Re: The Album That Feels Like Home

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A friend of mine recently posted an interesting query to his blog. "Do you remember that album that seemed to change your trajectory, define a season, or bring perfect meaning to a place?" Being a music nut (read: loser), I didn't find it very difficult to answer the question. I have playlists on my iPod with dates, so finding out what I listened to was easy enough. But I didn't want to "cheat."

My answer to his question, though, feels a little like cheating. First of all, what I picked -- the Cherry Tree EP by The National -- isn't really an album at all. And in any case, I didn't choose the EP because it connects to a feeling of home. If anything, it reminds me, in vivid detail, of what it was like being away. Here's what I wrote on Kyle's blog, and for added effect, I've posted the song lyrics and a live video for "About Today" below.

...I was in DC in the fall of 2006, far from home, missing my family, and worried about the health of my grandmothers, both of whom had been diagnosed with cancer the week before I left. I had really started enjoying The National's Alligator album the year before, and I was excited (understatement) to hear them at the Black Cat in DC. I bought the Cherry Tree EP at the beginning of the semester, and I probably listened to it a billion times over the course of those four months. It's a wonder the CD still plays.

That was a tough semester for a lot of reasons, but one of the most difficult parts was being away from my girlfriend (and now fiance), Jennifer. Few things can challenge a relationship as much as distance. Even now, I still can't hear the incredible "About Today" without thinking of walking to my house at one in the morning, protected in my overcoat from the cold air of fall, thinking heavily about all the aspects of my future.

Great songs bring you back, but you're reminded how they also pushed you forward.

"About Today"

Today you were far away
And I didn't ask you why
What could I say
I was far away
You just walked away
And I just watched you
What could I say

How close am I to losing you

Tonight you just close your eyes
And I just watch you
Slip away

How close am I to losing you

Hey, are you awake
Yeah I'm right here
Well can I ask you
About today

How close am I to losing you
How close am I to losing

Word Is Bond: Engineers

To hear the song these lyrics are taken from, click back to this post.



"The Fear Has Gone"
by Engineers

The question is why do I walk the long way home?
Can't recall your answer now.
My fear has gone.
I'm fake,
My only thoughts of what's to gain.
As I stumble into sudden blows,
The fall has no delay.

Exalted space, befriended land, an all encompassing high plan.
A vaulted thrust, a word so grand, is spoken by another man.
Above the space, below the land, in everything except the hand.
Forgotten trust, defended land, a way to forge another plan.

A Prayer For A Friend

I stopped working at Barnes & Noble for three months. I had worked there for two years. Truth be told, as I try my best to tell it in these posts, I didn't miss it all that much. I was a different person at work than the man I wanted to be. Days and days and days spent being a lesser example had allowed me to create a reputation I did not want to accept. I was not looking forward to returning to a place that had known well the parts of me I was ashamed of but had also not respected the parts of me I was proud of.

So walking through those front doors again last week was kind of bizarre. I'm still working at the job I originally left B&N for, but now that I have no classes in the summer, I have time to work both as a research assistant and as a book slave, er, uh, book seller. I can't complain, really. With a wedding down the road, I need the savings. So, it wasn't bizarre working, necessarily. What was weird was encountering the subtle, yet profound changes that had occurred in a mere three months.

And it wasn't until the end of my shift that first night back that I heard the biggest change. Susan Schwab was in the hospital fighting for her life.

Many of you have heard my stories of the "grandmother" of Barnes & Noble, the sweet old lady who always replies the same way to my immature jokes -- with a question. Here's the typical exchange when we're recovering the store at the end of the night:

"Susan," I usually say, "there's no way this book will get in that shelf."
"Caleb," she replies, "just stuff it in there. We'll make it fit."
I can't help myself, of course. "That's what she said," I say, trying not to laugh.
She gives the same response she has dozens of times over the last two years.
"Who said that?" she asks. "Valerie?"
We all just laugh and get back to work.

Susan has seen the best of me and the rest of me, rarely in that order, and she still smiles when we greet. And it's a sincere smile, too. She has made a huge impact on the place, infuriating people with her commitment to her work and reminding us, even when we don't want to remember it, that there really are reasons to be happy at work.

So when I found out about her truly awful diagnosis, of something like six different kinds of cancer, I immediately made plans to visit her. This is not a big deal, and anyone who had encountered her would have surely done the same. But for me, it was a challenge. I knew that as soon as I walked through those doors and entered the cold hospital lobby, I would be overwhelmed with memories of my grandmothers, each suffering slowly under the pain of cancer. When I got to Susan's room, the memories became amplified, and for a moment, seeing her there, with her hair resting calmly on the pillow as the doctor gave her a progress report, time stood still. I had seen that rest before. I had heard that conversation.

