Happiness Is A Warm Gun
This is long, but if you want to read what were the few words that got me excited for the first time in months go for it...
Just like most people in today's digital era I have thousands of songs by hundreds of artists piled up, stacked nicely, and catalogued obsessively on my hard-drive. I'll be honest and admit that there are dozens of albums I haven't listened to once, and quite a few artists I couldn't make on the radio. Just the same, there are many I enjoy listening to, and quite a handful I actually like or even love. When you thrive on art in all its forms, and music is your motion to life, you don't pick and choose much when it comes to live shows. Although there is a lot of junk out there, whenever given the opportunity (which is rare considering I study half of my time and work the other half), I run kamikaze towards a dimly lit bar with a small stage and too many people to move. The more decibels, the less I can hear myself think and the more peaceful my soul becomes. When a big artist comes by once a year to our little boiling kettle of a country, I pinch pennies
and for a couple of hours succumb to the magic of words and notes putting thousands of people in the same place, all moving to the same rhyme and reason. If I've heard the artist before and enjoyed them, chances are I will make it there, and so this indie rock, singer-songwriter lover found herself going to see the Black Eyed Peas and Lauryn Hill, and no less, enjoying and savoring every last minute of it.
But, in my fantasies there are only a handful of artist that really move me inside, really shake rattle and roll me. It goes without saying Barenaked Ladies is one. Or five rather. In recent years a couple of other artists climbed their way up my body, from my dancing feet, to my swaying hips, up to my heart, and settled in my mind. One of those artists is John Mayer. John is an artist quite a few of my friends enjoy. Some of them would even go as far as to see him in concert. None of them, to the best of my knowledge are really touched by his music. Some say it's the swarming beehive of pre-pubescent girls fawning over his boyish charm and catchy guitar riffs, that scared them away. For some it's the backlash that followed. Others, just don't get it. And it's okay. I wouldn't expect everyone to love the men I loved the way I loved them. I would want everyone to be everybody's friends in the same manner. People attract to other people for different
reasons. People attract to other art for different reasons. Sure, sometimes I wish there was someone who could understand how the electric string sound of Gravity puts me in tears, how mantras like "something's missing" or "I am in repair" get me through the rough days, feeling like I'm not alone. Unlike the Ladies, his music is often void of humor, a special treasured secret he reserves for his fans on his blog, on his DVD movies or occasional clips. For the most part, I'm usually at peace with my lone connection to him. For the most part, I realize there will never be another musical community experience in my life, and the one I already have is so much that it's enough to keep me going.
But on occasion I close my eyes and listen to the music and I imagine myself back in New York, standing 5 ft tall in a sea of people in the dark and crowded Bowrey Ballroom, and as the music stops thousands of voices echo "so what so I've got a smile on, it's hiding the quiet superstitions in my head…". On those occasions I wish to not be alone. I wish to feel that rare genuine smile creep on my face again and take me over the way most days a similar frown does.
A few weeks ago I opened my explorer and my home page of msn Israel said black on white in Hebrew font "John Mayer is here". My heart nearly stopped but slowly beat cautiously to discover John Mayer was there, on the website, on videos from his new DVD. It was good and enough and more than I expected for a country who has not played his songs on popular radio once in the past 8 years. Today I opened up a page for auditions for artists, a company I'm subscribed to, and on their main page under the news section which details tidbits from the pop culture world that interests artists so, I saw it. John Mayer, a lovable artist, and Jennifer Aniston's boyfriend, is coming to Israel. Completely disregarding the yellow side note (partially because I somewhat disapprove, partially because it wasn't the important part, and mainly because I had just read minutes earlier on msn that they broke up), my heart stopped yet again, this time taking longer to restart. I
searched for information like a starving lion hunting for any piece of meat they could lay their paws on. No such luck. Maybe it's too soon, maybe it's not true, maybe it's just a false advertisement yet again. But just to humor myself, for only a moment, if it was true, if one of the few and rare artists I really love is coming here, everything I have been through, emotionally, physically in the past year will become obsolete. It is, a small outside factor, for a fragile mental state, but it will be enough. For a while, for long enough to get myself back together, it will be enough. I'm afraid to hope, but I'm hoping. Hope you're hoping with me.
