On Lana Del Rey and the Beauty of Melancholy

So, Lana Del Rey dropped a new album a few days ago -- Chemtrails Over the Country Club. I've been listening to it quite a lot since, as well as revisiting some of Lana's other music. I've also been having some interesting thoughts about music in general, the role it's played throughout my life, and the effects it has on me still. 

Lana Del Rey's music occupies a strange category for me. It evokes strong feelings of nostalgia and reminds me of all kinds of things despite not also being music I grew up listening to. 

She wasn't even around as an artist when I was still growing up, as she would have been just a child herself. However, her style as an artist and much of the imagery in her music reminds me of how I felt, thought, and took up space in the world way back then. The fact that the beach and many references to life in California come up often in her music underscores all this even further.

When I was young, I had so many strong emotions. Many of them were difficult, dark, and consuming -- like longing, melancholy, and restlessness. Life was difficult for me as a young person, and it took me until I was in my 20s to start coming into my own. But I had an incredibly rich fantasy life at that age, as well. I was always obsessed with some boy I knew, or occasionally I'd construct elaborate fantasies around actors (and even fictional characters) I found objectively attractive. I'd daydream about what I'd be like when I was older -- painfully, sorrowfully beautiful and, of course, so very deep -- as well as all the tumultuous, passionate romances I was sure I would one day have. 

One of my favorite things to do was indulge in these fantasies and wonder what my life would eventually be like while listening to music. If I could be outside taking up space in some beautiful setting while I did it, so much the better. I especially loved going on long nature walks, hanging out on the beach while watching the waves, and spacing out in the passenger seat on long road trips while watching the world go by. I never felt very connected to my family, my friends, or most of the men I dated when I was in my teens and early-mid 20s, so maintaining this sort of rich inner life seemed to fulfill some of the needs those relationships didn't. 

Twenty-Five Apples

Every once in a while, my mind will sink its teeth into something kind of silly and refuse to let go of it. It's both frustrating and cool at the same time. Last night it was this lyric from one of the songs on Kate Pierson's solo album. I can't recall what track it is off the top of my head, but the lyric talks about being "split like an apple thrown against the wall".

Now... if an apple is thrown against a wall so hard that it splits, that's a pretty sad state of affairs for the apple. It's now a sad puddle of goo. It will never nourish anyone. It will never become pie or apple cider. It will never grow into a tree. Except the chord structure and melody pattern attached to that particular lyric is actually really bright and transcendent -- not sad at all. It makes it sound like the apple was somehow stronger than the wall even though it split from the impact.

So while I was falling asleep last night, my mind got its fangs into that little thing from that one song I'd listened to earlier in the day. And I kept dreaming about this apple and all the possible things that might have happened to it when it hit the wall. In one scenario, a bird of paradise made out of purple light came out of the apple and flew away. In another, the apple made the wall and the building attached to it crumble into dust because it refused to split at all. There must have been twenty-five different dreams and twenty-five different amazing things that happened to the apple.

On the Passing of Prince and the Loss of Childhood Heroes

I was so sad to log on today and hear that Prince passed away. Not only was he only 57, but he wasn't really one of those celebrities that partied so damn hard you just knew it was a matter of time. Actually, although there hasn't been an official announcement as to the cause of death yet, it sounds like he spent the last few weeks ill with a very persistent case of the flu and just wound up collapsing suddenly at home. He probably should have been in the hospital if he was that sick, although who knows if that would have made a difference.

Like a lot of people, I'm astonished at how many legends we've lost recently. Seriously... legends. People like Prince and David Bowie are icons that seem to transcend their very humanity on so many levels. It seems surprising somehow when such people actually die eventually just like everyone else. It's even harder to swallow when they die for reasons like this. You want to think someone as superhuman as Prince could never be killed by something we've all experienced, like the flu, but there it is all the same.

I've always heard that one of the hardest things about entering middle age is that you start losing older family members -- people like your parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles. No one warns you that it's also hard to start losing your childhood heroes -- the people you grew up in awe of. The people whose creations shaped who you eventually became and helped you get through your younger years in one piece. 

On Garbage

Some freak hacked into my Spotify account last night. As to why, I'm sure I don't know. I don't see how hacking into someone's premium account on a service like that is easier or more convenient than just pirating all the free music you like, but whatever. All's well, as I managed to regain control of my account and lock it down again so that they can't just get back in there. It's amazing how violated I still feel at the moment though.

I mean... I've been on the Internet a long time, so I've certainly had accounts hacked before, but there's just something about someone having hacked into my music account. He actually went to the trouble of deleting all of my custom playlists, as well as all of my follows as far as Spotify-made playlists. He replaced them with follows and playlists of his own. Whoever this person was, their taste in music is very different from mine. It's everything I don't really like or listen to myself -- gangsta rap, house music, Latin-based salsa stuff. Somehow that seems worse than if my account were hacked by someone with the same tastes.

Like most people, the music I listen to is meaningful to me. I have memories attached to it -- of places I've lived, experiences I've had, and different versions of myself that I've been. The music I listened to at ages 10... 17... 25... 30 is all so strongly tied to who I was at those points in my life. I literally feel like this dickhead nosed through all of those memories and little pieces of my identity, judged them, and threw them away like the trash he obviously thought they were. He literally hacked into my account and then treated my things like irritating garbage that was in his way.

Music on the Wind: A Yearly Tradition

This past weekend, the First City Music Festival was in town. Seth and I briefly considered getting tickets months ago when I first found out Beck would be headlining, but at the end of the day, we decided we'd be better off saving the money for other things. We attempted to see if we could get press passes, as we did want to cover the concert for some of our media outlets, but things didn't quite come together in time. 

That said, we decided to engage in something that has honestly become a much loved tradition for us. Something we affectionately call our "Music on the Wind" concert series. We're lucky enough to live so close to the fairgrounds that when there's a concert down there major enough to warrant a spot on the Redwood stage, we can totally hear it from our porch. And when I say we can hear it, we can totally hear it. It's loud. You can hear all of the lyrics well enough to sing along if you want. Especially when the wind from off of the bay is blowing in the direction it normally is -- right toward our house.