headphones...
no, really,
headphones...
there's a massive difference
between playing a record
outside the realm
of headphones...
yep, headphones...
because headphones are great,
sure...
drowning out the mechanically
maniacal sounds of
the drone sound of the hive
of cars, and other clutters
for the ears...
but...
put a record on,
on a windy afternoon...
**** i'm old...
2009...
the year that the **
released their debut, self-titled
album...
now i'm starting to think:
am i claustrophobia prone
listening to music
on my headphones?
well... not when i'm performing
a juggling act on
the street, whereby i'm
countering agoraphobia
with listening to music
on my headphones
while i walk the open spaces
and sidewinder roads...
i just forgot how good music
sounds, when it fills,
occupies a room...
it's almost like returning to
the status of a fetus...
then music... resonates...
when music, expands,
vibrates,
and when it couples with
the shuffling sound of the wind
passing, swaying, flirting
with the trees?
i'll give the English this point...
the **'s debut,
or alt-J's debut albums...
there's no punk counter
to the haunting, atmospheric
fission of ****** the **** out
of memory...
but i do feel reembodied,
which is not disembodied...
headphones...
no, not a car radio doing
1 on 1 time while strapped
to a linear projection of movement
and subsequent custard of
stand-still trapped in traffic...
i'm talking:
music on the stereo...
blasting at volume 16...
incubating you in a room of sound,
with the window open
and the orchestra of the wind
to boot / boost the whole
point of: listening to an entire
album...
mind you... the concept of the album
focused on what the modern song
is / lasts...
3 minutes, or thereabouts...
so? the album had to add a bit fat 0
to the consensus...
roughly 30 minutes' worth
for a success story...
with regards to an album...
no... this is the first time i've experienced
this sort of transformation,
battery dead, last resort...
not exactly papa roach territory of
teenage angst outlet necessities...
more like a sly bagel from
the Gants Hill Jewish bakery...
**** me... the resonance with this album,
when music fulfills the confines
of 3 dimensions,
rather than the 2 dimensions of
headphones...
the background noise back-up...
the cackling magpie,
the wind brushing the trees or at least,
orchestrating an attempt of
confusing itself with the breath of man,
while supposing to play
a woodwind / flute...
so confined: this precision making...
it's like with every passing second
i am born, i am dead,
i am reborn, and death...
becomes this trivial
choreography that only attempts
to perfect my mortal: stature;
such a humbling experience...
i pity the people who gesticulate
a furthered accomplishment
of subservience toward a prayer.
