I listen to a lot of music – in that regard, I guess I fit into the mold of a typical college student. I think it’s impossible to have a favorite song and borderline impossible to have a favorite artist. There’s no doubt that some musicians are just plain better than others, whether in the writing phase or the performance phase, but overall, the market is too saturated to be able to name a single four-minute song as the epitome of music.
What I do believe in, though, is albums. The album as an art form seems like it’s been falling by the wayside in our iTunes-driven society – why buy the whole album when there are only one or two songs that you really like? An album should be an experience, a logical thought or musical progression from start to finish. It should represent a substantial (if not total) range of the artist’s talents, but it should also stay consistent within itself. I’m not a big fan of albums that try out a different genre for every track. An album should be a serialized collection of songs, not a mishmash of different stuff that the artist has recorded here and there.
The following, then, are my five favorite albums – notice how I say my personal favorites, not “the best.” When I was thinking about this last night (couldn’t fall asleep), I came up with two basic ground rules. Firstly, I wanted this list to consist of music I discovered on my own. “Abbey Road,” for example, is much more highly accredited than any album on this list, and I legitimately enjoyed it, but I only listened to it because of the ubiquity of the Beatles in our modern culture. The music on this list is stuff that I discovered on the radio, at friends’ houses, through my dad, etc, stuff I’d never heard of before I listened to it. I also limited this list to original studio albums – this eliminates CDs like best-of compilations, live albums, and (unfortunately) soundtracks. In chronological order of release:
Counting Crows – August and Everything After (1993)
My dad listed to this album all the time when I was a kid. At that age, I really only paid attention to “Mr. Jones” because I liked that it had my name in it. In early high school, though, I found the CD in my dad’s office and put it on as I was doing some homework. It’s amazing how much soul and emotion is in the lyrics of songs like “Round Here” and “Anna Begins” (one of my all-time favorite songs). These slower songs are almost haunting in how they stick with you long after you’re done listening to them. It’s rainy-day music, the stuff I would put on when I was at my most philosophic – driving home from play rehearsal at 1 a.m., for example. I’m also going to go out on a limb and say that “Raining in Baltimore” is the Crows’ most underrated song.
Weezer – The Blue Album (1994)
I waffled back and forth for a long time between “Blue” and “Pinkerton,” but in the end, I went with this one because it has more sentimental value. I bought it at the beginning of the summer after seventh grade, and it’s the first album that I became obsessed with. I listened to it over and over for days on end, and as such, I have it memorized – every lyric, every guitar lick, every idiosyncrasy, down pat. “Buddy Holly” is catchy, “In the Garage” is quirky and full of pop-culture references, and “My Name is Jonas” is just badass. “Only in Dreams,” the final track, is a seven-minute instrumental ballad that perfectly captures that feeling of adolescent longing. Listening to this album is forty-one minutes (and no, I didn’t have to look that up) of pure nostalgia and bliss.
Third Eye Blind – Third Eye Blind (1997)
Most people know this album for its biggest singles, “Semi-Charmed Life” and “Jumper,” but I usually skip over these songs when I’m listening in my car or on my iPod. It’s not that I don’t like them, but they’re way too overplayed – if I’m making it a point to listen to Third Eye Blind, I don’t want to listen to something I heard on the radio two days ago. Most of the songs are fast-paced and poppy, but not overly so. The subtleties of the lyrics and instrumentation make it so that you can hear a song several times and notice something new every time. If someone put a gun to my head and forced me to pick a favorite song, I’d probably say “Motorcycle Drive By.” That’s one of those songs where if I’m listening to it while I’m driving and I get to where I’m going before the songs over, I’ll sit in the car and let it finish.
Nickel Creek – Nickel Creek (2000)
I was in Shakespeare’s “Love’s Labours Lost” during my sophomore year of high school, and a couple songs from this album served as background music. The whole album is very chill, very laid back, but it’s earnest. If you’ve never heard a mandolin solo before, you might want to check out “The Fox.” As I’ve said before, great vocals are important to me, which makes “Out of the Woods” and “Reasons Why” just that much better. The latter, in particular, has tight harmony that blows me away every time. Instrumental pieces like “Ode to a Butterfly” are equally awe-inspiring. “The Lighthouse’s Tale” is just a great story put to an appropriately simple yet elegant melody. This one’s probably the most obscure on my list.
