It’s taking everything in me not to make my way to the bowling alley right now and see if you’re there. I can’t stop searching the places in which I think that you’d be. I even look for the car you don’t drive anymore. And the sound of your voice where I know better not to listen. I’m doing my best to accept the fact that we are no longer a part of each others’ lives, but my heart nor my head does not seem to understand that very well. Trust me when I tell you, some days are better than others. Some days are nearly perfect. Some days I come really close to not thinking of you at all. And then I set my 5AM alarm at night, and remember. I snuggle into bed and stare down the throw you bought me for Christmas. Friends is usually on and I plug my phone in to charge. I usually get a text message or two before I shut my eyes, but they are never from you. I know they won’t be, but the thing in my chest hopes they will. I put my head to the pillows and sigh. There used to be a time I would cry about it, but I don’t anymore. You would think that means it’s getting easier. I suppose it might be. But it doesn’t stop me from including you in my prayers before I drift off to the dreams my subconscious ignites. In fact, it doesn’t keep me from thinking of you in the last seconds of the day or in the very first. I wonder when it will let me dispose of the idea of having you for life, in holy matrimony, til death do us part. Maybe tomorrow, I say. And I bury myself to sleep. Maybe tomorrow, but it won’t be today. Because tonight, I’m crying.

fairytalesofyesterday:

forgetparisrock:

Check out these great photos of us courtesy of Muggle Photography from radio 104.1’s battle of the bands!

if you are not aware of this band please do yourself a goddamn favor

pupfresh:

GO ACOUSTIC: fun. - “Why Am I The One”

The vocals are just stunning.

Not much is worth waiting through the five o’clock traffic on a Friday night in New Haven. Fortunately, March 9 gave me a pretty good reason to.

If you recall, in February, I was on the British Invasion kick and last month, I had the opportunity to view a little of that first hand, both offstage and on.

I and a friend showed up to Toads Place around 6:30 for an intimate pre-show acoustic performance/meet and greet, with British band, the Kooks. For those of you who aren’t familiar with them, familiarize yourself. The Kooks originated eleven years ago in Brighton, England. Luke Pritchard (lead vocals/guitar), Hugh Harris (lead guitar/keys), Peter Denton (bass), and Paul Garred (drums) have made a total of three studio albums since their formation, and are still on tour promoting their latest: Junk of the Heart.

We were taken to the “Rainforest Room,” tucked in the back of the venue, handed album posters, and seated around three empty chairs that awaited the quartet. They entered around seven, introduced themselves, thanked us for coming, and offered a shy, “Hope you enjoy it.” Pritchard, Harris, and Denton strummed to three unplugged versions of “Ooh La,” “Junk of the Heart (Happy),” and “Rosie” that blew everyone away. Pritchard’s vocals were flawless, and the performance showcased his evidently stunning range, which no one might ever know about by his soft-spoken, bashful “nice to meet you.” There were handshakes and pictures, brief thank yous and signatures scribbled and as the band exited, we loitered near the bar and waited patiently for eight.

As the doors opened, we took the main floor and I took front, row center. It’s the best standing room in the house, for a good view, good sound, and near-death experience of course.

As with any show, the lag between set-up time and actual concert is quite lengthy. So too is the gap between arrival and the arrival of the band you actually paid to see. First to take the stage was “Yawn,” a four piece neo-soul, surf band from Chicago, that didn’t put me to sleep, but didn’t exactly please me either. The synths were enough to get the crowd moving, but I was more than ready to move on.

“Morning Parade,” a British indie rock group of five,  was plenty a wake-up call though. For the first time in the states, their performance was most impressive and overall, memorable.
It was 10 o’clock before The Kooks made their entrance, but the crowd deemed it late enough to stir things up a bit. Let’s face it, no concert is ever complete without the people pushers in the back, hoping to rush the lucky few in  front and crush them in the process. Luckily, I have quite the resistance for those things.

A little after 10, notes of Sam Cooke’s “Change Is Gonna Come” sounded from the speakers and the room went falsetto. “We’re the Kooks, from England. We’re glad to be here.” And straight into the opener, “Always Where I Need to Be.” Pritchard’s high energy is reminiscent to that of Jagger’s: left, right, on the riser, off the riser, towards the audience, and then away again. The crowd goes wild for it. In “Seaside,” “Down To The Market,” “Tick of Time,” “How’d You Like That,” and older track, “Stormy Weather,” Pritchard was in his element, on key with vocals and showmanship.

The audience participation was at an all time high and although, I could not see much to the sides or the rear of me, I could feel the fullness of the room. That, and a few elbows to the face. But I figured it worth it when Pritchard chose my hand to steady himself as he leaned into the crowd. The band closed with a track, “Do You Wanna,” from their 2008 album and I think it’s fair to say they had the fans by their collars because none of us had had enough when they exited through the side.

