Just slow down,
Don't forget how to inhale exhale
I am holding your essence
In my sweaty little hand and yet
I am terrified-
Petrified by my constant recklessness.
My sunny disposition
It's who I really am, believe it
Or else you will never know me.
A contradiction unto myself
Is all I have ever been
And more than I ever knew to wish for.
Paradoxical existence has begun to bore me.
Such a florid schism unfolds
Within my physical hemisphere of reason
As the world becomes curiouser and curiouser
My cognition expands like a galaxy
Hastening in perpetuity.
I need to reel it back,
But I covet the gluttony
Of knowledge, a binge on ingenuity
Even while ill, I am compelled to consume it.
By all estimations, I will forever be
Inebriated by your torrid gaze
And indispensable touch.
That I don't find prosaic in the least.
Have I ever been lacking for love?
12 June 2008
Vocal Timbre and Abbey Road
Excerpts from my final paper written in college. I have left out the most technical parts and the charts for the sake of space, but it is a paper I am proud of so I would like to post a few things to give the flavor of the piece.
Paul McCartney’s Exploration of Vocal Timbre on Abbey Road
Timbre is the distinct quality of sound that allows the listener to differentiate musical instruments as well as human voices from one another. The range of tone color a particular instrument is capable of can be employed in the hands of a skilled composer to create a mood and distinct sound image in the ear of the listener. In classical and popular music alike, changes in timbre are often employed to denote the overarching form in a sectional piece and also breathe life into more traditional or “standardized” forms. The Beatles’ Abbey Road album contains examples of how vocal timbre is the most powerful means of expression and storytelling in the music of Paul McCartney. By examining the songs “Oh! Darling” from side one and “You Never Give Me Your Money” from the side two medley with a focus on McCartney’s manipulation of vocal timbre, it becomes apparent that his choices either create the dramatic thrust of these songs within the framework of a simple form, or alternately determine how we see the form of the larger whole....
In the Abbey Road medley, which encompasses “You Never Give Me Your Money” through “The End”, timbre is paramount is defining form and structure, and McCartney’s choices of vocal timbre is the primary means by which the story is told. In combination with textural and timbral changes in the orchestration and production techniques, abrupt changes in vocal sound create contrast and interest. The level of vocal manipulation that McCartney employs in a number of tracks on the album not only helps to denote the form but create it. This use of tone color is in accordance with Stock’s statement that “timbre can be activated primary determinant of musical structure." While discussion of timbre in general is important to the Beatles’ entire catalog, I am focusing primarily on vocal timbre....
The through-composed nature of “You Never Give Me Your Money” lends itself to characterization and storytelling. McCartney skillfully creates moods of contemplation and reverence, alternated with flashback and finally nostalgia via changes in vocal timbre. As the storyteller, McCartney’s vocal characterization is the most important tool of expression in this “movement” of the Abbey Road medley. This by examining the tracks “Oh! Darling” and “You Never Give Me Your Money”, one can see the importance of Paul McCartney’s large range of tone colors. His timbre choices reinforce the character he creates in both songs, and the contrasting tone colors he creates with his voice reinforce the emotional trajectory in the different sections of both songs, therefore delineating form in the ear of the listener. In the music of The Beatles and popular music in general, the focus on timbre as the primary means of analysis reveals a new level of artistry on the part of the composers and performers.
Prone
Goodbye. Soaring nights of unthinkable song,
Notes like plasma linger in the haze.
I sang a song of valentines and smoky euphoria
Dreams of youth live on in my dizzy reality
But this will never do.
No question, this is blatant irresponsibility.
Sunlight continues to crash in upon my nauseous morning
I can only remember the stumble, tripping walking
Am I drowning? Perhaps this is intentional,
But my affections are never fatal.
You kiss the sky and my heart shatters in my breast.
In this fluttering, flashing schizophrenia the nectar spills--
Can't we just start over?