Just like most people in today's digital era I have thousands of songs by hundreds of artists piled up, stacked nicely, and catalogued obsessively on my hard-drive. I'll be honest and admit that there are dozens of albums I haven't listened to once, and quite a few artists I couldn't make on the radio. Just the same, there are many I enjoy listening to, and quite a handful I actually like or even love. When you thrive on art in all its forms, and music is your motion to life, you don't pick and choose much when it comes to live shows. Although there is a lot of junk out there, whenever given the opportunity (which is rare considering I study half of my time and work the other half), I run kamikaze towards a dimly lit bar with a small stage and too many people to move. The more decibels, the less I can hear myself think and the more peaceful my soul becomes. When a big artist comes by once a year to our little boiling kettle of a country, I pinch pennies
and for a couple of hours succumb to the magic of words and notes putting thousands of people in the same place, all moving to the same rhyme and reason. If I've heard the artist before and enjoyed them, chances are I will make it there, and so this indie rock, singer-songwriter lover found herself going to see the Black Eyed Peas and Lauryn Hill, and no less, enjoying and savoring every last minute of it.
But, in my fantasies there are only a handful of artist that really move me inside, really shake rattle and roll me. It goes without saying Barenaked Ladies is one. Or five rather. In recent years a couple of other artists climbed their way up my body, from my dancing feet, to my swaying hips, up to my heart, and settled in my mind. One of those artists is John Mayer. John is an artist quite a few of my friends enjoy. Some of them would even go as far as to see him in concert. None of them, to the best of my knowledge are really touched by his music. Some say it's the swarming beehive of pre-pubescent girls fawning over his boyish charm and catchy guitar riffs, that scared them away. For some it's the backlash that followed. Others, just don't get it. And it's okay. I wouldn't expect everyone to love the men I loved the way I loved them. I would want everyone to be everybody's friends in the same manner. People attract to other people for different
reasons. People attract to other art for different reasons. Sure, sometimes I wish there was someone who could understand how the electric string sound of Gravity puts me in tears, how mantras like "something's missing" or "I am in repair" get me through the rough days, feeling like I'm not alone. Unlike the Ladies, his music is often void of humor, a special treasured secret he reserves for his fans on his blog, on his DVD movies or occasional clips. For the most part, I'm usually at peace with my lone connection to him. For the most part, I realize there will never be another musical community experience in my life, and the one I already have is so much that it's enough to keep me going.
But on occasion I close my eyes and listen to the music and I imagine myself back in New York, standing 5 ft tall in a sea of people in the dark and crowded Bowrey Ballroom, and as the music stops thousands of voices echo "so what so I've got a smile on, it's hiding the quiet superstitions in my head…". On those occasions I wish to not be alone. I wish to feel that rare genuine smile creep on my face again and take me over the way most days a similar frown does.
A few weeks ago I opened my explorer and my home page of msn Israel said black on white in Hebrew font "John Mayer is here". My heart nearly stopped but slowly beat cautiously to discover John Mayer was there, on the website, on videos from his new DVD. It was good and enough and more than I expected for a country who has not played his songs on popular radio once in the past 8 years. Today I opened up a page for auditions for artists, a company I'm subscribed to, and on their main page under the news section which details tidbits from the pop culture world that interests artists so, I saw it. John Mayer, a lovable artist, and Jennifer Aniston's boyfriend, is coming to Israel. Completely disregarding the yellow side note (partially because I somewhat disapprove, partially because it wasn't the important part, and mainly because I had just read minutes earlier on msn that they broke up), my heart stopped yet again, this time taking longer to restart. I
searched for information like a starving lion hunting for any piece of meat they could lay their paws on. No such luck. Maybe it's too soon, maybe it's not true, maybe it's just a false advertisement yet again. But just to humor myself, for only a moment, if it was true, if one of the few and rare artists I really love is coming here, everything I have been through, emotionally, physically in the past year will become obsolete. It is, a small outside factor, for a fragile mental state, but it will be enough. For a while, for long enough to get myself back together, it will be enough. I'm afraid to hope, but I'm hoping. Hope you're hoping with me.