More times than not, especially when the room’s still dark, you can count on an encore. The Kooks aren’t ones to disappoint so an encore was what we got-and a good one at that. There were two songs Pritchard played on piano of which most of the crowd was unfamiliar with, but the final song, their most well known, “Naive” had the whole room jumping, clapping, and singing along, in what little room we were able.

And there was the energy-just as vibrant and commanding as it had started. The crowd as excited, as adrenaline rushed as the beginning of the show, until the  “Thank you,  goodnight,” of Pritchard’s voice falling into the risen hands of the audience.

The band walked off, unfortunately for my ears, but most fortunately for my safety, for the final time of the night. The smoke cleared, the lights returned, and the haziness of the venue fell upon the wall-to-wall muddle of smiling faces.

And on my dash to the door, an effort to beat the post-traumatic traffic, I couldn’t help thinking it was concerts like those I wanted to jar like fireflies and save forever. The Kooks are well worth the money, the car on car delay, and even the fatalities because at the end of the night, they “[made us] happy, they [made us] feel alive.”

-February 2012-
        All the red this month is reminiscent of Great Britain in all its regal, red telephone booth glory, don’t you think? Or am I alone in this one? OK, truth is, February 14 marked the one year anniversary of my first trip overseas. I, unfortunately, was unable to take even one of those classic ‘call boxes’ back home with me. Something about getting it through customs, I don’t know. But the music scene was brilliant, and if there’s anything I did take home with me, it was that. The music is “quality,” and better, there isn’t any postage to pay.
       Most would agree, the best ‘royal mail,’ came in the form of The Beatles, The Clash, and other rockers like those of seventies legends Led Zeppelin and Queen, decades ago. Of course, most would argue ‘the British Invasion’ was more recognizable then than it is now, but it actually maintains a large presence here in America, today.
      “This could be para, para, para paradise.” Ring a bell? Right, it’s one of the newest singles by Coldplay and if you weren’t aware, the band is straight from the heart of London. Farther across the pond, in Wales, metal band “Bullet of My Valentine” found their way to the American music scene and the shelves at Hot Topic. Among other musicians are bands and artists, Muse, Radiohead, Mumford and Sons, Feist, and Adele. Collectively, it’s fair to say these names are well known.
      In retrospect, the British Invasions of today and yesterday, are in fact, too well known. So well known, so commercialized, that the origins are hardly a concern. The Beatles, The Stones, The Kinks were all well known, and are just as much considered “overrated” today.
     Sure, bands know that once they’ve made it in America, “they’ve made it anywhere.” That may be true, but more so true, is the fact that they become slaves to the radio. Why aren’t you aware the four from Coldplay studied at Oxford and UCL in London? Simple: because, ringing in your ears, is the constant sound of “para para para-where?” Granted, not all bands from the British Invasion have become “has-beens” since their time.
    Take for example, Queen, Zeppelin, Pink Floyd. Those that sort of, sailed across the pond after the bowl-cut Brits invaded. The transition was slower, but more effective because bands like that maintained an unfading individuality.
Perhaps the greatest detriment to the British Invasion today, is just that. There isn’t chance for a ‘British’ invasion because listeners are oblivious to wherabouts. Most will hear the same tunes from Coldplay and Adele on the radio, and dismiss the invasion as “dull,” “repetitive,” and “nonexistent.” If you find yourself doing the same, do some research; the lookout artists are sailing in the shadows.
       The Kooks, for example, are a Sussex success in indie /alternative rock. Chances are, you’ve at least heard “Naive” or “Shine On” on a commercial or two. You just didn’t identify the who or the where. But this spring, the band will be taking the stage with Foster the People here in the states. Although, they are establishing presence in America, they remain connected to their homeland, an even balance that won’t leave them overplayed.
      The band, Foals, originate in Oxford, penning dance-punk, math rock, alternative hits. Their success has not yet reached beyond the barriers of British music, but their music is not to be missed. “Cassius” and “Miami” are the finest tracks of their recordings, upbeat, willing to get you off your feet.
       Mystery Jets are the perfect package of international production. Labeled under, “pyschadelic rock,” “post-punk revival” and “indie pop,” these five bring a versatile spin to the humdrum of today’s music. They too, know the importance of international balance. Originally from Twickenham, London, last year, the band rented a house in Austin, Texas and started recording their newest album to be released in April of this year. Just enough to leave a mark. Be on the lookout when it lines the digital shelves, and in the meantime enjoy the catchy, classic eighties vibes of their older albums.
      What they all have in common? Their nonconformity. Their British roots. The things that make them standouts in the crowd. In simple, their individuality.
Don’t let the decade fool you. The British Invasion is very much alive, and very much commercialized in the same way it was in the past. But its quieter components are the lasting few.
     When London’s calling, don’t be ignorant to individuality, because the greatest gifts to music come in tiny packages, but they’ll always make it through customs.

