Guitar and the Abstract Truth

As a bass player, wannabe-pianist and ex-trumpet player, my primary focus while listening to music is to catch bass lines, harmony and melody. For quite some time, those three items alone comprised my appreciation for music. About a year ago, I picked up guitar for fun and started learning all sorts of songs. It was then that I started perceiving music in a new and completely different way.

After figuring out basic chords and strum patterns, I noticed that singing lyrics while playing actually forced me to know what the lyrics were about. For a guy who pretty much "La-La-La'd" his way through a college music program, this is a HUGE development. Paying attention to lyrics gave me appreciation for songs I didn't like before, and a completely new perception of songs that I thought I knew very well.

One of my favorite songs right now is "Two Way Street" by Kimbra. You may know her as the girl who sings in "Somebody That I Used To Know." Anyway, one of my main complaints when I first listened to this song was that she only sings during the very first half of the song. The rest of the song is filled with prolonged vocal ad-libs that sounds like Christina Aguilera giving birth to Mariah Carey. Though I didn't think it was perfect, I liked the first two minutes of the song (when she actually uses words) enough to actually learn it. It was then that I realized that the song was much more than I thought it was.


Essentially, the song is about how Kimbra has opened her heart to someone and that there is no barrier preventing that person from claiming her love. With that said, she implies that this gentleman has to reciprocate her sentiments for their love to be true (because love is a "two way street"). With this in mind, the "empty" second half of the song may represent the lack of a response from her man, which makes Kimbra's effusive declaration in the first half tragically unrequited. I'm sure there are plenty alternate explanations, but interpreting the lyrics to this song was essential to justify its bizarre musical structure for me.

Now, for those of you who are thinking, "Man this guy is a total BOOB! You obviously have to listen to lyrics to appreciate music," I'd like to challenge you to reconsider one of the simplest, most misunderstood songs of all time:



Even though this song lit up your middle/high school dances with guileless feel-goodery, "Hey Ya!" upon second glance, is incredibly depressing. In between the repetitive "HEEEEYYYY YAAAAA's" the song describes a broken relationship where a man no longer loves his woman and she in turn is losing interest. If you were too busy "shakin' it like a Polaroid picture" to catch that, don't worry. The song is aware of its unknowing listeners!

"Y'all don't want to hear me/You just wanna dance"

Several of my teachers have distinctly told me that to fully understand a song, one must refer to the lyrics. I'm relieved that I've finally taken their advice and that there are still discoveries to be made in music. Now, please excuse me while I try to analyze the lyrical nuances of the greatest song of all time.

Have a nice day,
Matthew

Guilty Pleasure Songs

When people find out I studied music in college, they usually ask me what sort of music I like. My simple answer to this question is that I pretty much dislike ALL types of music, but there are millions of exceptions that I love. I generally judge my music by song or artist rather than genre, which has led me to like a pretty weird variety of music.

An interesting fact about my musical interests is that, despite growing up in church and in a conservative family, I have no moral proclivities when choosing the music I listen to. I like quite a few songs that have terrible, socially irresponsible lyrics. Here's a brief list of some of my favorite awful, awful songs. Enjoy if you dare!

"Drank in My Cup" - Kirko Bangz

Worst Line: "Ain't tryin' to love you baby, just f*** you instead."
What it's about: Typical self-aggrandizing hip hop artist talking about his sexual exploits and how he wants nothing more from women except sex.
Why I like it: I like this song mostly because the harmony (chords) fit well with its super simple melody. Also, some of his rhyming repetitions are good enough that I forget that I just listened to a song by a guy named "Kirko Bangz."

"Quickie" by Miguel





Worst Line: "I don't want to be loved, I don't want to be loved/I just want a quickie"
What it's about: Typical self-aggrandizing RnB artist talking about his sexual exploits and how he wants nothing more from women except sex.
Why I like it: The bass line, guitar lines and beats are all top notch. In addition, all the melodies and vocal harmonies are stunning. Personally, I think the song is well written, but the lyrics are too controversial to receive widespread radio play.