Ben Folds – Rockin’ the Suburbs (2001)
With a few exceptions mentioned in the booklet, Ben Folds plays every instrument and sings every vocal on the entire CD. This ranges from the mind-numbing piano lick that begins “Zak and Sara” to the crazy high note at the end of “Fired” to the kick-ass bass solo in the title song. Even if you don’t like his particular genre, you have to respect the guy as a musician. That’s talent. Most of his lyrics especially on this album, are very personal and specific, so much so that I only found out what several of them were about when I heard him explain them live. “Fred Jones, Part Two” and “Ascent of Stan” are perfect examples. I also hold “The Luckiest” to be one of the best love songs ever written, but hey, that’s just me.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
"Ah, music, a magic beyond all we do here."
I’d say that throughout my high school career, the phrase that I heard most often was “Jonesy, dammit, stop singing!”
Again, if you don’t know me very well (and you’d really have to not know me well at all to not notice this), I sing a lot. Not at choir, not at karaoke, not at talent shows, not even when someone has a guitar out; just to myself. It’s not particularly rare to see me walking across the quad singing Ben Folds or Avenue Q or something for no reason whatsoever. I’ve done it as long as I can remember, it’s not a habit that I just picked up one day. I distinctly remember that in first grade, I was singing “A Whole New World” to myself during a spelling test, and the teacher had to ask me to be quiet. That wouldn’t be so bad if the exact same thing hadn’t happened during a government quiz senior year.
I get songs stuck in my head (my dad calls them “ear worms”), and more often than not, I just can’t stop myself. It’s not like I make a conscious decision to spontaneously burst into song. Once I start, I’m usually aware I’m doing it within the first couple notes or so, unless I’m concentrating really hard on something else. I’ve tried quitting (believe me, I’ve tried), but again, the first couple notes usually eke their way out before I quite know what’s happening. By that point, I really think that it’d be more embarrassing to stop suddenly and turn red than to just follow through. Following though makes it look voluntary, even if it’s not. I’ve mostly just accepted that it’s a habit I’ll always have, for better or worse, and that people can just deal with it.
I’ve started to embrace it – again, it’s the follow through and commitment to the bit that helps pull it off. The guy wandering around mouthing something under his breath looks a little bit creepy; the guy who struts down the street belting “Hey Jude,” complete with contorted facial expressions, is just a badass. He’s got confidence. People watching him may think he’s a little out there, but it’s the good kind of out there. I might be way off base on this one, but I think if I pull it off right, it gives off the vibe of an easygoing, chill, relatively confident guy who’s just plain enjoying himself. It’s even been a conversation starter at times. I was ambling across the Quad last year, humming Everyone’s a Little Bit Racist from Avenue Q, and sure enough, some girl passing by yelled out “Dude, I love that musical.” We talked for ten or fifteen minutes after that. The same thing’s happened with everything from Coldplay to Ben Folds to Newsies (way underrated, you should check it out).
I think it’s fair to say that people who get really into music fall into it themselves. If you like Eric Clapton, you might try to pick up the guitar. If you listen for sick drum solos in every song you hear, you might try your hand at drums. People who are really into classical music try to learn piano. My favorite instrument (and I do believe it’s an instrument, just as important as all the others) is the human voice. That’s why I enjoy Broadway musicals so much – musicals are the one genre of music where an amazing voice is almost a prerequisite to enjoy any kind of success. Just like a normal person listens to the same guitar solo from a certain song over and over, I poo a little when I listen to John Tartaglia sing Purpose or, as cliché as it is, Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth kick ass in For Good.
Anyway, that’s my rant for the day. I always enjoy providing a little insight into the riddle wrapped in a puzzle wrapped in an enigma that is Matt Jones.
Again, if you don’t know me very well (and you’d really have to not know me well at all to not notice this), I sing a lot. Not at choir, not at karaoke, not at talent shows, not even when someone has a guitar out; just to myself. It’s not particularly rare to see me walking across the quad singing Ben Folds or Avenue Q or something for no reason whatsoever. I’ve done it as long as I can remember, it’s not a habit that I just picked up one day. I distinctly remember that in first grade, I was singing “A Whole New World” to myself during a spelling test, and the teacher had to ask me to be quiet. That wouldn’t be so bad if the exact same thing hadn’t happened during a government quiz senior year.
I get songs stuck in my head (my dad calls them “ear worms”), and more often than not, I just can’t stop myself. It’s not like I make a conscious decision to spontaneously burst into song. Once I start, I’m usually aware I’m doing it within the first couple notes or so, unless I’m concentrating really hard on something else. I’ve tried quitting (believe me, I’ve tried), but again, the first couple notes usually eke their way out before I quite know what’s happening. By that point, I really think that it’d be more embarrassing to stop suddenly and turn red than to just follow through. Following though makes it look voluntary, even if it’s not. I’ve mostly just accepted that it’s a habit I’ll always have, for better or worse, and that people can just deal with it.
