Ordinary language is all right.
One could divide humanity into two classes:
those who master a metaphor, and those who hold by a formula.
Those with a bent for both are too few, they do not comprise a class.
Something I did while listening to...
... Miles Davis, Kind of Blue, last night:
At first, nothing. I had been reading; I set the book aside, and the computer, too. This is one of the few albums which I listen to where my mind doesn't wander at all. Unless this counts: eventually, after following the parts for a while, I started singing along - to the background parts. Singing quietly. I tried to see how long I could keep it up singing to a solo. And how on pitch I could be. Problems I encountered: matching my vocal range to the instruments' ranges. Singing quickly enough for certain fast parts that I knew. Singing anything other than garbled rising or falling or up and down sounds for fast parts which it turns out I did not know as well as I thought. (Sort of like the difference between being able to recognize a room known well to you, versus being able to reconstruct how that room looks from memory.) Tiring. Singing on pitch (to correct this, I tried singing with one ear held closed; I think it helped).
Something I did while listening...
... to: myself, today, playing bass, no amp.
Felt the body of it resonate against mine, differently for different notes. Felt a connection between the clarity of the note, and how I placed my fingers on the frets. Felt myself speed up when I wasn't supposed to. Felt myself moving comfortably from note to note, but caught myself attempting to move without knowing how to when trying to play nonadjacent notes. Heard my D string buzzing. Played the notes from my practice book in time with the music on my stereo, coming from down the hall. Listened to the music on my stereo, down the hall. Played the notes from my practice book swung. Sucked at it. Felt the pads of my first and third fingers begin to hurt, happily. Felt the first and second fingers of my right hand tire, happily.
The technique: blitz.
For immediate use upon the realization that you are surveying much too large a subject. For clearing your head of what you think they want to know, in order to let out what you know. For something to re-survey at a later date, with the benefit of more pieces.
Wilco's "Monday" came on at our party today, and I was surprised. I hadn't heard Being There in a long time. It sounded brash, invigorating. Things I hadn't associated with Wilco in, also, a long time.
The horns, as always, had something to do with it.
I can hear thunder outside.
I've noticed that the more personal entries (like singles reviews) on NYLPM seem to get fewer comments than the others - often none at all. This seems wrong since more seems to go into the personal entries.
The reviewer quotes lyrics to "Time Bomb" but leaves out the crucial repeated "I".
"Teenage angst has paid off well, now I'm bored and old."
So, that mix from the seventh:
I love every track on it, but hearing the Stevie Wonder come up repeatedly made me notice that I love it a little less than I thought. Maybe it makes me happier in the context of Innervisions.
The usual thing where I hear the beginning of the next song on an album felt foregrounded, probably because consistently frustrated by the next song on the mix not being the next one on its original album (except for the two doubles). It felt much stronger, though, for albums I've owned longer.
I was perfectly happy to skip the Mouse on Mars and Gastr del Sol tracks when I didn't feel like hearing something with less motion to it (often when walking). This despite their being tracks I would normally prefer to hear if I was playing their original albums while walking.
It never before occurred to me that there are guitars on "Protection".