Oh, Roger and Rafa. You both just pulled away at my heartstrings on Sunday.
I stayed up late Saturday night to watch as much of the Australian Open live as I possibly could. I made it until about 4:45 AM, when I realized that my body was shaking from being so tired. I slept for seven hours, got out of bed and rolled into the living room to watch the remainder of the match.
The end of the match--an anti-climactic moment marred by a yelling fan, in my opinion--left me feeling down, and I turned off the TV, so I missed the Federer-crying bit. I finally got up the courage to watch tonight. (It's here, if you want to see for yourself.)
Naturally, seeing my tennis idols all sappy-sad-happy at the same time made me very emotional, and I went on a Google Quest to find out more of their relationship. I don't have anything insightful to offer, but I DID find this incredibly hilarious video which perked me right back up. Pairing a love ballad from Disney's Pocahontas with a slideshow of pictures of two male tennis players playing tennis?? BRILLIANT! I absolutely, positively encourage your viewing of it. If you aren't into the whole 4 minutes, please skip to 3:20 and watch from there.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
If I Never Kneeew Youuuuuu
Monday, August 4, 2008
Cello Song
It’s rainy, I’m tired, Lollapalooza and Chicago wore me out this weekend.
Jumping around on Muxtape this morning brought me back to Nick Drake, which turned out to be just what I needed on this gray day. No matter how long it’s been since the last time I listened to Nick Drake, every time I return to his music, it’s like hearing it for the first time.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Music for a Found Harmonium
Sometimes when it's a slow gray day, you need something like this. (And to listen to it on iTunes, like, four hundred times.)
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
4 Minute Road Trip
Michel Gondry and his brother Oliver do the US in four minutes. Save your own money and time and watch the road trip here.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Naked as We Came
I finally gave in and bought the new Iron & Wine album, The Shepherd's Dog, and it brought back a lot of nostalgia for Sam Beam's older stuff. There's something about his music that just makes me feel like I'm seven again, lying in the grass on a lazy July afternoon with a stack of library books next to me and a peanut butter sandwich in hand. It's a really nice thing.
This video of Naked as We Came really captures that feeling.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Have a Very Merry Fresh Aire Christmas.
My office has a penchant for the lite station's merciless, nonstop holiday music extravaganza. After the end of my 56th hour of this stuff, I can swear that I've never listened so attentively to Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" or Celine Dion's "O Holy Night." My head is spinning. Because really—no one should have to listen to so much Christmas music until, oh I dunno, say, Christmas.
And while there is no escaping the relentless holiday cheer, I cannot tune it out. Instead, I dwell on lyrics—How do I properly deck the halls, and who IS Parson Brown? Or I simply get swept away by the rocking strains of Mannheim Steamroller. (WAY better than Trans-Siberian Orchestra, by the way.)
Speaking of Mannheim Steamroller, J and I entered a treacherous impass in our relationship the other night as I YouTubed away."YES!" I cried as I stumbled upon this raging video of Mannheim Steamroller in concert. It wasn't just the puffy sleeves of the percussionist or the electronica strains mixed with French horn--herein this music lies my childhood holidays.
My family listened to Mannheim each Christmas for as long as I can remember. The decking of the halls, the trimming of the tree. It all took place to the soundtrack of Christmas 1984 and Fresh Aire Christmas 1988.
And here I was in reverie, sitting at J's computer and relishing those big chunky headphones and jamming out to Carol of the Bells, when I heard an audible gag come from J.
"This. Is. AWFUL," he retched.
"What?! No, it's not!" I cried, stunned. "Just listen! It's not amazing, but it's great."
J seemed to reconsider for a brief moment. After all, he and I have relatively similar tastes in music. He tolerates my forays into indies like m. ward, even enjoys Feist and Imogen Heap to some extent. I have always loved his house music, and I have a special place in my heart for some Metallica like the S&M concert. But here, we had found ourselves, much like little penguins, separated by splitting and cracking slabs of ice--once united, only to be separated forever in the cold unknown. Except in our case, this ice slab was musical taste, and I was drifting off toward 1980s Christmas Pop Island alone.
"...it's awful," J declared, scrunching up his nose to prove his point.
I was totally unprepared for this blow.
And it's not surprising. I realized that no one had ever listened to Mannheim with me, except of course for my family. Here J was, my first boyfriend to listen to my prized holiday music tradition, desecrating its sanctity.
"It is NOT awful," I snapped. "YOU don't UNDERSTAND."
But something inside me changed. I listened to the keyboard like I'd never listened before. The music suddenly sounded dated, kitsch. Composer Chip Davis's genius crumbled before me, amounting to no more than a late-night VH1 holiday special on those crazy 80's musical trends like keytars where someone like Pauly Shore might be commissioned to make fun of my favorite songs. Oh, Lord--please show Mannheim mercy!
Despite my inner turmoil, I let the subject drop, moving onto more holiday light-and-music synched videos, pretending to be steadfast in my love of Fresh Aire. I would not let on that my foundation was shaken.
Today, our lite radio station rang out Mannheim Steamroller's Carol of the Bells. At first I cringed, embarrassed for my admiration of those electronic church bells and breathy digitalized voices. Then, from across the room, "This is awesome! Who is this?"
"It's Mannheim Steamroller!" I offered, "And it IS awesome."