"Super Bass" by Nicki Minaj





Worst Line: "When he gimme that look then them panties coming off, off"
What it's about: Typical self-aggrandizing rapper talking about her sexual exploits, how her heart beats for hot, successful people and.... that pelicans fly?
Why I like it: A lot of complaints for Nicki Minaj are that her lyrics make no sense and that she makes a lot of weird noises. Considering that this song is about the incomprehensible feelings one has for a crush, Nicki's typical gibberish is oddly appropriate. Musically, the hook is raw and beautiful and the guitar lines have a cool counterpoint with the bass drum and keyboard synths.

"It's in the Mornin'" by Robin Thicke

Worst Line: "Let me put some CREAM in your COFFEE"
What it's about: Typical self-aggrandizing RnB artist talking about his sexual exploits. Also, if you listen REALLY carefully, you may hear him talking about having sex in the morning.
Why I like it: One Word: Falsetto. Also, Snoop Dogg!

"No Bulls***" by Chris Brown



Worst Line: IT'S ALL BAD
What it's about: A step by step description of what a self-aggrandizing RnB singer wants to do with his lady.
Why I like it: Pretty much all musical aspects of this song are just beautiful. Whatever opinion you have about Chris Brown, he's a damn good singer. With that said, there's no denying that the lyrics gets are quite explicit.

Have a nice day,
Matthew

Conscience Personified

Last week I received a noise complaint. It was around 11 at night and I was practicing really repetitive exercises on my guitar when I heard a loud knocking at my door. When I opened it, a small, but tough-looking, security guard curtly stated, "I got a call about a noise complaint," and asked, "Were you playing guitar?" I replied, "Yeah that was me. I'll stop. Sorry about that," and he left me alone.

I wasn't particularly angry at the security guard or my neighbor (though they could be a bit more considerate with their Thirsty Thursday-romping), but I was a bit upset with myself. I had received several "unofficial" noise complaints in the form of obnoxious pounding on the walls a week earlier while I was practicing for an upcoming lesson. I guess part of me just wanted to conveniently forget the courtesy of saving my neighbors from my boring practice regimens.

I often forget what I'm supposed to do with my life. I'm young, poor and foolish and while the path to my future is extremely linear, I generally choose to chase after my own tail like the dumb dog I am. I wish there was a small, tough-looking security guard in me to remind me every once in a while how I'm goofing up. I don't need any lengthy lectures or sermons on why I'm doing things wrong; I already know that I am. I just need a voice in my head that says "YOU DUN GOOFED" and forces me to playing guitar just a little softer.

