Idle Speculation and Late Night Musings
Sep. 11th, 2003 03:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredericksBorrowed a few CDs from the good ole public library today, after paying off fines from years ago (horrible slacker that I am). I hadn't been the the Central Lib. in a while, and noticed that they have a crapload more CDs than before. Good for them. I picked up a few that I'd always wanted but never felt like spending the money on. One was a CD of Bach concerti played on period instruments that I'd been listening to since I was in junior high. I can still remember listening to a piece for violin and continuo during a few late-night paper sessions. I'm really surprised that thing is still in commission.
So, yes. Among the others I picked up (a k.d. lang and a Chris Issak) was Tori Amos' Little Earthquakes. Now, I'm a Tori fan, but I always admired her more for her playing and singing than lyrics, if you get my drift. Then again, the only albums of hers I had were Boys for Pele and From the Choirgirl Hotel. Very stream-of-consciousness-type lyrics. So I was knocked for a loop on hearing Earthquakes. On the first hearing I loved every damn song. I actually started tearing up on the subway when I was listening to "China". Crying. On the subway. During RUSH HOUR. Either I'm more depressed than I thought or Tori is simply rocking my world. Perhaps a little bit of both. And this is the album with "Leather" on it, the song that, whenever I hear it, brings to mind Father Mukada pulling an "Express Yourself" with a friggin' bible. Thank you, Fontana. You bastid. Ha.
So why did Tori end up getting more and more abstract with each album? Was she hitting the ganja harder and harder? Hmm. Wonder if that's why Sir Reznor and her broke up. I mean, NIN's lyrics may be dark and occasionally obtuse, but you'd never hear something like "tuna/
rubber/ a little blubber in my Igloo". I sing along with that, but I still have NO damn idea what the woman is trying to say. No matter. Her voice is still perfect for late night pondering sessions, or when you're feeling particularly estrogen-y. Breathy and powerful and yet delicate.
(Ha, yeah, but she's still the poor man's Kate Bush-Ed.)
Oh, shut the hell up. No one asked you.
Tomorrow (or, rather, today) is the 2nd anniversary of the events of Sept. 11, 2001. So tired of hearing about it. But, then again, my usual method of coping is repression and/or denial. And ignoring. Hopefully everything will be chill tomorrow. My mom's already given a warning to my brother and dad about their time in the city tomorrow. Somehow I doubt anything will happen. Call me crazy. 'Sides, I'm supposed to meet my aunt for lunch downtown, so nothing better happen, or I'll be muy pissed.
Hmm. Totally incoherent at this point. I'm going to attempt sleep.
So, yes. Among the others I picked up (a k.d. lang and a Chris Issak) was Tori Amos' Little Earthquakes. Now, I'm a Tori fan, but I always admired her more for her playing and singing than lyrics, if you get my drift. Then again, the only albums of hers I had were Boys for Pele and From the Choirgirl Hotel. Very stream-of-consciousness-type lyrics. So I was knocked for a loop on hearing Earthquakes. On the first hearing I loved every damn song. I actually started tearing up on the subway when I was listening to "China". Crying. On the subway. During RUSH HOUR. Either I'm more depressed than I thought or Tori is simply rocking my world. Perhaps a little bit of both. And this is the album with "Leather" on it, the song that, whenever I hear it, brings to mind Father Mukada pulling an "Express Yourself" with a friggin' bible. Thank you, Fontana. You bastid. Ha.
So why did Tori end up getting more and more abstract with each album? Was she hitting the ganja harder and harder? Hmm. Wonder if that's why Sir Reznor and her broke up. I mean, NIN's lyrics may be dark and occasionally obtuse, but you'd never hear something like "tuna/
rubber/ a little blubber in my Igloo". I sing along with that, but I still have NO damn idea what the woman is trying to say. No matter. Her voice is still perfect for late night pondering sessions, or when you're feeling particularly estrogen-y. Breathy and powerful and yet delicate.
(Ha, yeah, but she's still the poor man's Kate Bush-Ed.)
Oh, shut the hell up. No one asked you.
Tomorrow (or, rather, today) is the 2nd anniversary of the events of Sept. 11, 2001. So tired of hearing about it. But, then again, my usual method of coping is repression and/or denial. And ignoring. Hopefully everything will be chill tomorrow. My mom's already given a warning to my brother and dad about their time in the city tomorrow. Somehow I doubt anything will happen. Call me crazy. 'Sides, I'm supposed to meet my aunt for lunch downtown, so nothing better happen, or I'll be muy pissed.
Hmm. Totally incoherent at this point. I'm going to attempt sleep.