I’ve started to embrace it – again, it’s the follow through and commitment to the bit that helps pull it off. The guy wandering around mouthing something under his breath looks a little bit creepy; the guy who struts down the street belting “Hey Jude,” complete with contorted facial expressions, is just a badass. He’s got confidence. People watching him may think he’s a little out there, but it’s the good kind of out there. I might be way off base on this one, but I think if I pull it off right, it gives off the vibe of an easygoing, chill, relatively confident guy who’s just plain enjoying himself. It’s even been a conversation starter at times. I was ambling across the Quad last year, humming Everyone’s a Little Bit Racist from Avenue Q, and sure enough, some girl passing by yelled out “Dude, I love that musical.” We talked for ten or fifteen minutes after that. The same thing’s happened with everything from Coldplay to Ben Folds to Newsies (way underrated, you should check it out).
I think it’s fair to say that people who get really into music fall into it themselves. If you like Eric Clapton, you might try to pick up the guitar. If you listen for sick drum solos in every song you hear, you might try your hand at drums. People who are really into classical music try to learn piano. My favorite instrument (and I do believe it’s an instrument, just as important as all the others) is the human voice. That’s why I enjoy Broadway musicals so much – musicals are the one genre of music where an amazing voice is almost a prerequisite to enjoy any kind of success. Just like a normal person listens to the same guitar solo from a certain song over and over, I poo a little when I listen to John Tartaglia sing Purpose or, as cliché as it is, Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth kick ass in For Good.
Anyway, that’s my rant for the day. I always enjoy providing a little insight into the riddle wrapped in a puzzle wrapped in an enigma that is Matt Jones.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Philosophical Musings on God
So, I’m going to get a bit more philosophical than usual, and I hope it’s a trend that continues over the coming posts. The purpose of a blog is to share your thoughts and opinions with the world, not to bitch about your crappy day and expect people to care. I’m not saying that venting like that isn’t healthy, but as I’ve learned the hard way, grudges are best expressed in that secret Microsoft Word document on your computer, not on the Internet.
Quick background on those who don’t know me very well – I went to a private, Catholic school for eight years before coming to UT. Talk about a reality slap. I took religion/theology classes for sixteen consecutive semesters, so I like to consider myself pretty well steeped in Catholic dogma. All of this knowledge is a blessing and a curse. On one hand, I’ve been seeing the world through this lens for so long that I almost forgot that not everyone agrees with it. For example, in a biology discussion section last year, we were flogging around the creationism/evolution debate. Our TA mentioned how evolution contradicts the book of Genesis, and I promptly raised my hand and talked about how “pretty much everyone with a brain” sees all that as nothing but an allegory. About five hands went up, and the TA just goes, “Well, that’s one opinion…”
On the other hand, I have a pretty firm set of beliefs and the facts to back them up. This comes in handy during late-night philosophical discussions with whoever happens to be studying in the Carothers lobby. Last week, some friends and I were chilling on the front porch talking about Catholicism, and for whatever reason, the seven sacraments came up. I rattled them off in under ten seconds, something that surprised even me – I haven’t consciously thought about that stuff since sixth or seventh grade. We talked about various historical developments like the Inquisition and the Crusades, and I was able to hold my own. If nothing else, then, I can thank Cistercian for giving me the ability to sound intelligent every once in a while.
Anyway, on that same night, we started talking about what exactly “God” is. I remember all of those qualifications that Fathers Roch and Paul pounded into us, qualifications like omniscience, transcendence, immanence, “homoousious,” etc, but those are just descriptions. What is the essence, the fundamental nature, of God? My friend Libby introduced an idea by saying that it would forever change the way we thought about God. I was a bit skeptical at first, but since I’ve been thinking on it, she was kind of right. The gist of the conversation was this – I don’t think many people believe that God is a physical being. The idea of some corporeal figure lounging around on a planet somewhere, watching Earth through a giant pair of binoculars, doesn’t inspire much respect. Everywhere we go, we hear “God is perfect, God is everywhere, God’s spirit is within us.” Most people (well, at least me) just nod along and accept it without really thinking about what that might mean. The idea that completely blew my mind is this – what if, instead of saying, “God is perfect because He’s God,” you say, “God is God because he’s perfect?”
