If you're one who enjoys noting historic events as they relate to little-read blogs, I hope your preferred noting device (we at The Writings don't make assumptions when it comes to noting) is prepped and ready. You see, the topic of tonight's writing (or at least the topic it will be loosely centered on... We at The Writings don't exactly have the focus of a bomb diffuser) is one that has never really been covered here before - music. We're breaking down walls here, folks.
It seems odd that this depository for random thoughts somehow composed into coherent sentences (most of the time) has seen entries on ducks with political dreams, dudes with dreams of being someone's "bro," and male flight attendants that look a bit like Billy Dee Williams, but it's focus has never really delved into the world of music. Why have I seemingly ignored this practically essential part of life? Think about it. Music is everywhere. It's played in stores. It blares to fill gaps of inactivity during sporting events. Even if you're out for a stroll at the park, odds are you either have your mp3 player turned on, or you wind up humming the McDonald's' Filet-o-Fish tune. Yet, I never write about music. Why?
Perhaps it's because I carry a tune about as well as most viral pharyngitis-suffering sheep.
Perhaps it's because I never learned to play any sort of musical instrument growing up. Treating harmony as if it were a drug (maybe that's why some musicians are troubled), I just said no to musical training, whether it was piano lessons or middle school band growing up.
Perhaps it's just because there's really only one musical artist that I consider myself a "fan" of, but I've never had the chance to see him in concert.
Luckily, the latter of those three reasons will soon be rectified. With tickets purchased today, I will have the chance to see Ben Folds perform live in just under two weeks. In many cases, I would not consider a concert to be worth the price of admission. On this occasion, the only thing that might have swayed my decision to attend would have been the guarantee that I would be continually jabbed with pointy, smoldering sticks throughout the evening. Even then, I still might have bought a ticket. What can I say? I enjoy the musical stylings exhibited in songs like Philosophy that much. I'm not sure if I could explain exactly why I've become a fan of Folds and really nothing else, but it probably lies in some combination of his string-snapping skills on the piano, well-thought (and sometimes hilarious) lyrics, and a somewhat self-deprecating approach to things. (Not that I could identify with that last one.)
One interesting part of attending this concert will simply be comparing it to my previous concert-going experiences - an area of my life that doesn't exactly require a table of contents.
The first concert I can recall going was one featuring the Beach Boys when I was young. Now, the Beach Boys have some pretty good tunes. They have some upbeat tunes. They were also playing fairly loud, as one might expect at a concert. Yet, the only thing I really remember from this concert is waking up during the middle of a song and then nodding back off. I hope I can count on narcolepsy* not being an issue this time around.
*Unless it's the Folds song of the same name.
Fast forward to my high school days, when I attended local music festival of some sort, although I cannot remember the name of it for the life of me. Along with my brother and some friends, we had the opportunity to witness hip hop icons (I use the term a bit loosely) Rob Base and Tone Loc perform outdoors in the midst of a Kansas summer. When I was able to keep the sweat from stinging my eyes, the event was an interesting experience. Not only did I get to hear classics like "Funky Cold Medina," and "It Takes Two," but there was also the unintentional comedy of Mr. Loc calling hordes of... uhh.. promiscuous college females up on stage to dance. My guess is that won't happen with Mr. Folds, but I can't say I'm worried about the entertainment value.
Beyond that, my only real concert experience has come via the Country Stampede. Such is an interesting tidbit, simply because I don't really like country music. Aside from the time I worked a job at the Stampede (note: you don't want be a 17-year-old "ice runner" when there are a bunch of angry folks around that are sweating booze through their pores. They get nasty with you.), I mainly went to hang out with friends (and laugh/cringe as inebriated individuals wrestled in mud that most likely contained significant traces of human waste) . Unfortunately, these Stampede experiences always seemed to involve something unfortunate... and too often it involved demolishing any chance I had at getting decent sleep.
One CS (abbreviated simply because I'm sick of typing "stampe-... I can't even finish it) year, the July skies chose to douse the Tuttle Creek area with any moisture it could muster. (Actually, this seems to happen every year, but that's beside the point) My sleeping arrangements for that evening involved hunkering down with a few friends in a tent. Naturally, it was a leaky tent. While my friends didn't seem to be bothered by dozing in an environment that quickly resembled that of a half-full* kiddie pool, my brain seemed to be against the idea of allowing me to sleep in a puddle. The end result was the author wading out of the tent and going off to attempt to sleep in the back of the friends' car.
*Half-full because at The Writings we're optimists.
Another year, (either the year immediately before or after the aforementioned event... my memory is going with age) a tent would have been a blessing. I hadn't gotten a ticket to the CS until that day, so those I attended with hadn't exactly planned on me being there to camp. In other words, when it came time to hit the hay I was without a bale to swing at. I found a spot to lie my head in the back of the friends' family van. Unfortunately, this was a July night where the temperature never seemed to go lower than 80-degrees. If you have ever slept in the back of a van in the midst of summer (you might be a future hobo... see what I have to look forward to?), you know that the temperature inside seems about 20-degrees higher than that outdoors. The end result was a whole lot of sweat and very little sleep. Thankfully, van slumber will probably not be involved at this concert.
So that's the Derek concert history. One show with too much sleep, two nights that were severely sleep-deprived, and one afternoon that involved shaking booties and a rapper that appeared in Ace Ventura. It's true, it won't exactly take a life-altering experience for this concert achieve the rank of "best I've attended," but it's still something I have high hopes for. After all, I just made it through an entire Writing without a single sports reference. I better get to bed before I foul that up. Consider this the evening's Lullaby.
