Posts
.
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won
(Glen Hansard)
Monday, February 16, 2009
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Happy Birthday, N
.
Happy birthday to you,
The bus stops, the driver smiles at you, the windows are gleaming, and there’s plenty of small change. In the row of single seats on the left, the last one is vacant as if it has your name on it, your favorite one. The bus pulls out, the lights turn green as it approaches and the guy cracking sunflower seeds gathers up the peels in a brown paper bag.
The elderly inspector doesn’t ask to see your ticket, just tips his hat and in a very pelasant voice, wishes you a nice day.
And it will be a nice day. Because it’s your birthday. You’re bright, you’re pretty, and you have your whole life ahead of you. For more stops and you’ll pull the cord, and the driver will stop, just for you.
You’ll get off the bus, no one will jostle you, and the door won’t close till you’ve stepped away. And the bus will leave, the passengers will be happy for you, and the guy with the sunflower seeds will keep waving goodbye till he’s out of sight for no reason at all.
Who needs a reason, it’s a birthday, and on birthdays nice things happen. And the puppy running towards you now will wag its tail when you touch it. When there’s a special date, even dogs can tell.
In your apartment, people will be waiting in the dark, behind the beautiful furniture the two of you chose yourselves. When you open the door, they’ll jump out and surprise you. Just the way it should be at surprise parties.
They’ll all be there, the people you’ve loved. Those closest to you, and the ones who mean the most. And they’ll bring presents that they bought or dreamt up themselves. Inspired presents, and useful things, too.
The funny ones will entertain, the smart ones will enlighten, even the melancholy ones will give a genuine smile. The food will be amazing, then they’ll serve stawberries and top it off with a vanilla milkshake from the best place in town.
They’ll play a Keith Jarrett disc and everyone will listen, they’ll play a Satie record and nobody will feel sad. And the ones who are on their own won’t feel alone tonight, and nobody will ask ‘Milk or cream?’ because they all know one another by now.
In the end they’ll leave, and the ones you wanted to kiss you will kiss you, and the ones you didn’t will just shake your hand. And he’ll be the only one who’ll stay behind, the man you live with, kinder and gentler than ever.
If you want , youll make love or he’ll massage your body with oil, specially bought in an old bedouin shop. You only have to ask and he’ll dim the halogen light, and you’ll sit there embraced, waiting for dawn.
And on that magical night, I’ll be there too, drinking my vanilla milkshake, and smiling a genuine smile. And before I go, if you want --I’ll kiss you. And if not, I’ll just shake your hand.
From: Four Letter Words; Entry by Etgar Keret (translated by Miriam Shlesinger)
PS: For Nip.
Happy birthday to you,
The bus stops, the driver smiles at you, the windows are gleaming, and there’s plenty of small change. In the row of single seats on the left, the last one is vacant as if it has your name on it, your favorite one. The bus pulls out, the lights turn green as it approaches and the guy cracking sunflower seeds gathers up the peels in a brown paper bag.
The elderly inspector doesn’t ask to see your ticket, just tips his hat and in a very pelasant voice, wishes you a nice day.
And it will be a nice day. Because it’s your birthday. You’re bright, you’re pretty, and you have your whole life ahead of you. For more stops and you’ll pull the cord, and the driver will stop, just for you.
You’ll get off the bus, no one will jostle you, and the door won’t close till you’ve stepped away. And the bus will leave, the passengers will be happy for you, and the guy with the sunflower seeds will keep waving goodbye till he’s out of sight for no reason at all.
Who needs a reason, it’s a birthday, and on birthdays nice things happen. And the puppy running towards you now will wag its tail when you touch it. When there’s a special date, even dogs can tell.
In your apartment, people will be waiting in the dark, behind the beautiful furniture the two of you chose yourselves. When you open the door, they’ll jump out and surprise you. Just the way it should be at surprise parties.
They’ll all be there, the people you’ve loved. Those closest to you, and the ones who mean the most. And they’ll bring presents that they bought or dreamt up themselves. Inspired presents, and useful things, too.
The funny ones will entertain, the smart ones will enlighten, even the melancholy ones will give a genuine smile. The food will be amazing, then they’ll serve stawberries and top it off with a vanilla milkshake from the best place in town.
They’ll play a Keith Jarrett disc and everyone will listen, they’ll play a Satie record and nobody will feel sad. And the ones who are on their own won’t feel alone tonight, and nobody will ask ‘Milk or cream?’ because they all know one another by now.
In the end they’ll leave, and the ones you wanted to kiss you will kiss you, and the ones you didn’t will just shake your hand. And he’ll be the only one who’ll stay behind, the man you live with, kinder and gentler than ever.
If you want , youll make love or he’ll massage your body with oil, specially bought in an old bedouin shop. You only have to ask and he’ll dim the halogen light, and you’ll sit there embraced, waiting for dawn.
And on that magical night, I’ll be there too, drinking my vanilla milkshake, and smiling a genuine smile. And before I go, if you want --I’ll kiss you. And if not, I’ll just shake your hand.
From: Four Letter Words; Entry by Etgar Keret (translated by Miriam Shlesinger)
PS: For Nip.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
The World Without Love
Note:
This entry serves a link to a question someone asked. So pardon that this goes into the blog without context. Think of this as note to self rather than a broadcast. Regarding the content, I do not guarantee its validity.
A collections of neuroscience, anthropology, and, in fact, (evolutionary) psychology researches have co-confirmed that the experience we call love (romantic love included) is a by-product of evolution (that's a mild way of saying it's an accident).
Evolution theory stresses that living beings' ultimate goal is to triumph a survival competition. In achieving it, various species developed mating strategies based on their physiological structures and environmental circumstances. One famous strategy is hormone-releasing.
Some hormones*, like dopamine and adrenaline, are so dominant for survival, they function in numerous survival acts. Among other, in danger detection and attracting potential mates. Both hormones works in intense entanglement that these hormones-combo evolved a new set of emotion functions (thrill, excitement, sad, surprise, etc); which revised the old --you may add, "bland"-- mating strategy. Around the same time the hominids evolved a new cognitive functions: a more complex consciousness (included the capability of a species 'reading' others' thoughts).
This combination --revised mating strategy and consciousness-- to make the story short, evolved into love experience.
What would a world be without love? Your question implies that 'everyone no longer experiences love, right? I think that If love disappears in the future, the three systems will cease to co-function (e.g. consciousness will cease work while mating). Without consciousness to relate to it, we don't feel love. We can't be sad about the absence of love because we are not aware of of its absence. Actually we won't feel a thing. We probably will not be aware that we don't feel a thing.
Note:
*) Remember hormones will encourage or discorage certain functions --cognition and motor-- which altogether we will call behavior.
This entry serves a link to a question someone asked. So pardon that this goes into the blog without context. Think of this as note to self rather than a broadcast. Regarding the content, I do not guarantee its validity.
A collections of neuroscience, anthropology, and, in fact, (evolutionary) psychology researches have co-confirmed that the experience we call love (romantic love included) is a by-product of evolution (that's a mild way of saying it's an accident).