Suddenly, the card I bought felt worthless. My prayers seemed weak. My concerns appeared infantile. Here was a woman, struggling to live on a bed in a hospital, smiling when she saw me walk through the door. And there I was, a young man, physically alive, but struggling often to find that joy that seemed to leap from her frail frame.

Like my grandmothers, Susan is a Christian. And like the two incredible women I called Mamo and Gran, Susan smiles in the face of her diagnosis. She has joy. A sign outside her door reads, "Smile Before Entering! Only Positive Thoughts In This Room!" But that sign isn't for Susan. Is she scared? Sure. Death is a serious thing. But she smiles. That sign is for us. It's for the people still here, the people with a clean bill of health who are still dying inside. It's just a piece of paper on a cold metal door, but it challenged me. It still does. Find that joy. Find that love. Find that peace that sees God beyond the fear, beyond the hurt, beyond this life.

I had to go straight to work after visiting the hospital, and the time I had spent there was brief. Susan was speaking with her doctor, and all I had time for was a quick word and card delivery. When she called from her room to Barnes & Noble a short time later and asked for me, she thanked me for the gift and said it was what she needed to get through the day. That might have been the most humbling phone call I've ever received because it was my visit to her that got me through my day, through my selfishness, through my own kind of death.

In my life group, we are starting John Piper's Don't Waste Your Life (available free here), and last night, we discussed what it meant to live a life unwasted. Surely this is it, to glorify God in the harshest of situations with a simple gesture of faith. A smile in a hospital. A bit of laughter from a woman resting in a foreign place. My grandmothers had that faith. Susan has that faith. I want that faith.

If you are reading this, say a prayer for Susan Schwab and her family. They need love and encouragement as the long days go by at University Hospital. But don't just think of her illness. Live by her example.

Hebrews 6:11-12 (ESV)
And we desire each one of you to show the same earnestness to have the full assurance of hope until the end, so that you may not be sluggish, but imitators of those who through faith and patience inherit the promises.

Five Songs For: Death And All His Friends

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“Held”
by Smog

There are certain bands whose musical output is of a developed, acquired taste. And then there's Smog. Bill Callahan's voice is as deadpan as a Wes Anderson character, his music sounding equally understated, often characterized by lo-fi recordings of guitars oddly out of tune. “Held,” though, is something to behold, a rollicking piece of folk rock guided by loud, echoing drums. But even if this song -- from the Knock Knock album -- sounds different from typical Smog, it's hard to dismiss the vocals. That's all Bill Callahan. Regardless, it's a great tune, and Smog is worth checking out. Just don't be surprised if you end up not liking it.

“My Father's Son”
by Ryan Adams

It's not always a compliment to call someone prolific. Uwe Boll, for example, puts out several movies just about every year, and they are all remarkably terrible. But in Ryan Adams' case, his fevered approach to music is something we can appreciate. Though I do enjoy much of his new work, for me his best period will always be the Love Is Hell years. This song is from the same sessions as that album, but it's difficult to track down, available exclusively on a Japanese bonus disc. For such a buried track, “My Father's Son” is pretty darn good, and who can argue with the greatness of a line like “honey, I'm not going to make it out of this bar this time?” This guy sweats music. He literally cannot get away from it.

“The Fear Has Gone”
by Engineers

I really like shoegaze. A lot. Ever since I heard that first Verve album, I've been hooked, and Ride, Slowdive, and of course, My Bloody Valentine never get too far from any of my playlists. There's just something about heavy distortion fading into tons of layers of decaying delay that hits the spot every time. Engineers are a new band in the Slowdive mold, making classic ambient noise with a greater level of accessibility than other bands in the same genre. This song is from their latest, Three Fact Fader, and it also shows a heavy Ride influence with its slow build from the string introduction. If you like what you hear, you might also want to check out The Meeting Places.

“Ladies And Gentlemen (Roll The Dice)”
by Kasabian

The members of Kasabian are now three albums deep into a sound that pulls from sources as diverse as Massive Attack, Primal Scream, Oasis, and The Stones. (Well, maybe that isn't so diverse, but you get the idea.) Their latest, the bizarrely titled West Ryder Pauper Lunatic Asylum, might be their most focused album yet, in spite of the heavy psychadelia and instrumental experimentation. Most of the band's music gives the impression of a soundtrack to a soccer fight on a dance floor -- with lyrics to match. (A new song, “Where Did All The Love Go?,” starts with the line, “Ever take a punch to the rib cage, sonny?” Awesome.) The track here is one of their quieter ones and, I suppose, perfect for a post-fight recovery. Maybe that was the point. Anyway, the album comes out next week. Go buy it.