It seems odd that this depository for random thoughts somehow composed into coherent sentences (most of the time) has seen entries on ducks with political dreams, dudes with dreams of being someone's "bro," and male flight attendants that look a bit like Billy Dee Williams, but it's focus has never really delved into the world of music. Why have I seemingly ignored this practically essential part of life? Think about it. Music is everywhere. It's played in stores. It blares to fill gaps of inactivity during sporting events. Even if you're out for a stroll at the park, odds are you either have your mp3 player turned on, or you wind up humming the McDonald's' Filet-o-Fish tune. Yet, I never write about music. Why?
Perhaps it's because I carry a tune about as well as most viral pharyngitis-suffering sheep.
Perhaps it's because I never learned to play any sort of musical instrument growing up. Treating harmony as if it were a drug (maybe that's why some musicians are troubled), I just said no to musical training, whether it was piano lessons or middle school band growing up.
Perhaps it's just because there's really only one musical artist that I consider myself a "fan" of, but I've never had the chance to see him in concert.
Luckily, the latter of those three reasons will soon be rectified. With tickets purchased today, I will have the chance to see Ben Folds perform live in just under two weeks. In many cases, I would not consider a concert to be worth the price of admission. On this occasion, the only thing that might have swayed my decision to attend would have been the guarantee that I would be continually jabbed with pointy, smoldering sticks throughout the evening. Even then, I still might have bought a ticket. What can I say? I enjoy the musical stylings exhibited in songs like Philosophy that much. I'm not sure if I could explain exactly why I've become a fan of Folds and really nothing else, but it probably lies in some combination of his string-snapping skills on the piano, well-thought (and sometimes hilarious) lyrics, and a somewhat self-deprecating approach to things. (Not that I could identify with that last one.)
One interesting part of attending this concert will simply be comparing it to my previous concert-going experiences - an area of my life that doesn't exactly require a table of contents.
The first concert I can recall going was one featuring the Beach Boys when I was young. Now, the Beach Boys have some pretty good tunes. They have some upbeat tunes. They were also playing fairly loud, as one might expect at a concert. Yet, the only thing I really remember from this concert is waking up during the middle of a song and then nodding back off. I hope I can count on narcolepsy* not being an issue this time around.
*Unless it's the Folds song of the same name.
Fast forward to my high school days, when I attended local music festival of some sort, although I cannot remember the name of it for the life of me. Along with my brother and some friends, we had the opportunity to witness hip hop icons (I use the term a bit loosely) Rob Base and Tone Loc perform outdoors in the midst of a Kansas summer. When I was able to keep the sweat from stinging my eyes, the event was an interesting experience. Not only did I get to hear classics like "Funky Cold Medina," and "It Takes Two," but there was also the unintentional comedy of Mr. Loc calling hordes of... uhh.. promiscuous college females up on stage to dance. My guess is that won't happen with Mr. Folds, but I can't say I'm worried about the entertainment value.
Beyond that, my only real concert experience has come via the Country Stampede. Such is an interesting tidbit, simply because I don't really like country music. Aside from the time I worked a job at the Stampede (note: you don't want be a 17-year-old "ice runner" when there are a bunch of angry folks around that are sweating booze through their pores. They get nasty with you.), I mainly went to hang out with friends (and laugh/cringe as inebriated individuals wrestled in mud that most likely contained significant traces of human waste) . Unfortunately, these Stampede experiences always seemed to involve something unfortunate... and too often it involved demolishing any chance I had at getting decent sleep.
One CS (abbreviated simply because I'm sick of typing "stampe-... I can't even finish it) year, the July skies chose to douse the Tuttle Creek area with any moisture it could muster. (Actually, this seems to happen every year, but that's beside the point) My sleeping arrangements for that evening involved hunkering down with a few friends in a tent. Naturally, it was a leaky tent. While my friends didn't seem to be bothered by dozing in an environment that quickly resembled that of a half-full* kiddie pool, my brain seemed to be against the idea of allowing me to sleep in a puddle. The end result was the author wading out of the tent and going off to attempt to sleep in the back of the friends' car.
*Half-full because at The Writings we're optimists.
Another year, (either the year immediately before or after the aforementioned event... my memory is going with age) a tent would have been a blessing. I hadn't gotten a ticket to the CS until that day, so those I attended with hadn't exactly planned on me being there to camp. In other words, when it came time to hit the hay I was without a bale to swing at. I found a spot to lie my head in the back of the friends' family van. Unfortunately, this was a July night where the temperature never seemed to go lower than 80-degrees. If you have ever slept in the back of a van in the midst of summer (you might be a future hobo... see what I have to look forward to?), you know that the temperature inside seems about 20-degrees higher than that outdoors. The end result was a whole lot of sweat and very little sleep. Thankfully, van slumber will probably not be involved at this concert.
So that's the Derek concert history. One show with too much sleep, two nights that were severely sleep-deprived, and one afternoon that involved shaking booties and a rapper that appeared in Ace Ventura. It's true, it won't exactly take a life-altering experience for this concert achieve the rank of "best I've attended," but it's still something I have high hopes for. After all, I just made it through an entire Writing without a single sports reference. I better get to bed before I foul that up. Consider this the evening's Lullaby.
2 comments:
I believe you should give some credit to the person who introduced you to the musical genius of Ben Folds. That's right, me. You are welcome.
That may be true. Much credit goes to you. It's appreciated.
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