Evolution theory stresses that living beings' ultimate goal is to triumph a survival competition. In achieving it, various species developed mating strategies based on their physiological structures and environmental circumstances. One famous strategy is hormone-releasing.
Some hormones*, like dopamine and adrenaline, are so dominant for survival, they function in numerous survival acts. Among other, in danger detection and attracting potential mates. Both hormones works in intense entanglement that these hormones-combo evolved a new set of emotion functions (thrill, excitement, sad, surprise, etc); which revised the old --you may add, "bland"-- mating strategy. Around the same time the hominids evolved a new cognitive functions: a more complex consciousness (included the capability of a species 'reading' others' thoughts).
This combination --revised mating strategy and consciousness-- to make the story short, evolved into love experience.
What would a world be without love? Your question implies that 'everyone no longer experiences love, right? I think that If love disappears in the future, the three systems will cease to co-function (e.g. consciousness will cease work while mating). Without consciousness to relate to it, we don't feel love. We can't be sad about the absence of love because we are not aware of of its absence. Actually we won't feel a thing. We probably will not be aware that we don't feel a thing.
Note:
*) Remember hormones will encourage or discorage certain functions --cognition and motor-- which altogether we will call behavior.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
(Un) Natural Born Reader
.
Less than a week ago, in the middle of a dinner, a friend of mine told me that another friend of mine told her that he thought I have changed, socially, so to speak. According to this vague friend, the old me (of whom he apparently prefers) would have routinely joined any nearby herd, tagged along updating myself with some new buzzing gossips, and cracked some loud hillarious jokes, not to mention did things for reason of madness and spontaneity alone. The present me, as my friend put it, would only sit silently, reading a book, and being ignorant of the surrounding. I don’t know for a fact whether he was regretting that I turned into an inadaptive self-isolating alien or expressing sadness for losing a hip friend. I do know he put an emphasis on reading.
Less than a week ago, in the middle of a dinner, a friend of mine told me that another friend of mine told her that he thought I have changed, socially, so to speak. According to this vague friend, the old me (of whom he apparently prefers) would have routinely joined any nearby herd, tagged along updating myself with some new buzzing gossips, and cracked some loud hillarious jokes, not to mention did things for reason of madness and spontaneity alone. The present me, as my friend put it, would only sit silently, reading a book, and being ignorant of the surrounding. I don’t know for a fact whether he was regretting that I turned into an inadaptive self-isolating alien or expressing sadness for losing a hip friend. I do know he put an emphasis on reading.
On All Radar
This week alone, I have so far accumulated comments about my reading habit from six different people. These aren’t people who ask what I read, but question my reading behavior. This is a breaking record considering today (when I write this sentence) is only Wednesday. I feel a bit skidded off the main track of normalcy. There should be some perspective to put me back in the ‘Regular Joe’ category and then feel relief.
The first approach I was drawn to use was to point some finger to someone else. I read averagely 300 pages a week, while my sister does 300 in just two days, and she appears to does so without much efforts. That should say something about being normal. But then again, it could be that none of us is normal; and that text consumption was just in our book-crazed genes --the Jusuf Gene (though she has more of it). This point-finger approach just doesn’t work.
This one I think is the right one. Back in college, much more time to read was available. I can easily left the books in my backpack untouched, put off the drive to read for a while (the same drive I still have today), knowing in nighttime I would have hours uninterrupted. And for years the avid readers in me have passed his days undetected. Now, dedicated reading time is only available for less and less. Reading is now inevitably reallocated in bizzare times: for five minutes after parking in, for five minutes before parking out, for fifteen minutes to half-hour between work, for five minutes before teaching, for any time left between after buying ticket and seconds before the movie starts, etc --clearly most of them are in public space. Moreover, after we --my college friends and I-- graduated, almost none of them are around to talk to. Restoring my old suppressed habit just seemed natural --at campus included. The book bug is now on everyone’s radar.
Freak of Nature
The habit was not just restored, I think it also rocketed. It didn’t just come back, it wanted more. For some time, I think of why I read anything. I have tasted cliché-ishly arguing myself that books (and other reading sources) are the pleasant kingdom of ideas. I have retired it as a primary reason, not because it is false, but because I believe there must have been more private reason(s), one(s) that need not be philosophical.
It turned out, I realized later, that it is wasn’t only what I read that matters, but also who wrote them. I seem to make praises to the author first. Those on the contents will come next. After reading any book, I will google up its author and be amazed of who and what he/she is. This product of culture I call, and have taken for granted as, “text” is the closest thing a non-outgoing individual like me to making social contact with people with various professions and, for the lack of a stylish term, personalities. Man, did I get to meet an atheist scientists, a part-time-novelist comedian, a self-investigating illed neuroscientist, a dead ancient greek philopher, a pessimist white-trash, an ex-nun, a hired economy assassin, a historian/mathematician codebreaker, and --whom I envy the most-- a 23-year-old The Economist journalist. And list goes on. Although I make many enough friends in real life, it is my imaginative literary acquaintances who offer me varieties of life.
However, the act of reading itself, in my case, (that word “case” just turned myself in a clinical box) is something I think I need to watch very closely. When I read, I don’t just read, I read (half) outloud. By that, I pretend that the speeches that come out belong to the author whose book I am reading. I don’t ignore people when I read. I don’t ignore people at all. I may not engage in an interaction, but I don’t ignore them. Ignoring is something I don’t do. It is just I am in the middle of a conversation, too. Someone is telling me a great story though only through the sound I made myself. And the sound of speech of someone explaining something --the intonation, the pauses, the sound of consonant and vowels-- is like music. It is something worth paying hard attention to (and makes other things seems disregarded). That music is somewhat addictive. And it made my reading rate is naturally for me, as opposed to unnaturally to most others, escalating.
At some parts, if not many, of that argument I can see that I sounded weird. I began to see my friend’s point (if it was his point). He may just be right. Maybe now I am an alien.
Natural Freak of Nature (saved by a penguin)
At one night, in the middle of staring at those sky-scraping stacks of books on my table (and what a beautiful view it was!), I realized that more than half of my collections, at least the ones on that table, are Penguin books. This dominance happened without my intention. Because I don’t know much about book publishing business (matter of fact, I’m completely business-blind that even if I had all the knowledge in the world I will still have the greatest difficulities to turn them into any kind of financial triumph), my explanations on this trivial puzzle sounds highly subjective.
First, I judge the book by its cover and I probably cannot help but to stand the first in line to defy anyone who says otherwise. I say: “Good books deserves good covers, and (good) publishers realize this!” It’s probably also because that there is still left in me the graphic designers/ illustrator/ visual communicator. I couldn’t just sit still witnessing a fail art. If there is a good book hideously covered, I will make one for it --my private and better version of it-- as soon as I purchase it. Penguin makes good covers. Second, I think it’s because --and this is as I told you, highly subjective-- Nick Hornby, my favorite fiction writer seems to have a special professional association with Penguin (and I don’t fancy much fiction writing). Penguin even made him his personal website. And yes, I love covers Penguin made for all Hornby’s books (I collect them, all versions of them).