Hello. I can't stop this gravity
Your hands manipulate my electric heartstrings
Reminiscent of a child at play
And I allow myself to be plugged in,
Turned on, forgetting shouldn'ts and shoulds
Never considering goal or consequence
Resigning myself to the foreseeable betrayal
That occurs when you just do your job.
I comprehend least of all my tendency to love you
Arranging all my treasures in the sticky heat of the dawn
My naivete is constantly refreshed,
Never scarred, never jaded.
Love me not for what I seek after
And fault me not for my tendency for unconditional love,
For what I am I cannot cease to be.
25 May 2008
Notes like plasma linger in the haze.
I sang a song of valentines and smoky euphoria
Dreams of youth live on in my dizzy reality
But this will never do.
No question, this is blatant irresponsibility.
Sunlight continues to crash in upon my nauseous morning
I can only remember the stumble, tripping walking
Am I drowning? Perhaps this is intentional,
But my affections are never fatal.
You kiss the sky and my heart shatters in my breast.
In this fluttering, flashing schizophrenia the nectar spills--
Can't we just start over?
Hello. I can't stop this gravity
Your hands manipulate my electric heartstrings
Reminiscent of a child at play
And I allow myself to be plugged in,
Turned on, forgetting shouldn'ts and shoulds
Never considering goal or consequence
Resigning myself to the foreseeable betrayal
That occurs when you just do your job.
I comprehend least of all my tendency to love you
Arranging all my treasures in the sticky heat of the dawn
My naivete is constantly refreshed,
Never scarred, never jaded.
Love me not for what I seek after
And fault me not for my tendency for unconditional love,
For what I am I cannot cease to be.
25 May 2008
Primavera
Beautiful. A tree at William Faulker's estate in Oxford, Mississippi. Captured by moi in March of 2008.
Luminosity
Ribbon of purple electricity
A current of intoxicated energy
Puff of blue-grey rock and roll smoke
Moisture gathers on anxious foreheads
What a delicious dinner.
In this instant you are flawless
Trust me, hold tightly to me
Every moment is lyrically inspiring
And passionately screaming red
A flash bulb shattered
Freeing piercing rays that cannot be scrubbed away
An imperative form of affection kicks the glass to the curb
Behind closed eyes, it painted a masterpiece:
Your portrait in blue and yellow.
I look to the sun, but it has yet to fade away-
My lashes have become gilded frames of your reflection.
4 March 2006
A current of intoxicated energy
Puff of blue-grey rock and roll smoke
Moisture gathers on anxious foreheads
What a delicious dinner.
In this instant you are flawless
Trust me, hold tightly to me
Every moment is lyrically inspiring
And passionately screaming red
A flash bulb shattered
Freeing piercing rays that cannot be scrubbed away
An imperative form of affection kicks the glass to the curb
Behind closed eyes, it painted a masterpiece:
Your portrait in blue and yellow.
I look to the sun, but it has yet to fade away-
My lashes have become gilded frames of your reflection.
4 March 2006
“…but you are my favorite work of art.”
I’ve let the past bleed into the present and the future.
How can I help it?
You are like cold strawberries fizzing in my mouth.
It’s early spring, and it is so sweet.
I don’t know how to untangle these knots I tie so well.
Until you play for me, my warbling eyes won’t see the light.
Swing me around the floor and I’ll dizzily forget any other dancer.
Saying yes to you is my strongest suit.
And yours: drowning in the hot water.
There you are, above me and I, euphoric.
My soul could simply overflow when you smile.
I can feel a draft through the window pane,
And feathers like clouds around me.
Lights dim, sound fades and stumbling patrons sleep
But we’re still here, ignorant and blissful.
Neither of us has ever had a plan.
4 March 2006
How can I help it?
You are like cold strawberries fizzing in my mouth.
It’s early spring, and it is so sweet.
I don’t know how to untangle these knots I tie so well.
Until you play for me, my warbling eyes won’t see the light.
Swing me around the floor and I’ll dizzily forget any other dancer.
