I love music

And I love Pitch Perfect.

I Need to Wake Up

Does anybody else still listen to this? I heard something similar to this song yesterday and suddenly thought of it. Listened to it today and started tearing up. Almost ten years after An Inconvenient Truth and how much worse things are now. It’s sad, it’s really sad, and I feel so helpless in this world.

Ship to Wreck

And oh my love remind me, what was it that I said?
I can’t help but pull the earth around me, to make my bed
And oh my love remind me, what was it that I did?
Did I drink too much?
Am I losing touch?
Did I build this ship to wreck?

Nothing Where Something Used to Be

Really digging this. I can see it playing in the end of an episode of my TV series.

On the Ocean

Did I blog this already? Anyway, I like this song, especially the lyric, “Twenty-nine years I’ve wandered around/there’s no beauty here, no emerald town.” I think it might even make an appearance in my memoir…

How Art Talks to Art, Part II

You might be wondering, “Part two? I thought you just explained everything in your previous post. How much more do you have to say? Also, why am I on this silly site instead of porn?” And yes, I wanted to nail down everything I meant in one post, but I’ve had a difficult time trying to articulate why it is I’m writing a mixed-genre memoir, even when it comes to writing it down (because me telling you in person would be a lot more rambling).

Well, I’ve been thinking about it a lot more, and I don’t think my previous post quite got it. But I think I’ve narrowed it down to something simple.

There’s the pleasure and experience of reading a piece of fiction or poetry or listening to music watching a play or film or looking at a piece of art on its own without any explanation or information about the artist or writer. That’s the simplest way of enjoying it.

Watch this video and just listen to the music. Take a note of how you feel about the piece and what you think about it. Note: if you know anything about Chopin’s Revolutionary Etude, this might not work.

But what about the story behind the story? In terms of literature, one of the most common questions writers get asked is “What inspired you to write that?” To me, what is interesting is when it’s something personal that happened to them. I wish I had more examples to give, other than my own work, but one good one is Chopin’s Revolutionary Etude. When I learned to play this years ago, I didn’t know the history behind it. I just played it because I needed to for my upcoming exam. All I knew was that it was fast, loud, super hard, and the sixteenth notes rumbling in the left hand throughout the entire piece killed my arm after. My piano teacher eventually explained that at the time, Poland, Chopin’s country of birth, was being attacked by Russian forces. As he still had family and friends in Poland, he was upset and emotional. So he wrote this as a response.

When I heard this story, the piece made a lot more sense. I saw the etude in a different light. I understood why it was so loud, the specific accents on chords, how the left hand almost feels like it cries out when it goes up into the treble clef. The history — the story behind the story — enhanced my perspective. I saw the piece as it was intentionally meant by its creator.

I realized that my non-creative non-fiction work — fiction, poetry, plays, scripts — are almost always based on some sort of personal experience. I write things for a reason, sometimes as a response to something I’ve gone through. Of course, you could enjoy them on their own, but being aware of the context, I think, elevates the piece.

That’s what my creative non-fiction work is mostly about. My memoir, by extension, is not so much about why I wrote my fictional works as it is a way to get you in the right mindset when I wrote it. That way, you can then try and glean what autobiographical details may be embedded in the fiction. Fiction can, of course, be autobiographical in nature, and together with memoir, can provide a more complete and deeper understanding of a person’s life. At least I think so. And at least for me.

I hope that makes sense. I do tend to complicate things, so maybe my explanation was a bit convoluted. If so, now that you understand what Chopin’s Revolutionary Etude was about watch it again.

Do you see a difference?

-A

Reasons why I cry watching Kiki’s Delivery Service

1. I wish I lived in that world — world where magic realism exists, hardships are eventually solved, people are friendly and the only douchebags are other girls who don’t appreciate their grandma’s baking, and I can live in a quaint town on the edge of a beautiful sea. And live rent-free.

2. When Kiki says, “If I lose my magic, I’ll lose absolutely everything.” It make me think of where I’m at; I’ve given up on music and film. If I fail at writing, what will I have left? I’ll have exhausted all possibilities and be left with nothing.

3. The music. Cue music, cue tears.

4. Kiki’s trying and failing to fly after losing her powers. I’ve done so many different things and failed, over and over again. I’m still writing and failing.

5. I really, really wish I could live in the film and not in this world.

Guster live

Finally got the chance to watch them live tonight.

So. Good.

Though it was annoying when a random drunk kid asked if he could be onstage to drink their whisky. Which he did, much to the band’s confusion and perplexity. And despite the kid buying a replacement drink for the one he gulped down in the back as Guster played a song, I still thought it was rude.

But Guster was awesome! Made me love all their music all over again.

Sam Smith’s fans

Who knew there were so many girls? And loud — LOUD — ones too. Ow my ears.

Sam was great though.

The universe is conspiring to keep me from Rufus Wainwright

Two years ago, I missed Rufus Wainwright’s show on October 5th. A few days later, I remembered the show being sometime in October. Hopefully, it won’t have already passed. I mean, the probability is on my side. But alas, I was wrong, and having neglected to write it in my agenda earlier, I missed it. As a longtime fan — I grew up on his music — I was so crushed at having missed my chance to see him.

Earlier this year, I found out that Mr. Wainwright was to be coming to Vancouver again, and promptly bought my ticket well in advance. I tacked it to my bulletin board. I made a note of it on my agenda. I was totally set to go.

Fast forward to tonight. It’s 7:30pm and I’m reading up on some articles on Snowpiercer (I watched it earlier today) and opened up my agenda to make a note of something for later this week. I flipped over the page from last week to this week to see, in my huge scrawl, RUFUS WAINWRIGHT 8PM VOGUE.

I stared at the date. I whipped my head to my computer to look at the time. Then back to my agenda.

Is today… Wait, it’s today? IT’S TODAY?!?! FUUUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKK!

I ran to the bus stop. I ran off the bus to the skytrain station. I ran off the skytrain station to the venue (needless to say, my legs were giving out on me, especially having done a one-hour bootcamp class yesterday). And got there at 8:20. I missed his first song (and presumably, his intro).

But man, it was an awesome show.

Why must the universe almost make me miss my favourite gay musician? Again?!