I don’t know what it is about the logo, but there’s something about that penguin with its head facing its left that I just can’t help but enjoy looking at. I don’t know what the logo means (all I know is that it was beautifully designed by an English 17th century poet by the name of Edward Young), but I know someday I’ll get it just like I mostly get any other logos. In fact, I don’t even know where the name Penguin came from (not even Wikipedia is much help). Publishing houses sometimes name themselves after the name of their founders (as in the case of Harper-Collins and McGraw-Hill, to name a few) or universities they belong to (Harvard Press, Oxford, etc). Other times, they choose a metaphor, a word or phrase, to describe how they aim to aspire their readers, like Phoenix (“We publish books that soars”). My favorite of this kind is Gramedia, of which the name has an ambiguous meaning: “The House of Books” (Grha + Media) or “The Heavy-weight Books” (Gram + Media).
The name Penguin didn’t make any association to literary culture that ring a bell to me (it’s cold, too black-and-white, etc). But I know this for sure. Penguin is the only publishing company that put a stamp saying “read more” on its back-cover. It’s perfect and there’s no better place for it. So when I’m done reading, as I close the book and still feeling happily enlightened, there it was, a message waiting the on back for me, and only me, “read more, dih.” That’s a beautiful thing to say. And so I’ll comply.
Now I think I sound sane.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Praise To Muse
.
Meet Ta and Ras, two friends of mine who in one of their get-togethers several days ago got the chance to talk about music they like. The way Ta described it to me, I got the impression that the conversation started casually but somehow heated up, and even, out of nowhere, made a mention of me.
It started, so I was told, when they both listened to a playlist Ta made, during which they both were so joyful to find their taste in music resembles each other’s. In the middle of that disclosure --during one song (I’m not really clear what exactly)-- one of them said half-whispering (I’m not sure who said which, either), that she knows how I would dislike that particular song, and all songs similar to that. The other second that motion. Ras said, that she enjoyed a song mainly through its melodies, a sentiment Ta instantly agreed with. Ras said (at least I think it was Ras) that, contradict to her, I judge a song by its lyrics, a sentiment Ta (at least I think it was Ta) agreed back.
Meet Ta and Ras, two friends of mine who in one of their get-togethers several days ago got the chance to talk about music they like. The way Ta described it to me, I got the impression that the conversation started casually but somehow heated up, and even, out of nowhere, made a mention of me.
It started, so I was told, when they both listened to a playlist Ta made, during which they both were so joyful to find their taste in music resembles each other’s. In the middle of that disclosure --during one song (I’m not really clear what exactly)-- one of them said half-whispering (I’m not sure who said which, either), that she knows how I would dislike that particular song, and all songs similar to that. The other second that motion. Ras said, that she enjoyed a song mainly through its melodies, a sentiment Ta instantly agreed with. Ras said (at least I think it was Ras) that, contradict to her, I judge a song by its lyrics, a sentiment Ta (at least I think it was Ta) agreed back.
The way Ta told me, that concurrence --that “silently” disgreeing this with me is what they actually have in common-- is a big relief, freeing them from a hidden guilt, victorious even. And that conversation continued full of warmth (I’m not sure from which sentence I started exaggerating things).
Although I am happy such agreement has made their sisterhood stronger (and there may be more of that where they came from, thus I should beware), I feel I have the right to place my argument. There is a reason why I pay significant attention to the lyrics instead of merely the sound. If this doesn’t enlighten them of their premature inference about me, at least it would save my self-esteem (this, I am too, curious how).
Experience: the sounds it vibrates
It would be impossible for me not to appraise music from its melody, for sound (in which melody is included) is what music mainly offers. But music is more than sounds. A definition of music I know even includes the absence of sounds. I know Doy, my musician friend, writes songs not because he wants to make sound, but because he wants to say something. He has in him one idea at least to share. I am confident of this about him, even long before I inquired this from him. I have a feeling musicians, maybe even all of them, feels the way Doy does. Thus it is almost automatic for me to try to find out what it is they want to “say” through their songs.
Although I no longer fancy classical music, there is something about them I still marvel. It is a custom that when a composition is perfomed, it isn’t called “played”, but --I love the term-- “interpreted.” Every piece of sound, tempo, dynamic (and any other musical terms I may misuse and never understand) in that composition is a part of an interpretation of a complete experience from the perspective of the composer. Thus, there is always an explanation why a song sounds the way it does.
Pines of Rome (Pini di Roma), one of a famous compositions, was made because Ottorino Respighi, the composer, took his seeing-pine-trees experience seriously. Each of its four movement portrays the location of pine trees in the city during different parts of the day. Had people not known him a great composer, they would have said: hey, amico, I think this floral obsession is not only time wasting, but loco too. If it had been so, Italy must have been fortunate that Respighi didn't mind such comments. He made what he saw, heard, touch, smell, and taste fitted into an auditory experience. That was a lot of work.
I suspect this tendency of not taking things for granted lives not only in classical maestros, but also in every song writer, amateur and professional, though the intensity may varies. If they pour so much heart to encode such experience to a song, it is then worth decoding.
There is something rewarding about making sense of why a song sounds the way it does. When I get what the songwriter wants to “say”, I feel like I have done my part as a good listener, though I know I have no such obligation. Sometimes, when the sounds of a song make sense, I can suddenly see the genius in him (yes, or her) There are only a few flattering occasions other than to have a genius entertaining you. Moreover, understanding a genius, even from afar, is always an uplifting feeling.
Sometimes I even agree to the extreme with the resulting sounds; that they should sound the way they do, or worst, that they cannot sound any other way. Even if they can, I probably won’t let them. Thus if I find someone sets Ode to Joy his cellphone ringtone, I will have a great deal of difficulty keeping my self from saying, “Please, sir, change it with something else. You stripped it off from the grandness it so eternally deserves.”
Sometimes I fail to understand why they sound the way they do, but at least I I tried. Obviously, I give a damn about sounds more than Tas and Ras think I do.
Experiences: the words it speaks
As early as Plato and Phytagoras, music has in its exploration some mathematical flavors (notice the term: scale, interval, etc). This tradition survives to this day, and even takes stronger scientific foothold (see for yourself). But take the “artist” and the “genius mathematician” out of a songwriter, and what is left of him is a statistician. Their only assets are the number of possible combinations of melodies (Add to that, if they’re resourceful enough, the total number of possibility of how to present them --the instruments used, the color of the sounds, etc. Thus two songs with similar chords combination may sound totally different). For them music is about making new sound, ones which people may never hear before. Their question would only be: has anyone publish this sound? Boy, how the supply is getting thinner and thinner at every album release.