Saying yes to you is my strongest suit.
And yours: drowning in the hot water.
There you are, above me and I, euphoric.
My soul could simply overflow when you smile.
I can feel a draft through the window pane,
And feathers like clouds around me.
Lights dim, sound fades and stumbling patrons sleep
But we’re still here, ignorant and blissful.
Neither of us has ever had a plan.
4 March 2006
Half-Life
There is a void here
She logically stated as though
she were contemplating a
Painter’s incomplete masterpiece
She gazed upward to find
Tinsel pouring from thunderclouds like
God’s perpetually mourning eyes
What is real? she
Mused, bending trees, path and
Buildings before and behind her.
The passage of months, she knew, was
All that could warp her memories of
Denim, cigarettes- most of all
Skin and dawn’s light
A mutual equilibrium was being reached
Give and take-mend, only to break
She hoped ambition and guilt would be
Catalysts to elements only measured in
Half Lives
The sun rising and setting on
Futile stars and gauzy hope.
She could see moonbeams
Clinging to Boathouse awnings
She would never climb again
The airy timbre of the tree’s voice said,
Meanings are multiplying
Squeeze the seconds endowed on so few,
For this motion will never end
Hearts stopped for the girl with the
Silver shoes, who strolled upon the pond
Still, be my dearest, precious dove,
Even as the swan lifts into the noonday
She logically stated as though
she were contemplating a
Painter’s incomplete masterpiece
She gazed upward to find
Tinsel pouring from thunderclouds like
God’s perpetually mourning eyes
What is real? she
Mused, bending trees, path and
Buildings before and behind her.
The passage of months, she knew, was
All that could warp her memories of
Denim, cigarettes- most of all
Skin and dawn’s light
A mutual equilibrium was being reached
Give and take-mend, only to break
She hoped ambition and guilt would be
Catalysts to elements only measured in
Half Lives
The sun rising and setting on
Futile stars and gauzy hope.
She could see moonbeams
Clinging to Boathouse awnings
She would never climb again
The airy timbre of the tree’s voice said,
Meanings are multiplying
Squeeze the seconds endowed on so few,
For this motion will never end
Hearts stopped for the girl with the
Silver shoes, who strolled upon the pond
Still, be my dearest, precious dove,
Even as the swan lifts into the noonday
Eighth Floor South
My heartrending crocodile tears burst forth at the sight of the drunken sheen in your eyes. I never know how it will happen, but it always does. Holding onto the promise of forever makes me miss the naïveté I so quickly squelched. Don’t you miss it too, even though I kissed you and lied to you? Those fluorescent moments were made of impossible affection, the kind that no one reasonable invests in. This achy sensation isn’t going away even once the cherry sun has set over the silent mountains and you have long forgotten my dark hair and eyes lying on your pillow. Drowning in misery and futile hope has never been so pleasant and welcome and deserved as it is in this hour. Who can understand our minds? Mine, so contradictory, guilty and pleading, and yours, mysterious and obscured. Your inhibition erased all conviction I held yesterday, the one that said it was over forever. I know it still is, but being ready to believe it is a different undertaking.
“It never rains when you want it to.”
Cautiously, quietly, stealthily, I will seek your thoughts and dreams. While I sleep, moonlight lands on your young face and clinging to you has never been such an inviting concept as it is with rain falling outside the windows of my subconscious. This moment’s photograph is gray and black, but you are gold and green, a wealth of youth and promise. I am but tainted and scarlet, the wind blows from the south fanning the flame of my too-late passion that will do nothing but consume.
Your hands and smell and skin and eyes yanked the tears right out of me, as you endowed a new emotion upon me. Forgiveness is priceless, and earning what you have given me will take months. You tell me I’m beautiful, you tell me that you loved me once, though I am a stranger. People are what life is about, but a giant storm has washed part of you away this summer. Your words have changed my stained skin from red to pure cream, though I don’t quite believe what I see. Can’t I help retrieve the crystal pieces of your heart, the one that I smashed in a drunken stupor? It may never be, but then again, the appearance of green spring is quite shocking to those who have endured endless dreary hours of winter. Either way, what I am sure of is this: this sensation may grow, change or diminish, but it will always exist so long as my chest maintains its erratic rise and fall.
