It's been such a long time
And I was just a child then
What will you say
When you see my face?
Time feels like it's flown away
The days just pass and fade away
What will you say
When they take my place?
"What Will You Say"-Jeff Buckley
Oh boy, Monday, Monday, Monday!
When I was younger, Monday was winter in the season of my week. It was the seedbed where I'd plant my plans for the upcoming wknd (wknd=weekend, this is probably one of the only abbreves ((abbreviations)) that I use on a regular basis; the only reason I mention it is that I am usually the first person to wag a grammar/style finger at abbreviations; so. . .hyp, hyp, hoorayocrite!). Monday would also serve as time of reflection, a time when I would be happy for the snows of time to accumulate over the sometimes happy, sometimes sad, but always fun, events of the previous wknd. I'm talking about Monday because so many people want their Mondays silent and unacknowledged. Monday's the first unfun portage of the trip. Monday's the first few innings when you're team's behind. Monday is Moon day.
So, I've been listening to J. Buckley, and still think that he's probably the most interesting musician I've been exposed to. His voice, guitar playing, and lyrics are pretty much exceptional. The lines above are from one of my favorite songs from the live "Mystery White Boy" cd. In an hour, I'm going to go the resort I used to work at and inquire about possible bar tending. I worked at this place for years and it was a lot of fun. I guess this thinking about the past might be one of the reasons that I zoned in on this song.
Do you remember the people who loved Nirvana and then disowned them when they became regular radio favorites? The same observation could be made about countless artist/audience interactions that continue to take place forever. I've always enjoyed commenting on this, trying to remain above the fray, yet always happy to acknowledge my self-assigned ability as a musical meteorologist. Well, I heard that Buckley/Cohen's "Hallelujah" was being covered on American Idol (I think that I heard this late, through itunes in fact, so I guess that my antennae trend tracking equipment are broken).
As much as I don't mind a Monday, I'm a little salty about the fact that probably the most straight-up beautiful Buckley recording has been soiled by the indiscreet glissando monsters of AI. I know that Buckley's version is just that, a version of Leonard Cohen's words. I've heard Willie's version and Rufus's, but I don't know if I'm ready for an AI interpretation. Shooooooooot. (To anybody that's reading, the egotistical nature of blogging just hit me--talk about a soapbox. I say again, shooooooooooooooooooooot.) Into the future! Enjoy Jeff Buckley!
2 comments:
Save your best poem for tomorrow--National Poem in your Pocket Day.
Did you see my blog about AI?
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