Connective Cube

Right now my office is a cove in the dining room with a shelf directly behind me filled with animal food, paint, litter and mail. It is also next to this eight foot high window with no seals. The closest thing I have is a sheet that covers the bottom half of the window. The draft whistles on my left elbow, and I forgot to put on socks again.

Okay. Toes now don’t necessitate me to wiggle them every five seconds.

I am moving next week, and I am looking out for all the things I will miss about Philadelphia. I will miss this little cubby, and I will have more than a tiny cubby in my new home. It has helped me quite a bit with the keeping media – books included – out of my bed at night. The whole bed as office routine that I had fallen into needed to stop. Reading and sleeping should not be done at the same time! Bah! Well, my stubborn resistance did, indeed, prove that I need to embrace the concept of ‘Kill Your Darlings’ in any creative process. So that darling idea of sleeping and reading at the same time is SMASHED.

As I sit here typing at my desk, and not my bed, I started listening to the jondra I call ‘Icy Music.’ AKA, music I like to listen to while I imagine taking a long trek in the snow. Then sometimes I actually have to muck around the slush. Most of the time, it is when I feel downbeat, mellow and eager to focus on one thing at a time. Or when I feel numb and silent while my mind and heart pound.

1) Godspeed You! Black Emperor

There was this one very awkward time in my life, almost a decade ago, where I had a free pass at SXSW! Cool! Except I had no place to stay and no way of getting there. In order to get there, I found someone who needed a van mate drive music gear down at Austin. Even cooler! I had a driver’s license, and I wouldn’t have any problems pitching in with driving.

Except I got into this car with a bearded man with a lot of credibility in the independent music world, and I respected many of his projects. He shall remain nameless in this post.

In my year of maneuvering music as a publicist, I just felt like people were sizing each other up all the time. Who do you know, who do you work with, yada yada. I was supposed to go talk to people at shows, but most of the time I wanted to hide in the bathroom or ghost early. I had adopted the disaffected pout that no one finds attractive and mastered the art of critiquing everything around me. The parties were all sponsored by ridiculous rag mags with free booze, which I needed at the time. Let’s just say it wasn’t the lightest, sunshiny bright time in my life.

<It has also taught me that people with that sour look on their face likely need a hug and a genuine connection. It isn’t about killing people with kindness – it is understanding that some people need more reassurance than others to feel good.>

He asked me about the last time I drove. I let him know that it had been more than two years. He shielded his eyes down and away.

We talked for maybe 30 minutes total the entire trip. He had a great iPod, so we would alternate between songs.

Near Roanoake, we stopped to fill the gas at 11pm at night. The plan was to stop somewhere in Tennessee for a quick crash. This was my first time on I-81, and the Appalachian Mountains sloped up and down with the highway.

I picked Godspeed You! Back Emperor, not really thinking that it could very well be sleepy time music for a driver late at night. What I did was cry silently to rockets fall on Rocket Falls and place my jacket on my head. It was cold with the jacket off, but I needed something to soak the tears. I learned at a young age that people consider crying weak and feeble. It felt the opposite to me – isn’t it a kinder way to embody pain than screaming and fighting? The people I was surrounded by at that time didn’t ever show pain, except through some detached irony that was nowhere near as funny or charming as a Kids on the Hall sketch.

In terms of post-9/11 music, the diffuse structure and oscillation between explosive melodic guitars to downbeat thumps provided plenty of sonic space to expand on intense emotions. There are the choir moments, the cinematic swells and the twinge of industrial grinds. It goes through the sounds of a quiet town, and then the swift decline of silence.

I sat in the car that night, softly crying, grateful that I could at least blame the music if he saw me crying and asked.