I don’t know this for sure, but I think that the total number of such combination is much much smaller compared to the total number of vocabulary of any language (Oxford English Dictionary has in it more than 300.000 word entries). I also doubt that this mathematical consideration is the motive behind putting lyrics into songs (many musician friends I know actually despise mathematics). I suspect, as many other would, that musicians use words to make their messages more explicit. It makes it clearer that the messages, hidden or out in the open, are also meant to be understood. I don’t know when this custom started, but I’m positive that it is older than the culture of pop music (most of which, probably more than 99 percent of them, use lyrics).
This is the foundation of which Ta and Ras thought I give a song a strict verdict. If a song lyrics is cheesy or girly, I will find it unforgiveably guilty for the crime against humanity (of crossing beyond the male chauvinists’ line, to be exact). I don’t not deny the male chauvinist in me, but saying this to be the reason I like or dislike a song is an oversimplification.
Given that we have more words in our dictionaries than we do notes in musical scales, the room of possibilities to customize our experiences into words should be as spacious as the universe itself. Thus, the list of song themes should go on forever. Even the most popular one --love-- may provide endless list of possible verbal combinations. So when a song writer choses words like “baby, I love you so”, or “I’ll be there for you”, or “you’re the air that I breathe” (and the list goes on), unless they are presented in such new and genial sound structure, or fit perfectly to my personal experience(s), their songs will not make it to my personal top 100 list, let alone my top 10 (not that they need my vote nor this will sadden them). Chosing such cliché-ish verbal approach, to me, is like making a Power Point presentation with a limited Microsoft templates. It hinders, if not diminishes, that which suppose to be meaningful messages.
Just because love is so common, it doesn’t mean that its expression automatically is. Actually, to say that love is a common experience is almost like saying that there is nothing special about whom we fall in love with. Most of us would find that deeply offensive. Diane Ackerman, an American poet, said that poetry has a way of lifting a feeling or idea out of its routine so that it could be appreciated with fresh eyes. The same goes with lyrics, I suppose, and any songwriter who accomplishes that deserves a proportional appreciation. Such accomplishment is not a few. Here are some (feel free to add).
One of the Brand New Heavies, to describe how one feels so small before one’s object of affection, wrote “you are the universe” [1] (Ha! Universe. Didn’t I mention that word before?), while Frankie Valli chose “I love you, and if it’s quite alright, I need you” [2].
Both Sting and Bono love their fathers full-blown, though neither quite got along with them and barely spoke. While Sting said “For all my days remaining/ I love you with my fashion” [3], Bono said “I know that we don’t talk/(but) can you hear me when I sing/ you’re the reason I sing/ you’re the reason the opera is in me” [4].
My favorite version of saying “I can’t get enough your love” is that of Dave Matthews Band’s: “I’m gonna take more of you letter by letter” [5]. That is the first time I found a writer uses full name to personifies the completeness of a person. It is as if he reinvented the word “letter”. I read in one of their unauthorized biographies that Dave, feeling that he was not much of a writer, spent hours and hours every day practising writing lyrics. I personally think without doubt that his efforts paid off.
Sometimes it is love itself, instead of the person, that we find endlessly beautiful. One of songwriters who expressed this articulately is Imogen Heap. She said: “oh (I need to) empty my heart/I've got to make room for this feeling/(because it is) so much bigger than me” [6].
Even the speechless effect love induced isn’t completely verbally paralyzing after all. One of the Jackson 5 (I don’t know which), made his lost for words his advantage when he wrote “la la means I love you” [7] (though I find the rest of the lyrics rather icky). Natasha Beddingfield, after a great length describing her efforts to poetize her affection, in the end apologetically said “(I can only write) I love you/is that okay?” [8].
Maybe it's just the reader in me, but with such a restless possibilities of describing how we experience life, or particularly, how we love, how could I not give lyrics a big credit?
There is something rewarding about making sense of why a song sounds the way it does. When I get what the songwriter wants to “say”, I feel like I have done my part as a good listener, though I know I have no such obligation. Sometimes, when the sounds of a song make sense, I can suddenly see the genius in him (yes, or her) There are only a few flattering occasions other than to have a genius entertaining you. Moreover, understanding a genius, even from afar, is always an uplifting feeling.
Sometimes I even agree to the extreme with the resulting sounds; that they should sound the way they do, or worst, that they cannot sound any other way. Even if they can, I probably won’t let them. Thus if I find someone sets Ode to Joy his cellphone ringtone, I will have a great deal of difficulty keeping my self from saying, “Please, sir, change it with something else. You stripped it off from the grandness it so eternally deserves.”
Sometimes I fail to understand why they sound the way they do, but at least I I tried. Obviously, I give a damn about sounds more than Tas and Ras think I do.
Experiences: the words it speaks
As early as Plato and Phytagoras, music has in its exploration some mathematical flavors (notice the term: scale, interval, etc). This tradition survives to this day, and even takes stronger scientific foothold (see for yourself). But take the “artist” and the “genius mathematician” out of a songwriter, and what is left of him is a statistician. Their only assets are the number of possible combinations of melodies (Add to that, if they’re resourceful enough, the total number of possibility of how to present them --the instruments used, the color of the sounds, etc. Thus two songs with similar chords combination may sound totally different). For them music is about making new sound, ones which people may never hear before. Their question would only be: has anyone publish this sound? Boy, how the supply is getting thinner and thinner at every album release.
I don’t know this for sure, but I think that the total number of such combination is much much smaller compared to the total number of vocabulary of any language (Oxford English Dictionary has in it more than 300.000 word entries). I also doubt that this mathematical consideration is the motive behind putting lyrics into songs (many musician friends I know actually despise mathematics). I suspect, as many other would, that musicians use words to make their messages more explicit. It makes it clearer that the messages, hidden or out in the open, are also meant to be understood. I don’t know when this custom started, but I’m positive that it is older than the culture of pop music (most of which, probably more than 99 percent of them, use lyrics).
This is the foundation of which Ta and Ras thought I give a song a strict verdict. If a song lyrics is cheesy or girly, I will find it unforgiveably guilty for the crime against humanity (of crossing beyond the male chauvinists’ line, to be exact). I don’t not deny the male chauvinist in me, but saying this to be the reason I like or dislike a song is an oversimplification.
Given that we have more words in our dictionaries than we do notes in musical scales, the room of possibilities to customize our experiences into words should be as spacious as the universe itself. Thus, the list of song themes should go on forever. Even the most popular one --love-- may provide endless list of possible verbal combinations. So when a song writer choses words like “baby, I love you so”, or “I’ll be there for you”, or “you’re the air that I breathe” (and the list goes on), unless they are presented in such new and genial sound structure, or fit perfectly to my personal experience(s), their songs will not make it to my personal top 100 list, let alone my top 10 (not that they need my vote nor this will sadden them). Chosing such cliché-ish verbal approach, to me, is like making a Power Point presentation with a limited Microsoft templates. It hinders, if not diminishes, that which suppose to be meaningful messages.