8-9 September 2005
“It never rains when you want it to.”
Cautiously, quietly, stealthily, I will seek your thoughts and dreams. While I sleep, moonlight lands on your young face and clinging to you has never been such an inviting concept as it is with rain falling outside the windows of my subconscious. This moment’s photograph is gray and black, but you are gold and green, a wealth of youth and promise. I am but tainted and scarlet, the wind blows from the south fanning the flame of my too-late passion that will do nothing but consume.
Your hands and smell and skin and eyes yanked the tears right out of me, as you endowed a new emotion upon me. Forgiveness is priceless, and earning what you have given me will take months. You tell me I’m beautiful, you tell me that you loved me once, though I am a stranger. People are what life is about, but a giant storm has washed part of you away this summer. Your words have changed my stained skin from red to pure cream, though I don’t quite believe what I see. Can’t I help retrieve the crystal pieces of your heart, the one that I smashed in a drunken stupor? It may never be, but then again, the appearance of green spring is quite shocking to those who have endured endless dreary hours of winter. Either way, what I am sure of is this: this sensation may grow, change or diminish, but it will always exist so long as my chest maintains its erratic rise and fall.
8-9 September 2005
La Bonita y El Pajaro
Said the sun darkened girl
To the sweet golden bird
“What is the meaning of life?”
“Why to fly and to sing
And live life on the wing-”
The little bird lied “without strife”.
But she looked in the mirror
And it became clearer
That this little bird was not true
He had lied, what he said
Had gone too her head
And the girl’s life was quite out of view
“What ever became
Of just being tame?”
She questioned as she lived on
“Live dangerously”.
This new philosophy
Banished her fears, they were gone!
So life took her here,
And life took her there
And all the while she just grinned
She won many parts,
And sang with her heart
Saying “I’d do it all over again.”
To the sweet golden bird
“What is the meaning of life?”
“Why to fly and to sing
And live life on the wing-”
The little bird lied “without strife”.
But she looked in the mirror
And it became clearer
That this little bird was not true
He had lied, what he said
Had gone too her head
And the girl’s life was quite out of view
“What ever became
Of just being tame?”
She questioned as she lived on
“Live dangerously”.
This new philosophy
Banished her fears, they were gone!
So life took her here,
And life took her there
And all the while she just grinned
She won many parts,
And sang with her heart
Saying “I’d do it all over again.”
Kissing You
Here I stood kissing him
In the morning light of a hung-over day
Kissing him I stood here
Yellow beams enrobing us
As I looked up and kissed him
We kissed, here standing
In marble encased serenity
Never again will I
Kiss this boy here
On this spot
Where I once kissed
His blue eyed beauty
Yearning for his soft cheek
To plant a kiss upon
His hands in my hair
And mine in his
Carried away on an
Irreversible current
I drink them
I bathe in them
Those hours of gold
Kisses can be forgettable
But ours were
Piano-crashing
Plumeria-scented
Caramel-coated
Teal blue-streaked
Tree-shaded
Long eye lashed—
Kisses.
In the morning light of a hung-over day
Kissing him I stood here
Yellow beams enrobing us
As I looked up and kissed him
We kissed, here standing
In marble encased serenity
Never again will I
Kiss this boy here
On this spot
Where I once kissed
His blue eyed beauty
Yearning for his soft cheek
To plant a kiss upon
His hands in my hair
And mine in his
Carried away on an
Irreversible current
I drink them
I bathe in them
Those hours of gold
Kisses can be forgettable
But ours were
Piano-crashing
Plumeria-scented
Caramel-coated
Teal blue-streaked
Tree-shaded
Long eye lashed—
Kisses.
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