According to this thought, God is an idea. He’s an ideal. He’s THE ideal. He’s perfect truth, perfect love, perfect justice, all of that. These are the things that make Him God, though, not the other way around. He’s the embodiment and compilation of all of these “good” ideals rolled into one. God is a measuring stick. If you believe that there’s such a thing as perfect justice (not that mankind has already attained it, mind you, but that it’s possible to reach), then hey, guess what – you believe in God. If you believe that there’s such a thing as perfect love, whether it’s fraternal, romantic, whatever, then you believe in God, whether you know it or not. If you believe in the concept of total and complete fairness, an idea admittedly more socialist than Machiavellian, then you’re on the same wavelength as God. Anyone who believes that these ideals exist and are worth achieving believes in God, basically.
My senior year government teacher defined politics as “The struggle for the good life for man.” If by this “good life” we mean a system of perfect justice, perfect fraternity, a perfect economy, and an agreed-upon morality, then, by using these definitions, the purpose of politics is to attempt to achieve union with God. Once you throw out all of those technicalities and restrictions that various faiths and governments have piled up since the dawn of man, religion and politics are really the same thing.
That’s just something I’ve been thinking about over the weekend, thought I’d write it down before the concept gets pushed out by an Art History test or an Econ reading. I’m not saying I buy into it wholeheartedly, but it’s definitely an intriguing theory.
Quick background on those who don’t know me very well – I went to a private, Catholic school for eight years before coming to UT. Talk about a reality slap. I took religion/theology classes for sixteen consecutive semesters, so I like to consider myself pretty well steeped in Catholic dogma. All of this knowledge is a blessing and a curse. On one hand, I’ve been seeing the world through this lens for so long that I almost forgot that not everyone agrees with it. For example, in a biology discussion section last year, we were flogging around the creationism/evolution debate. Our TA mentioned how evolution contradicts the book of Genesis, and I promptly raised my hand and talked about how “pretty much everyone with a brain” sees all that as nothing but an allegory. About five hands went up, and the TA just goes, “Well, that’s one opinion…”
On the other hand, I have a pretty firm set of beliefs and the facts to back them up. This comes in handy during late-night philosophical discussions with whoever happens to be studying in the Carothers lobby. Last week, some friends and I were chilling on the front porch talking about Catholicism, and for whatever reason, the seven sacraments came up. I rattled them off in under ten seconds, something that surprised even me – I haven’t consciously thought about that stuff since sixth or seventh grade. We talked about various historical developments like the Inquisition and the Crusades, and I was able to hold my own. If nothing else, then, I can thank Cistercian for giving me the ability to sound intelligent every once in a while.
Anyway, on that same night, we started talking about what exactly “God” is. I remember all of those qualifications that Fathers Roch and Paul pounded into us, qualifications like omniscience, transcendence, immanence, “homoousious,” etc, but those are just descriptions. What is the essence, the fundamental nature, of God? My friend Libby introduced an idea by saying that it would forever change the way we thought about God. I was a bit skeptical at first, but since I’ve been thinking on it, she was kind of right. The gist of the conversation was this – I don’t think many people believe that God is a physical being. The idea of some corporeal figure lounging around on a planet somewhere, watching Earth through a giant pair of binoculars, doesn’t inspire much respect. Everywhere we go, we hear “God is perfect, God is everywhere, God’s spirit is within us.” Most people (well, at least me) just nod along and accept it without really thinking about what that might mean. The idea that completely blew my mind is this – what if, instead of saying, “God is perfect because He’s God,” you say, “God is God because he’s perfect?”
According to this thought, God is an idea. He’s an ideal. He’s THE ideal. He’s perfect truth, perfect love, perfect justice, all of that. These are the things that make Him God, though, not the other way around. He’s the embodiment and compilation of all of these “good” ideals rolled into one. God is a measuring stick. If you believe that there’s such a thing as perfect justice (not that mankind has already attained it, mind you, but that it’s possible to reach), then hey, guess what – you believe in God. If you believe that there’s such a thing as perfect love, whether it’s fraternal, romantic, whatever, then you believe in God, whether you know it or not. If you believe in the concept of total and complete fairness, an idea admittedly more socialist than Machiavellian, then you’re on the same wavelength as God. Anyone who believes that these ideals exist and are worth achieving believes in God, basically.
My senior year government teacher defined politics as “The struggle for the good life for man.” If by this “good life” we mean a system of perfect justice, perfect fraternity, a perfect economy, and an agreed-upon morality, then, by using these definitions, the purpose of politics is to attempt to achieve union with God. Once you throw out all of those technicalities and restrictions that various faiths and governments have piled up since the dawn of man, religion and politics are really the same thing.
That’s just something I’ve been thinking about over the weekend, thought I’d write it down before the concept gets pushed out by an Art History test or an Econ reading. I’m not saying I buy into it wholeheartedly, but it’s definitely an intriguing theory.
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