Just because love is so common, it doesn’t mean that its expression automatically is. Actually, to say that love is a common experience is almost like saying that there is nothing special about whom we fall in love with. Most of us would find that deeply offensive. Diane Ackerman, an American poet, said that poetry has a way of lifting a feeling or idea out of its routine so that it could be appreciated with fresh eyes. The same goes with lyrics, I suppose, and any songwriter who accomplishes that deserves a proportional appreciation. Such accomplishment is not a few. Here are some (feel free to add).
One of the Brand New Heavies, to describe how one feels so small before one’s object of affection, wrote “you are the universe” [1] (Ha! Universe. Didn’t I mention that word before?), while Frankie Valli chose “I love you, and if it’s quite alright, I need you” [2].
Both Sting and Bono love their fathers full-blown, though neither quite got along with them and barely spoke. While Sting said “For all my days remaining/ I love you with my fashion” [3], Bono said “I know that we don’t talk/(but) can you hear me when I sing/ you’re the reason I sing/ you’re the reason the opera is in me” [4].
My favorite version of saying “I can’t get enough your love” is that of Dave Matthews Band’s: “I’m gonna take more of you letter by letter” [5]. That is the first time I found a writer uses full name to personifies the completeness of a person. It is as if he reinvented the word “letter”. I read in one of their unauthorized biographies that Dave, feeling that he was not much of a writer, spent hours and hours every day practising writing lyrics. I personally think without doubt that his efforts paid off.
Sometimes it is love itself, instead of the person, that we find endlessly beautiful. One of songwriters who expressed this articulately is Imogen Heap. She said: “oh (I need to) empty my heart/I've got to make room for this feeling/(because it is) so much bigger than me” [6].
Even the speechless effect love induced isn’t completely verbally paralyzing after all. One of the Jackson 5 (I don’t know which), made his lost for words his advantage when he wrote “la la means I love you” [7] (though I find the rest of the lyrics rather icky). Natasha Beddingfield, after a great length describing her efforts to poetize her affection, in the end apologetically said “(I can only write) I love you/is that okay?” [8].
Maybe it's just the reader in me, but with such a restless possibilities of describing how we experience life, or particularly, how we love, how could I not give lyrics a big credit?
***
This is not to say that Ta and Ras choose wrong songs to adore. Nor it is to say that I will stop making bad comments about musics Ta and Ras find pleasureable. Intimidating them by disagreeing with everything they say has been really fun so far (particularly of Ras, I did so with the Je’s implicit blessing). It would take a person with a big heart to put a stop to such a guilty pleasure. Unfortunately for them, I’m nowhere near that. Fortunately, they know this, and some preparations have been made, some coping techniques have been chosen (Somehow, this might not be an exaggeration).
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Finding Heart and Soul, Part 2
.
(picture taken from Yahoo! Movies)It was in Superman 3 when I saw The Man of Steel flies on a big screen. I have seen him flies before, not long before that, on my Superman 1 and 2 video tapes, but there was a sense of majesty seeing the action on the big screen. I remember I loved the movie very much. But then again, I was 6 at the time (much later on I realized that Hollywood fooled me, as media said that the third, and fourth, Superman installment were Hollywood flops).
I remember there was an adaptation comic, too, sold separately in the ticket box. After waiting quite long in the ticket line, my dad bought me one. I remember the thickness (about half centimeter), the art cover (matched the movie poster), and even the price (Rp.1000 --my, my). By the time the studio called us in, I have read and enjoyed it repeatedly. I still keep the comic --safely stored in my closet compartment. I lost the key, though. Seeing Superman Returns made me feel like to break-open that compartment and take the old comic out for another readout.
How Superman Returns
There was, I bet, a slight of fear in many people when Warner Bros. first announced in 2001 that they are working on a new Superman movie project. Technically, it would be extremely difficult to capture a tall stud wearing a blue tight, exhibitionist red underwear, uncommon red cape (and boots, at that), not to mention a big ‘S’ on his chest, without making viewers feeling icky. In 1978, director Richard Donner escaped that box-office death trap. Though with limited technology and poor storyline, people believed that a man can fly because that’s how convincing John Williams’ compositions sounded and, most of all, Christopher Reeve’s posture looked. That time, Warner Bros made it only by the skin of its teeth, and so at the time the remake was announced, I fear that they were pushing their luck.
News, all not good enough to hear, were heard. Names came up, but the news themselves are vaguely confirmed. Tim Burton was one director rumored to handle the project. He is rumored to take on the Death of Superman plot and will have Nicholas Cage plays Superman. Kevin Smith, director, screenplay and comic writer, was also rumored to have signed in (and in the end, out) a production contract after having drafted Superman Lives scenario. If one who loves Superman hears these rumors and has no emotions evoked, positive or negative, then this project is worth doubting.
Another rumor came out, that Bryan Singer left the third installment of X-Men and approached (or was approached by, it’s unclear) Warner Bros. to freshen up Red Sun (code name for the project), by which he meant crossing out the so-far super candidate list (this includes weird picks like Ashton Kutcher, Josh Harnett, etc) and start looking for fresh individual for the main character. This rumor turned out to be true. Considering how good Singer handled X-Men and X-Men United, building a story only after having designed strong characters’ personalities, I thought that this new Superman may have a good future in it.
Eight months ago, the teaser trailer was released. There “he” was, stand-floating above earth, eyes closed. The “Krypton” soundtrack slowly swelled, in crescendo. A voice, Jor-El’s, entered:
I remember there was an adaptation comic, too, sold separately in the ticket box. After waiting quite long in the ticket line, my dad bought me one. I remember the thickness (about half centimeter), the art cover (matched the movie poster), and even the price (Rp.1000 --my, my). By the time the studio called us in, I have read and enjoyed it repeatedly. I still keep the comic --safely stored in my closet compartment. I lost the key, though. Seeing Superman Returns made me feel like to break-open that compartment and take the old comic out for another readout.
How Superman Returns
There was, I bet, a slight of fear in many people when Warner Bros. first announced in 2001 that they are working on a new Superman movie project. Technically, it would be extremely difficult to capture a tall stud wearing a blue tight, exhibitionist red underwear, uncommon red cape (and boots, at that), not to mention a big ‘S’ on his chest, without making viewers feeling icky. In 1978, director Richard Donner escaped that box-office death trap. Though with limited technology and poor storyline, people believed that a man can fly because that’s how convincing John Williams’ compositions sounded and, most of all, Christopher Reeve’s posture looked. That time, Warner Bros made it only by the skin of its teeth, and so at the time the remake was announced, I fear that they were pushing their luck.
News, all not good enough to hear, were heard. Names came up, but the news themselves are vaguely confirmed. Tim Burton was one director rumored to handle the project. He is rumored to take on the Death of Superman plot and will have Nicholas Cage plays Superman. Kevin Smith, director, screenplay and comic writer, was also rumored to have signed in (and in the end, out) a production contract after having drafted Superman Lives scenario. If one who loves Superman hears these rumors and has no emotions evoked, positive or negative, then this project is worth doubting.