     The GPS is a pretty useful invention. If you’ve used one, you would probably agree. With the press of a few buttons, it can take you to places you’ve, never before, been. The problem with a GPS though? It can tell you where you’re going, but not exactly where you are. Like, home for instance. Have you ever tried entering “home” into a GPS, only to read: invalid destination? Of course it might read: turn left and veer right, your destination will be on the right, if given a number. It’d show you a house, but only you would know its name. Perhaps in the telephone book, it’s listed as “42 Maple Ave” or in an MLS Real Estate search, “#LRS970031211”  The thing is, numbers nor structures can account for the space in which you put your Christmas tree every year or the wooden coat rack in the sun porch on which you hang your jacket. Those are things most people are very in touch with, when it comes to being in the comfort of home. Then why, are they not in touch with the loss of a home? Homeless. The word has become much like the numbers, swiftly swept beneath the doormats of dwellers, day in and day out. But the issue is in their backyards, on their porches, and walking past their mailboxes. In order to understand the extent of the term, one must remember where they are, much like two female writers, Ann Quindlen and Barbara Ascher who know where they are, know where they’re going, and remember where they’ve been.
    Ann Quindlen, writes a poignant piece on a woman in a bus terminal. She has a name, a story too.  In fact, so did her house. She called it “home.” Quindlen insists, when addressing the issue of homelessness today, it is “not simply [the] shelter from the elements, or three square meals a day, or a mailing address to which the welfare people can send the check, [but]  precisely those kinds of feelings that have wound up in cross-stitch and French knots on samplers over the years.” She understands that within the home, lies the heart which can be identified, not by structure or definition, but by the feelings that come with it. Quindlen takes the time to hear the woman’s story and she relates to her own home. Her point is simple. It centers around the understanding of the “issue.” She writes, “It has been customary to take people’s pain and lessen our own participation in it by turning it into an issue, not a collection of human beings. We turn an adjective into a noun: the poor, not poor people; the homeless, not Ann or the man who lives in the box or the woman who sleeps on the subway grate.” People must learn to see and feel for these problems as they do their homes. Every house has special qualities about it that makes it a home, like the “the hot-water heater, the plastic rack [to] drain dishes in, [and] the roof…which occasionally leaks” that Quindlen mentions in her essay. Every individual has qualities about him or her that define them. “Homeless” is not something that does because people are not defined by what they have or do not have, in this case. If society could view and embrace the problem of homelessness in this way, the room for compassion would certainly be made and perhaps “painted blue.”
      In her essay, “On Compassion,” Barbara Ascher stresses the same truths. She states, “I don’t believe that one is born compassionate. Compassion is not a character trait like a sunny disposition. It must be learned, and it is learned by having adversity at our windows, coming through the gates of our yards, the walls of our towns, adversity that becomes so familiar that we begin to identify and empathize with it.” She makes the point that society must look among the issue that lies beyond the structures, and they must embrace it. They must not only hide the issue and pack it up for the winter like the Christmas tree ornaments at the holiday‘s end, as “the mayor of New York City [does]…moving the homeless off the streets’ and into Bellevue Hospital.” Ascher claims this is done because, “We do not wish to be reminded of the tentative state of our own well-being and sanity,” but she questions the extent of it being “humane.” The word “tentative” signifies the same purpose. ‘The homeless,’ are individuals just as ‘we’ are. They once had a state of well being and sanity too. Society fails to come to terms with the fact that that could be them, in “buttonless” clothes, as life rolls away when lights turn green. If more of society could understand the issue as a circumstance of individuals, as an adjective and not a noun, like Quindlen states, than perhaps compassion would be attainable.
     Both Quindlen and Ascher have made sense of the roots of homelessness. The people without homes are also without stability and security, without the place in which their heart lived. They can identify with them on an individual level, as they do with their potential tentative homes and stability.  A GPS can’t take them to every home in America. It may show them the houses, but the thought of the home must come from within. Because of this, both women write to prove that if society took more time to identify with the individuals victim to homelessness rather than “issue” itself, compassion would follow and on the road lit by compassion, would be more opportunity to permanent reform. Now can your GPS do that?

An “argumentative” paper I had to write on the definition of love. Have at it. 

yeahwriters:

Me.