturday, March 13, 2010
French Food, Magnificent Mood.
Growing up with a mother from a French background, I know what a good crepe is. Crispy on the outside, fluffy on the inside, and slightly sweet. Rachel's Crepes gets it. My friends, PeterRobbieAnnieAnnaAdrienne and I, decided that this hole in the wall restaurant would be our lunchtime destination. We picked correctly. They served a mean crepe. At our table were six different yummy wrapped crepes, one for each of us. Mine was called the Barnstormer which tasted much better than the name would suggest. But I am not here to discuss the wonder of Rachel's. For we had something magnificent in store us.
Behind me, underneath a small picture of a home in Italy, sat two middle aged women giving their order to a waiter with long black hair. They looked like they were anticipating a calm quiet lunch. Just the two of them. Then we showed up. After walking through Market and the little shops lining Lancaster's streets, we were in a laughing, loud mood. I thought to myself, "I bet they are annoyed at how loud we are" but in true teenage form did nothing. Then something magical happened.
As the waiter approached our table, he had a strange sort of smile on his face. Adrienne asked him, "Can we have our tickets?" (I can only assume this meant "our bill.") He said, "Those ladies who just left paid for everything. They just said Pay it Forward." And with another grin he whisked away to tend to another less fortunate customer. We sat in utter astonishment. After a second, we caught our breath and then yipped and hurrahed for about five minutes. It was wonderful.
That sort of thing doesn't happen anymore.
Behind me, underneath a small picture of a home in Italy, sat two middle aged women giving their order to a waiter with long black hair. They looked like they were anticipating a calm quiet lunch. Just the two of them. Then we showed up. After walking through Market and the little shops lining Lancaster's streets, we were in a laughing, loud mood. I thought to myself, "I bet they are annoyed at how loud we are" but in true teenage form did nothing. Then something magical happened.
As the waiter approached our table, he had a strange sort of smile on his face. Adrienne asked him, "Can we have our tickets?" (I can only assume this meant "our bill.") He said, "Those ladies who just left paid for everything. They just said Pay it Forward." And with another grin he whisked away to tend to another less fortunate customer. We sat in utter astonishment. After a second, we caught our breath and then yipped and hurrahed for about five minutes. It was wonderful.
That sort of thing doesn't happen anymore.
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