Album of the Week: Blood on the Tracks

Hi folks, hope you all had a good Christmas/Hanukkah/Holiday. In case you didn't get enough stuff under your tree, lucky you, I have another gift. A brand new Album of the Week review, back from hiatus!

I don't quite know what my deal has been lately, but I've been on a bit of a Dylan fetish. I ordered a poster (for those of you at Luther, the poster that used to hang in my and Klein's dorm), have bought/have been gifted two albums, and was gifted a pair of Wayfarer sunglasses, the kind he wore in the poster I bought two subjects ago. Maybe I have a seasonal mancrush going on.

But then gain, how can you not have a mancrush on a guy who produces albums like "Blood on the Tracks"? I'm sorry folks, but this is fantastic music. Actually, you know what this is? This is Real music. This is like, essential music. Let me tell you why.

If Wikipedia is to be believed, and I'm sure it is, Blood was recorded shortly after Dylan's separation with his wife at the time, thus serving as the inspiration for most of the songs. And you can certainly tell. I think the most distinctive part of this album is the intense, powerful emotion that radiates forth from Bob's singing. It's emotional involvement in a song brought to the cusp of being tangible, you almost feel as if there is a man sitting next to you ripping his heart out and putting it on a plate. It's like Bob Dylan is forcefeeding you, the listener, his most inner turmoil. Now who doesn't want to be witness to that?

I know, I know, some of the more fragile types out there probably don't want to subject themselves to tales of emotional damage and broken relationships. But along with the melancholy is a certain sort of, well, let's call it sweetness. Maybe that's not the right word, but frankly, I can't think of anything better. Although the subject matter is depressing, it's not as if the album is a dirge. There's a sort of je ne sais quois that allows songs of such desperation to be so pleasing to the ear.

As you no doubt have realized, I have no idea what I'm talking about. I haven't named any songs, have gone into no detail. That's not to say I haven't listened to this record, I've listened to it almost constantly for a week. But I decided it would be foolish for me to try to review music in the same way Rolling Stone reviews music. I decided it's better for me to review the broad wash of the music, to evaluate what it made me think about or feel.

But since we're talking about details, I think my favourite songs thus far would have to be "Tangled Up In Blue," "Simple Twist of Fate,""Shelter From the Storm," and "Buckets of Rain." A few of these will probably be instantly recognizable to the common listener, but that's okay. They're good songs, there's a reason they're recognizable.

What I like most about Dylan's songs are the fact that they actually have something to say. They tell a story, they don't attempt to reduce the vagaries of human interaction into some sort of bullshit cliché. I think Dylan has a gift for diction and the fitting of words into songs. He can manage to cram in 15 syllables in the space a lesser singer could only do 4, and still make it sound elegant and musical. It must be liberating to have such a gift to tell the story you want to tell to music, and the world is benefiting from said liberation.

You know, most of this album is quiet and acoustic, suitable for the subject matter. It's the kind of music that's probably best listened to alone, or if you've been recently jilted. A lot of folks object to Bob's nasally voice, but set to the simplicity of a few guitars, a bass, and occasionally some drums, it sounds like the sweetest sound on earth. I would highly recommend checking this album out. Probably don't want to play it at your New Year's party, but I'm sure it would be good once all the guests have left.

Radio Show (Updated with Hilarious Link!)

I've been listening with increasing frequency to NPR this fall, somewhat spurred on via a few friends of mine who enjoy their Saturday quiz show. Needless to say, I have not listened to the quiz show, but have enjoyed their news coverage. Another item I've taken to listen to via podcast is the "This American Life" show put out from Chicago, hosted by Mr. Ira Glass as pictured above. Some of the stories I find uninteresting, but mostly, I'm a fan. Being a child of the internet generation, I'm typically dismissive of entertainment that is so, what is the word, non-visual. Non-interactive, if you will. It's hard to interest folks in sitting down and listening to the radio when in the alternative, you could watch videos of guys getting kicked in the balls on Youtube.

But there is a certain old time charm to radio. An FDR, fireside chat kind of vibe. I liken it a lot to how people suddenly seem to favour vinyl over CD's. In some ways, the sparseness of radio makes it more tangible, the history of it makes it more relatable. Distilled down to the simplest of communications, the effect of the spoken word comes through with more force than it ever does on television. No distractions, at least none through the fault of the radio. No asshole talking head commentators raving into the camera while throwing what is essentially, a five year old's tantrum.

Of course, maybe I just like public radio because I can then tell people I listen to public radio. After adjusting my scarf and wiping the snow off of the "Obama 08" sticker still on my car.

I know, it needs to come off now.