“Death And All His Friends” (Live)
by Coldplay

Believers in the trite saying that “nice guys finish last” cannot account for Chris Martin's existence. By all accounts, the guy is completely unassuming. Self-depricating, witty, and rarely appearing haughty, Martin and his bandmates seem the very opposite of arrogant “rock stars.” Maybe I'm naive, and this is all some artificial construct, a very intentional creation for fans who enjoy their “nice” music. But it's hard to deny niceness when a band as massive as Coldplay gives away a live album for free. That is cool any way you slice it. This version of “Death And All His Friends” is from LeftRightLeftRightLeft, available here, and it confirms what everyone probably suspected after hearing the so-so X&Y. Coldplay sounds better live. Their songs were made to be yelled in stadiums everywhere by tons of fans. Somehow, the nice guys pulled off the giant rock star thing. Somehow, I still don't find them annoying. Here's a hilarious clip from the TV show Extras, where Chris Martin makes fun of himself:

Five Songs For: When I Light Your Darkened Door

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“I.O.I.O.”
by The Bee Gees

Yes, that says “The Bee Gees.” And yes, that song, with the bongo drums and without any sign of disco, is by the same band that made the Stayin' Alive soundtrack. And yes (why so many questions?), that song is very, very good. A long time ago, I read an interview with Noel Gallagher of Oasis where he named his top three bands of all time. I know the first was The Beatles, and I forget the third, but I'm certain that I was shocked when I read that The Bee Gees made the list. Imagine my surprise to learn that before disco, The Bee Gees were the equivalent of Australian Beatles, with complex music and even the occasional concept record. Most of the stuff from that era in the band's career is fantastic, and it stands as a testament to the fact that not all musical evolution is necessarily improvement. These guys were even better before the hair spray quaffs and the bell bottom jeans. “I.O.I.O” is from Cucumber Castle, a really good album but an oddity in their discography. At the time of the recording, the band was on the verge of a breakup, and as such, only two Gees are on the record.

“Slide Away” (Live)
by Noel Gallagher

And speaking of Oasis, I should admit that I still think they're the best band putting out music today. And it's not even close. After most people hear that, though, the first thing asked is almost always whether or not the band is still around. Yes, they are, and last year's Dig Out Your Soul is a great album. But after the many times I have had to frustratingly answer that same question, I realize now why it will always be asked. As good as their newer records are, nothing beats their first two. “Slide Away” might be the band's best song, a ballad from their debut Definitely Maybe, and this live version was recorded late last year (or early this year) by Noel Gallagher for a charity event. The addition of a full orchestra does change the song in a way, but it only serves to bolster the soaring beauty of the original. I have a solo acoustic version, too, that is just as great, and the fact that in so many different forms, the song still shines, only affirms its status as a classic.

“Lonesome Swan”
by Glasvegas

Everything about Glasvegas is over the top. The singer's accent is as thick as cold molasses, the music has more reverb than every Coldplay album put together, and the subject matter of the band's songs is all over the place. All these elements go together to create a product that has no right to be, well, happy -- especially with songs about mental instability, abusive fathers, school fights, and what it feels like to be stabbed. But the contrast between the lyrics and the music is of course intentional, and Glasvegas' self-titled debut is one of the most assured you're likely to hear of any band in the past five years. As a group, Glasvegas expects you to buy into their music, and if you can accept its theatricality, you will certainly enjoy what you hear.

“Down From Above”
by Vetiver

This is one of the most chilled-out songs you'll ever hear. The music fades in and seems to float on passing clouds, and before you realize it, it's all gone, fading out in the same direction it came. Vetiver is a folk band that unfortunately got their start playing with the awful Devendra Banhart, but thankfully, the band has distanced themselves with four records of melancholy guitar and rainy day atmosphere. “Down From Above” is from their latest, Tight Knit.

“When I Light Your Darkened Door” (Daytrotter session)
by J. Tillman

There might not be another male singer today with a voice as angelic as J. Tillman's. (I say male in particular only because there might not be anybody with a better voice than Zooey Deschanel. Just saying.) For the life of me, I still cannot get past the fact that this guy plays drums and sings backing vocals for his main gig in the band Fleet Foxes. He's got a better voice than the lead singer! This song, from his solo work, is a great example of the stark beauty invoked by his spare guitar playing and wonderfully unique voice. Damien Jurado has covered it well, but nothing can match Tillman's breathy vocals. “When I Light Your Darkened Door,” along with four other songs, is available for free as a Daytrotter session here. The somewhat boring, if not entrancing video below is for the song “First Born,” off Tillman's latest album, Vacilando Territory Blues.