Another rumor came out, that Bryan Singer left the third installment of X-Men and approached (or was approached by, it’s unclear) Warner Bros. to freshen up Red Sun (code name for the project), by which he meant crossing out the so-far super candidate list (this includes weird picks like Ashton Kutcher, Josh Harnett, etc) and start looking for fresh individual for the main character. This rumor turned out to be true. Considering how good Singer handled X-Men and X-Men United, building a story only after having designed strong characters’ personalities, I thought that this new Superman may have a good future in it.
Eight months ago, the teaser trailer was released. There “he” was, stand-floating above earth, eyes closed. The “Krypton” soundtrack slowly swelled, in crescendo. A voice, Jor-El’s, entered:
“..They can be great people Kal-El, they wish to be.
They only lack the light to show the way.
For this reason above all, their capacity for good,
I sent them you, my only son.”
They only lack the light to show the way.
For this reason above all, their capacity for good,
I sent them you, my only son.”
His eyes opened, and sped downward to the distant earth ground. One minute sample. I bought it. Singer will, I have faith, make him fly again.
This time around, Hollywood has the money, the technology, thus they can rebuild him. This Superman really flies. He air-swooshes, soars, parts clouds, takes off smoothly, lands gently, floats mid-air, and my favorite, lands vertically with a strong bump. Despite a major belief that no man can replace Christopher Reeve, Brandon Routh is suited up rather convincingly. His super costume is dark-toned, instead of Reeve’s light-toned, to put some age on him. The ‘S’ is smaller to make his chess looks as wide as Reeve’s. Simply put, he looks super enough to me.
Add, to Returns super list, Singer’s loyalty. Returns opens and closes with such familiarity: John Robson from Digital Neural Axis designed similar (and CG-enhanced) main title sequence to the original version; Ottman’s used almost all John Williams’s original scores and composed some new tracks based on them; the classic Marlon Brando’s Jor-El images and voices are gracefully slid in. Some characters’ personalities are well preserved, like Kent’s clunkyness, Superman’s politeness, including Lane’s self-centeredness, and the rest are sharpened, as in Perry White’s (more of a sharp eye than a rapid mouth) and Lex Luthor’s (more patience in Spacey than Hackman). Returns closes with Superman flies orbiting far above in outer space toward the sun behind the other side of the planet. All these, done as if Singer inherited them from Donner. I guess when Singer said in a press conference that Superman Returns would pick where Superman 2 left off, he didn’t mean just the story.
It is a great decision that this Superman doesn’t have any super villain. In Superman’s cinematic history these super villains have always ruined the movie. Superman may be the biggest comic figure, but his persona that the majority people fall in love with is not the one of the comics’, but the movies’ instead (especially the first two). His figure is moderately built instead of looking like a body-builder, displays more of polite nature and were exposed to more drama with Lois. That persona once had a name --Christopher Reeve.
Besides, Superman has just made his comeback, and it would be too far-fetched to have even only one of his super nemesis to closely follow suit. Personally, should there be other Superman pictures, I prefer these super thugs don’t make any appearance at all. I think Donner’s greatest heritage is that, unlike the comic versions, he placed his Superman in a universe closely resembling our real world --it’s the best make-believe approach, in my opinion. Superman’s foes, therefore come only from those guiding-light-lacking earthling gone really really bad --this is Luthor’s entrance. That means that the only one capable of defeating Superman is, one way or another, himself. And he was indeed beaten by Kryptonite (thanks to, of course, Luthor).
All and all, the reason this Superman really passed the Hollywood test by flying color is its strongest secret weapon --a good intact plot: that Superman came back after five years disappearance looking for what was left of his home planet (that’s only intermezzo), that Lane has moved on (with a “husband” and child too), and that Luthor was released from prison, snatched himself some fortune, learned about Superman history, and planned his sweet revenge.
Further, a good plot is perfected by good dialogues, and good dialogues are indeed what Returns has. Screenplay writer Michael Dougherty and Dan Harris wrote dialogues that are neither too less or much (Dougherty and Harris made cameo in the movie. They’re the two museum visitors hushed away by Luthor’s thugs). No conversation between Lois and Superman are overdone thus Returns were eloquently saved from lame scenes. Almost all communications between Luthor and his thugs are nonverbal, mostly meaningful eye contacts and smiles (and frowns). “Just-enough” dialogues are just perfect --Team Singer’s triumph.
Many people, including me, have faith that a dedication note to “you-know-who” would make it to the scene --it’s only fair that it would. These many people were right. On the credit title, a note appears saying:
This time around, Hollywood has the money, the technology, thus they can rebuild him. This Superman really flies. He air-swooshes, soars, parts clouds, takes off smoothly, lands gently, floats mid-air, and my favorite, lands vertically with a strong bump. Despite a major belief that no man can replace Christopher Reeve, Brandon Routh is suited up rather convincingly. His super costume is dark-toned, instead of Reeve’s light-toned, to put some age on him. The ‘S’ is smaller to make his chess looks as wide as Reeve’s. Simply put, he looks super enough to me.
Add, to Returns super list, Singer’s loyalty. Returns opens and closes with such familiarity: John Robson from Digital Neural Axis designed similar (and CG-enhanced) main title sequence to the original version; Ottman’s used almost all John Williams’s original scores and composed some new tracks based on them; the classic Marlon Brando’s Jor-El images and voices are gracefully slid in. Some characters’ personalities are well preserved, like Kent’s clunkyness, Superman’s politeness, including Lane’s self-centeredness, and the rest are sharpened, as in Perry White’s (more of a sharp eye than a rapid mouth) and Lex Luthor’s (more patience in Spacey than Hackman). Returns closes with Superman flies orbiting far above in outer space toward the sun behind the other side of the planet. All these, done as if Singer inherited them from Donner. I guess when Singer said in a press conference that Superman Returns would pick where Superman 2 left off, he didn’t mean just the story.
It is a great decision that this Superman doesn’t have any super villain. In Superman’s cinematic history these super villains have always ruined the movie. Superman may be the biggest comic figure, but his persona that the majority people fall in love with is not the one of the comics’, but the movies’ instead (especially the first two). His figure is moderately built instead of looking like a body-builder, displays more of polite nature and were exposed to more drama with Lois. That persona once had a name --Christopher Reeve.
Besides, Superman has just made his comeback, and it would be too far-fetched to have even only one of his super nemesis to closely follow suit. Personally, should there be other Superman pictures, I prefer these super thugs don’t make any appearance at all. I think Donner’s greatest heritage is that, unlike the comic versions, he placed his Superman in a universe closely resembling our real world --it’s the best make-believe approach, in my opinion. Superman’s foes, therefore come only from those guiding-light-lacking earthling gone really really bad --this is Luthor’s entrance. That means that the only one capable of defeating Superman is, one way or another, himself. And he was indeed beaten by Kryptonite (thanks to, of course, Luthor).