As for my neighbors, I'll send security over to their house next time they play "Let's Stomp Like Dinosaurs" after midterm season is over.

~~~

On Monday, August 24, 2009, I wrote this on my Xanga:

Sometimes, my genius makes me smile.
More times, my stupidity makes me laugh.

In reaction, I smiled and then I laughed. Thought that would be fun to share!

Have a nice day,
Matthew

Three Wrongs

On the way to work a couple weeks ago, I attempted to bypass the congestion on a certain highway by switching lanes, passing all the people who were waiting patiently for the exit I needed to take. When the exit approached, I slowed down and signaled to merge back in, only to be met with a cacophony of angry honking from a green Prius. It was evident that I was Tuesday morning's villain and I chuckled at my greed while I took the wrong exit and backtracked my way to work.

Having learned my lesson, I stayed in the correct, congested exit lane on my way back from work the very same day. As I slowly neared the exit, a red pickup truck quickly passed me on the left and recklessly merged into my lane without any indication. He had committed the exact sin I received a symphony of car horns for just nine hours prior. While a part of me naturally congratulated the red pickup truck for getting away with it, another part felt cheated that I was stigmatized when I was the culprit and then wronged when I was the victim.

Last week, I visited a friend to celebrate somewhat of a milestone in her academic career. What I didn't know was that she also invited a friend who despises me to an [almost] hilarious extent. Not only did she not say hello or goodbye to me, the only time this girl acknowledged my presence was when she was telling my friend (who is very polite) to not apologize to me for driving two hours North to visit her.

Situations like these are sort of bewildering to me. What are you supposed to do when someone is this visibly disrespectful to you? I wanted to scold her for treating me so coldly. I also wanted to just turn away from her and say "I don't care about assholes who hold on to grudges for five years out of high school." There were so many instances during last week's reunion where I just wanted to react. I wanted to make her aware that she was being rude to me, just like how a green Prius gave me a 120 decibel indication of his anger on Tuesday morning.

The reason why I didn't was because the way I saw it, I didn't feel entitled enough to do it. While I thought that the red pickup truck was inconsiderate, I didn't exactly love the sound of the green Prius's car horn. If I were to react negatively to her rudeness, I would just be that annoying guy behind her honking away at a red truck that would just get away with it. On the flip side, my high school actions may have made me as guilty the red car, where I should at least consider my culpability and not need a green Prius to tell me better. Either way, I didn't want to be the guy who was wronging her or the guy that was telling her she was wrong.

I guess it's this reoccurring dilemma that has defined many of my decisions in the past few weeks. It's why I took the long route to work when a green Prius honked at me, why I didn't bother reacting to a red truck that cut me off and why I smiled and waved goodbye to the cold shoulder of an acquaintance that hates me.

Have a nice day,
-Matthew

Today's Horrendous, Irredeemable Atrocity

It's been a long time since I've felt the weariness that appends an eight-hour work day. Sometimes, the post-work stupor is so intense that I do terrible, unthinkable things. I've been known to be a pretty oblivious and inconsiderate person, but today I did something that made me feel so guilty, I literally ran out of the house.

After I arrived home following an intense battle with 5:00 rush hour, I voraciously gorged myself with some un-microwaved leftovers. They were pretty spicy leftovers, so right after I finished, I briskly moved to the fridge past my roommate and grabbed a carton of milk. After realizing there were only a few sips left, I quickly guzzled it down without noticing the strange stares my roommate was beaming in my direction.

"REALLY!?!?!?!?"

Shocked, I looked up to see my fuming roommate, then at the chocolate ice cream in front of him and then at the blender next to the ice cream.

I had unknowingly choc-blocked my roommate.

Friends who I've been close with in the past year know that I am OBSESSED with milkshakes. To me, what I had done was a sin so egregious it should have been payable with death. Immediately after I recognized my treachery, I loudly apologized and sped over to the closest store to buy a new gallon.

And that's why you never leave the jalapeños in your Vietnamese sandwich overnight!

Have a nice day,
-Matthew

Dreaming in Slow Motion

In an attempt to look and act more like Bruce Lee, I took martial arts lessons for a few years when I was still a kid. It was a huge mistake. I quickly started to hate Karate because we would do boring repetitive tasks (like running and horse stance-ing) instead of the awesome spin kicks you see in Enter the Dragon. Plus, I was discouraged by the fact that I didn't get a six-pack within a few days (blame that on my pizza- and taco-eating habits [see last post]).