Anyways, the point. I thought about what I would talk about if I had my own radio show. I find it very doubtful that I could fill 55 minutes or so of myself talking. I find myself to be one of those folks who has a myriad of semi-strong interests, but no real defined niche. Meaning, I love to play music, and am a fairly good trombonist, but could not do it for a living. I probably would not make an effective busker, unless I practiced for about a year. I'm a fan of red wine, but really have very little knowledge of what I'm talking about. I know more about craft beer, but that is still rather limited knowledge. I like the idea of social justice, but don't have the intellectual info-bank to back it all up. I do enjoy a cup of good coffee, but maybe lack the patience to really sit down and try different beans from different regions. I'm interested in good food, but cannot cook. Enjoy working out, but lack motivation. Like history, but would rather read a book than write one myself. Do enjoy watching the game of baseball and philosophizing about it, but cannot play. I like to try though. Maybe that's the whole point.

I could maybe talk about music, I maybe have increased my knowledge of music to a level of limited expertise. Jazz, perhaps. I could spend an hour chatting about the history of jazz, album reviews, etc. And I think I'd like that a lot. But I lack the technical expertise to break down scale choices and chords. It would be more just myself talking. Maybe telling stories. Who knows. I think maybe I could choose a topic, and then bring on qualified experts to talk to me about it.

Perhaps, maybe we could do a show on, say, Somalia. Why is it so messed up? Why are there pirates? What can be done? What should we be doing? Just, what the hell is going on, and why should we care? And every week, there would be a new topic. What does a peace corps volunteer do? How did black nationalism relate into popular culture? How does one make Scotch whiskey? Who knows?

In effect, I have no idea what I would talk about on the radio. Often times, I think maybe I should focus my interests and free time to a single area, and get really good at that. I tried to do that in the past with jazz scales, chaos theory, French language, to little effect. I think I've come to the conclusion that I'm more comfortable with having a wider range of more limited interests, with a few areas of specialty. Undoubtedly partially related to my liberal arts background, it's good to be fluent in many languages, as it were.

I once told a friend of mine in high school that if she were to come to a costume party, she would have to be an undefined niche, because she didn't have a "defined" sense of who she was, besides being scorchingly attractive. I thought it was all a gag, but maybe that was a better idea than I thought. Being an undefined niche is not so bad an idea after all.

Update - The Onion documents a stunning achievement of This American Life

1/6

1/6 of the way complete with my legal education. I feel as if I should have some sort of wise insight to share with humanity, relating the intrinsic worth of law to society. Unfortunately, I don't quite think I have such immortal wisdom. Or at least, I don't necessarily feel the urge to relate it at present. I can say this though, it's a very different world than Luther College. Not a better or a worse world, but a very different one. I like it, but I'm excrutiatingly happy to have a break.

Final went well. It was a very intense two weeks, but it's now over. I'm looking forward to a weekend spent with good friends, of like mind, and of good conversation. Plus, it will be fun to play some trombone. Anyways, in celebration of the end of the semester, I also ordered a Dylan CD off of the internet. Plus My Morning Jacket. Never bought an album of theirs before, but I listen to their stuff on the current quite often, and I like it.

Speaking of which, the Album of the Week feature has suffered with the stresses of law school. I assure you, it will return with a vengeance. I know all of you have besides yourselves without my telling you what music to listen to.

If any of you all are not busy on Sunday night, please check out the holiday party at my pops' place. It will be good. Wear a sweater.

Round 4

"The groans, ineffably and mournfully sad, of Davies' dying donkey, have resounded around the earth. The last lingering gaze from the soft, mild eyes of this docile animal, like the last parting sunbeams of the softest day in spring, has appealed to and touched the hearts of men. There has girdled the globe a band of sympathy for Davies' immortal “critter.” Its ghost, like Banquo's ghost, will not down at the behests of the people who are charged with inflicting injuries, nor can its groanings be silenced by the rantings and excoriations of carping critics. The law as enunciated in that case has come to stay." 56 So. 783.

The above is both a perfect reason to love and despise torts. Seriously, it's from an actual case.

Last exam, the end of the first semester is nigh. I can trim my NHL playoff beard. If you need to contact me between 5:00 PM on Thursday, December 18 and mid January, probably just check at the nearest bar.

Round 3

Promissory estop this.

Round 2

Suck it.

Round 1

Civil Procedure, prepare to become my bitch.

Nothing.

I have become convinced that there is no more perfect balm for educationally induced stress than a half hour spent with Jerry, George, Elaine, and Kramer.

I spent the whole day milling about school, getting called on in Contracts (which I suppose wasn't that bad) and trying to wrap my brain around the vagaries of United States civil procedure, which may have been written by a group of confusing men and a very large bottle of scotch. Surviving only on a peanut butter sandwich, some sort of nut granola bar, and a cup of coffee. Then I spent some two hours at night sitting at Starbucks, once again trying to distill civil procedure into some sort of coherent, manageable framework. Lest I forget, there was also the contracts case I read that spent five pages poring over the correct interpretation of the word "chicken."

After all of that and a hellacious two weeks ahead, a show about nothing sounds like a very good idea.