All and all, the reason this Superman really passed the Hollywood test by flying color is its strongest secret weapon --a good intact plot: that Superman came back after five years disappearance looking for what was left of his home planet (that’s only intermezzo), that Lane has moved on (with a “husband” and child too), and that Luthor was released from prison, snatched himself some fortune, learned about Superman history, and planned his sweet revenge.
Further, a good plot is perfected by good dialogues, and good dialogues are indeed what Returns has. Screenplay writer Michael Dougherty and Dan Harris wrote dialogues that are neither too less or much (Dougherty and Harris made cameo in the movie. They’re the two museum visitors hushed away by Luthor’s thugs). No conversation between Lois and Superman are overdone thus Returns were eloquently saved from lame scenes. Almost all communications between Luthor and his thugs are nonverbal, mostly meaningful eye contacts and smiles (and frowns). “Just-enough” dialogues are just perfect --Team Singer’s triumph.
Many people, including me, have faith that a dedication note to “you-know-who” would make it to the scene --it’s only fair that it would. These many people were right. On the credit title, a note appears saying:
“This picture is dedicated with love and respect
to Christopher Reeve and Dana Reeve.”
to Christopher Reeve and Dana Reeve.”
With love and respect. I love the choice of words, not for its poetry but for its precision. When you get some drama --and natural, at that-- out of a superhero movie (my favorite, Luthor’s Prometheus speeches) you know that it’s written by heart.
A Superman Needed
Nearing the closing of the movie, there was a scene where Lois Lane was to start writing an article entitled Why the World Needs Superman (Ironically, Lois was to receive a Pulitzer for her previous article entitled Why the World Doesn’t Need Superman). Blocked, she went out for some air and the paper remained blank. It was as if the scene was intended as an open question for the audiences.
Everyone who loves Superman has their own answers. As for mine, it’s for old time sake. I grew up adoring Superman. Though later on I moved on admiring other superheroes, and even thinking of him as obsolete, making acquaintance with Superman is still where it all began. And that’s where Returns brought me --where it all began. For 154 minutes, I was 6 again.
---
PS: There were two scenes in Returns where Heart and Soul, a playful song of which less than a month ago I had a nice nostalgia, was played. It is for this coincidental reason that this post is entitled, however wrongful it may be.
A Superman Needed
Nearing the closing of the movie, there was a scene where Lois Lane was to start writing an article entitled Why the World Needs Superman (Ironically, Lois was to receive a Pulitzer for her previous article entitled Why the World Doesn’t Need Superman). Blocked, she went out for some air and the paper remained blank. It was as if the scene was intended as an open question for the audiences.
Everyone who loves Superman has their own answers. As for mine, it’s for old time sake. I grew up adoring Superman. Though later on I moved on admiring other superheroes, and even thinking of him as obsolete, making acquaintance with Superman is still where it all began. And that’s where Returns brought me --where it all began. For 154 minutes, I was 6 again.
---
PS: There were two scenes in Returns where Heart and Soul, a playful song of which less than a month ago I had a nice nostalgia, was played. It is for this coincidental reason that this post is entitled, however wrongful it may be.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Finding Heart and Soul
A melodic, jumpy, upbeat song is always good for --among other things-- whistling. For a person whom God cooked as an introvert (thus I mostly walk alone) and impatient (thus I mostly walk fast), nothing beats whistling while walking fast (if I walk slowly, then I must be reading). For the past few days I’ve been whistling the same mysterious song which I occasionally pick for the past sixteen years. I know nothing about this song, except the sound of its first bar. That limitation changed today.
In 1990, when I was fourteen, I saw one of Tom Hanks early movies, Big. It tells a story of a boy, Josh Baskin, who couldn’t stand another minute being a 10-year-old. One day in a town carnival, he saw a mystical machine which would make one’s wish comes true for the cost of only a nickel. Just for fun, Josh put a coin in, and wished to be a grown-up. And a grown-up he became on the next morning (Hanks played the grown-up Josh). In the story, Josh eventually found what a lucky thing it is to be a kid, and wished things would go back to normal. Like every happy ending story, Josh re-kid-ed himself.
There was a scene --my favorite one-- when Josh came into a toy store to browse around (he was, after all, still a 10-year-old at heart). He found a floor piano and played a song. He stepped onto the floors from key to key. Its floors shone lights and sounds came out. The store owner, seeing the adult Josh having a bit of childlike fun, joined him on a duet. The song they played is my mysterious whistle-song.
I fell in love with the song instantly, though it was played unfinished --just one bar. I played that part of the videotape (dear God) repeatedly just to listen to the song. Until finally it got to the point where the tape was damaged of overuse. Before the tape was broken, I was lucky --and wise-- enough to trick a friend of mine, a piano literate, to see it and make the musical notations for me. I knew it would come handy one day, that after my tape was nothing but a history, I used to make him play as repetitious as my tape was (He didn’t mind).
Except the rumor that the song was called Heart and Soul, I know nothing else. I don’t know both who wrote nor sang it. I don’t know if it has any lyrics (but if it does, I know I’ll love it). I only know that one bar. There is a scientific notion --facial feedback hypothesis-- that said: if you are in negative mood, move you face muscles to make a smile and keep it for several minutes, and you’ll feel better. One of my personal bad-mood counter strategy was a bit different: when I’m in a negative mood, whistle Heart and Soul, and I’ll feel better. Though my whistling face muscles don’t nearly resemble my smiling face muscles (you can indeed tell the difference between people smiling and whistling), they yield the same result nonetheless. Thus I call it my “one magic bar.”
When I said it’s a mysterious song, I meant it. No one seems to know the song. I never heard it played on any radio stations. I found a ‘Heart and Soul’ once, but it sounded so lame and sissy in a Celine Dion way (and, boy, do I hate Celine Dion). There was a Robert Downey, Jr. movie with the same title, but my mystery-song wasn’t there (Though, I think it’s a fabulous movie and had no regret watching it. I even found a similarly good song in it --called Walk Like a Man, Talk Like a Man. And yes, sometimes I whistle that one, too). In 1997, Heart and Soul came up in Now And Again [1], a TV series, also in featuring one of the character playing it on a piano without lyrics, and also just that one bar. I flipped out, freaked out, screamed out --all three in an extremely good way. But it was a short flip-freak-and-scream for it was television thus I couldn’t repeat it. What pained me, the title didn’t come on the closing credits --no information on Heart and Soul. Come to think of it, I don’t even know whether Heart and Soul is the correct title. In fact, I can’t even remember how I know that title in the first place. However, so long as that tune brightens my day, clear or gloomy, it stays to be my “one magic bar.”
About nine hours before this sentence is written, I posted a question to Yahoo! Answers [2]
The title was Heart and Soul, indeed. One answer provided me with lyrics (it has lyrics, indeed). One funny fact is that the lyrics was written by someone by the name of Frank Loesser. That’s funny, because I thought the lyric was a Wienner. Just read it: it’ll undoubtedly wien your heart. My favorite answer is one that copied-pasted me a web page which, again to my surprise, played a midi file of my mystery-song! about that song. At first I thought it was a long shot, but after having searching for sixteen years in vain, I figured nothing would disappoint me anymore so it wouldn’t hurt to try. Surprise. Exactly seven seconds after I hit the submit button, I got 4 answers.