Despite disliking Karate, I actually really enjoyed the errands my mom and I would do after lessons. These trips weren't glamorous at all, but they held a certain intimacy I have never been able to emulate since I've grown up. We would visit Lucky's (the grocery store now known as Albertsons), maybe stop by at the nearby Mexican restaurant for a bean burrito and walk along a pier that overlooked the local lagoon, all while holding hands. We would then drive home and listen to the SPECTACULAR 90's pop music available on radio (This one was my favorite). If we arrived home before a song ended, we stayed in the car and let the song finish before lugging our groceries inside.

While I still love grocery shopping and Mexican food, I stopped waiting for my favorite songs to end after I started driving myself. Since I've grown up, I have a lot of responsibilities now that constantly tug at my sense of urgency, which pesters me whenever I waste a productive moment. That said, this past month I talked to a few friends that made a few interesting remarks that made me reconsider my extinct habit.

My piano teacher (who is a very busy and extremely forward-minded person) was mentioning that one of the main criticisms her own teacher had of her was that she rarely lived in the present. All of my teacher's present activities were predestined by her own plans and conducted with the future in mind. Her teacher noted the fallacy in performing music, an art form that frequently dwells on what is immediate, while lost in thoughts of future endeavors.

I'd say the majority of people I know don't like taking the bus home, so I generally offer my friends rides. One of them, however, declined a couple times and said she could just take the bus. When I asked her why she preferred a slower method of transportation than the one I offered, she said, "I don't understand why people hate bus so much. I like bus," (she's an immigrant, so don't blame me for bad grammar). That was her simple reasoning for not accepting a ride. "I like bus."

I guess what my teacher's teacher was trying to say, what my friend demonstrates with her ride-boycotting and what my mom showed me when we were finishing our songs is that there is a lot beauty in moments of care-free inefficiency. Basically, good music only comes when you're not constantly staring at your planner; it's nice to take public transit, even though its longer, when you're not in a hurry; there's no harm in letting some raw chicken sit in your car for a few more minutes if you're enjoying some cheesy 90's pop songs.

Today, as I arrived home after a performance that marked the end of a long week of rehearsals and other performances, one of my favorite songs started to play. My hand was on my keys about to shut off the radio when I remembered what my friends said and what my mom did. I uncomfortably released my grip and rested my head. I felt relaxed as I slowly drowned in the song.

"You think I'm pretty without any makeup on..."

Have a nice day,
-Matthew

Friday by Numbers and SPEED RACER

1. 5th: Iteration of "the Fast and the Furious" franchise I watched.

2. 12: Time I woke up (post meridian). Also the cost (in dollars) for my movie ticket.

3. 4 1/2: How long it took me to donate blood (in minutes).

4. 85+: SPF (Sun Protection Factor) sunblock I used.

5. 2.50: Cost (in dollars) of Saba sushi (Mackerel, six pieces).

6. 10: Number of tacos I received from Taco Bell when I ordered a 12 taco party pack.

If there was a theme for this past week, it would be speed. Obviously, watching Fast Five was a pretty swift (and furious if I may add) way to end my week. Most notably, however, I donated blood in a record time today which shocked the nurse who was "sticking me" (her words, not mine). She scolded me for it, saying something about how donating blood too quickly could be unsafe. What does a registered nurse know about donating blood? MY BLOOD DOES NOT PLAY GAMES, LADY. In any case, I forgave her because she let me take some Cheez-Its home along with some blood donation stickers and an ugly "blood bash" t-shirt.

A couple of kids I tutor were also smitten with the speed demon this past week. They were attempting to blaze through their math homework with no regard for the careful logic math requires. Problem after problem, I had to explain to each of them that it was their obsession with speed, not their lack of knowledge, that was causing them to make repeated errors. It was a pretty frustrating week for tutoring.

That said, I value those struggling students more than my gifted ones (to some extent) because I was am certainly one of those people who haphazardly attempts to finish tasks with little attention for quality. My dad's criticized me on multiple occasions about how I try to do everything as fast as I can without any logical motive or destination. Gosh, I still remember all the times I'd try to eat my pizza faster than the rest of my family just for competition's sake (Papa Murphy was probably shaking his head in disapproval). It was fun I suppose, but it probably wasn't worth all the coughing fits I had from the pizza crusts I stuffed down my throat.

Dealing with reflections of my past self is difficult and sometimes aggravating, but I'm pleased that it forces me to consider whether I've actually progressed at all since I was trying to sprint past my math problems and beat my family at nonexistent pizza-eating contests. Perhaps four and a half minutes is a blood-donating record I shouldn't break.

Have a nice day,
-Matthew