In 1990, when I was fourteen, I saw one of Tom Hanks early movies, Big. It tells a story of a boy, Josh Baskin, who couldn’t stand another minute being a 10-year-old. One day in a town carnival, he saw a mystical machine which would make one’s wish comes true for the cost of only a nickel. Just for fun, Josh put a coin in, and wished to be a grown-up. And a grown-up he became on the next morning (Hanks played the grown-up Josh). In the story, Josh eventually found what a lucky thing it is to be a kid, and wished things would go back to normal. Like every happy ending story, Josh re-kid-ed himself.
There was a scene --my favorite one-- when Josh came into a toy store to browse around (he was, after all, still a 10-year-old at heart). He found a floor piano and played a song. He stepped onto the floors from key to key. Its floors shone lights and sounds came out. The store owner, seeing the adult Josh having a bit of childlike fun, joined him on a duet. The song they played is my mysterious whistle-song.
I fell in love with the song instantly, though it was played unfinished --just one bar. I played that part of the videotape (dear God) repeatedly just to listen to the song. Until finally it got to the point where the tape was damaged of overuse. Before the tape was broken, I was lucky --and wise-- enough to trick a friend of mine, a piano literate, to see it and make the musical notations for me. I knew it would come handy one day, that after my tape was nothing but a history, I used to make him play as repetitious as my tape was (He didn’t mind).
Except the rumor that the song was called Heart and Soul, I know nothing else. I don’t know both who wrote nor sang it. I don’t know if it has any lyrics (but if it does, I know I’ll love it). I only know that one bar. There is a scientific notion --facial feedback hypothesis-- that said: if you are in negative mood, move you face muscles to make a smile and keep it for several minutes, and you’ll feel better. One of my personal bad-mood counter strategy was a bit different: when I’m in a negative mood, whistle Heart and Soul, and I’ll feel better. Though my whistling face muscles don’t nearly resemble my smiling face muscles (you can indeed tell the difference between people smiling and whistling), they yield the same result nonetheless. Thus I call it my “one magic bar.”
When I said it’s a mysterious song, I meant it. No one seems to know the song. I never heard it played on any radio stations. I found a ‘Heart and Soul’ once, but it sounded so lame and sissy in a Celine Dion way (and, boy, do I hate Celine Dion). There was a Robert Downey, Jr. movie with the same title, but my mystery-song wasn’t there (Though, I think it’s a fabulous movie and had no regret watching it. I even found a similarly good song in it --called Walk Like a Man, Talk Like a Man. And yes, sometimes I whistle that one, too). In 1997, Heart and Soul came up in Now And Again [1], a TV series, also in featuring one of the character playing it on a piano without lyrics, and also just that one bar. I flipped out, freaked out, screamed out --all three in an extremely good way. But it was a short flip-freak-and-scream for it was television thus I couldn’t repeat it. What pained me, the title didn’t come on the closing credits --no information on Heart and Soul. Come to think of it, I don’t even know whether Heart and Soul is the correct title. In fact, I can’t even remember how I know that title in the first place. However, so long as that tune brightens my day, clear or gloomy, it stays to be my “one magic bar.”
About nine hours before this sentence is written, I posted a question to Yahoo! Answers [2]
The title was Heart and Soul, indeed. One answer provided me with lyrics (it has lyrics, indeed). One funny fact is that the lyrics was written by someone by the name of Frank Loesser. That’s funny, because I thought the lyric was a Wienner. Just read it: it’ll undoubtedly wien your heart. My favorite answer is one that copied-pasted me a web page which, again to my surprise, played a midi file of my mystery-song! about that song. At first I thought it was a long shot, but after having searching for sixteen years in vain, I figured nothing would disappoint me anymore so it wouldn’t hurt to try. Surprise. Exactly seven seconds after I hit the submit button, I got 4 answers.
(it's http://www.niehs.nih.gov/kids/lyrics/heartsoul.htm, by the way)
And so there I was, in my office, listening to the tune looping endlessly for old time sake, hour after hour, only this time without guilt --knowing no tape nor any of my friend’s fingers would get broken. Had I forget that the glasses in my office was see-though, I would have had jiggy-ed my ass all over the room (And me jiggy-ing happens as rarely as Halley Comet passes over Earth).
About three hours after my revelation, I got in touch with a friend of mine. I texted her, asking how many songs entitled Heart and Soul she has in her mp3 folders. Again, I thought it was a long shot, but after my previous revelation and three hours of listening to that one bar continuously, I thought why not? She didn’t have any (no surprise there), but she said she could try a peer-to-peer search. I gave her the midi link so she’d know which Heart and Soul I meant (It turned out that she knew the song, not the title, though. It was her piano lesson song). I think liking the song is contagious for she looked for it enthusiastically. Less than an hour, she, in rejoice, texted me back to tell me she had that song successfully downloaded --and played it repeatedly, too (I think it’s the only way it should be played). This Thursday, it’ll finally be, after sixteen years of searching, in any playing device I have.
It sounds weird that a machine helped me find Heart and Soul.
---
About three hours after my revelation, I got in touch with a friend of mine. I texted her, asking how many songs entitled Heart and Soul she has in her mp3 folders. Again, I thought it was a long shot, but after my previous revelation and three hours of listening to that one bar continuously, I thought why not? She didn’t have any (no surprise there), but she said she could try a peer-to-peer search. I gave her the midi link so she’d know which Heart and Soul I meant (It turned out that she knew the song, not the title, though. It was her piano lesson song). I think liking the song is contagious for she looked for it enthusiastically. Less than an hour, she, in rejoice, texted me back to tell me she had that song successfully downloaded --and played it repeatedly, too (I think it’s the only way it should be played). This Thursday, it’ll finally be, after sixteen years of searching, in any playing device I have.
It sounds weird that a machine helped me find Heart and Soul.
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PS: Thank you for the answers (isabow27, bloggerdude2005, WickedWordCraft, ljtimoney, lover24, risky_1986, tfram36). Thank you for downloading (Mekhta)
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[1] Now And Again was also a TV Series I was (and still am) crazy about (That seem to happen often: both favoritizing films and being crazy). The story began with the main character, Michael Wiseman, regular 30ish man, died in an accident. Afterward, a secret government agency, stole his body, took out his surviving brain, put it inside a brainless manufactured human body with super strength. Though it sounded like a cheap action in a Six-Million-Dollar-Man kind of way, it was actually a well-crafted drama in a Gilmore-Girls kind of way. The story revolves around a series of coincidental encounters between him and his wife and daughter (both wife and daughter didn’t know he’s alive).
[2] Yahoo! Answer is another version of online community. In it, after having an ID account, you can post and answer as many questions as you like. Afterward you can vote for and rate the best answers. Questions posted ranging from How exactly cloning works? to What do you suggest is the best wedding proposal surprise for my girlfriend?)
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