Rock icons

Spinal Tap is back! Or maybe just trying to make us give them more money. In any case, if you were a fan of the movie (This is Spinal Tap), laughed and snorted and nearly fell off the sofa while watching the dvd, then this is the greatest news since ... well since the last slow news day.

In the 80's

Fiddled with the online radio, couldn't quite figure out what I wanted to listen to - started with jazz instrumentals but felt myself dozing at 8 am. Changed to Big Band Vocals, and squirmed when listening to a sappy rendition of "East of the Sun, West of the Moon". Brit pop, my head started to hurt after two songs, and I was starting to feel disillusioned with music.

Then I popped over to 80's music and found myself singing along to George Michael, Rick Springfield, Spandau Ballet, Human League... and all is well in the world. Enough energy to keep me awake, some nostalgia, some silly songs (Whip it)!

G, N, or B?

Puttering around Greenbelt 3, I popped into Music One, shocked! Shocked I tell you! First, they've cut off half the space, and the entire store looks dreary and grey. I was probably only 1 of 4 customers wandering the shelves. Has downloadable music and movies caused this or simply the malaise of running a brick and mortar store in the city these days?

Perhaps the reason for people staying away has to do with the lack of expert sales knowledge. I asked for three cd titles, they eventually found one of them, but the other two were just too much for the saleslady. She went up and down the racks looking for the name of the group. A true lost soul, she first thought the group's name, Gnarls Barkley, was a person's name. Started by checking the B's, then with a bit of prodding that it wouldn't be sorted by "last name", she went off to the N's. Oh dear. I figured Yael Naim would not be any easier to find. When she asked another salesclerk, he gave her a look that said "why are you asking me?" No, these are not the right people to ask for alternative music titles. Off to Amazon.

Brit soul

If you believe the music writers, there's a new brit invasion on the music scene (segue - why do they call it an invasion? It sounds like a bee hive taking over, buzzing away, and I never matched British singers to bees. Do the Brits call the omnipresent American movies an American swarm? Locust swarm that eats away at the very fiber of one's fabric.), this time led by female soul singers. The biggest of them all is Amy Winehouse, but on her heels are the trio soloists of Duffy, Adele and Gabrielle Cilmi (they were labeled The New Amy's by the music critic of the Times). I enjoyed listening to Amy Winehouse, and had to avoid reading all her news nonsense since it sort of detracts from enjoying her talent. Of the three new girls, Adele sounds the closest to AW, that same Billy Holiday vocal angst, hints of the 50's and 60's rhythm, although I'm not sure if Adele sports a funky hairdo since I've only heard her songs. I caught a tv performance of Duffy a month ago and have sought her songs online. My favorite of her songs is Rockferry from her debut album of the same name. Mercy is the big breakthrough hit from the album, but Rockferry resonates with me. I can see her in my head wailing that song. I like sad songs.

I've seen but have not bought a copy of the new Coldplay album. I was a fan of their first two compilations (Parachutes and A Rush of Blood to the Head), but wasn't keen on their last output (X&Y). Instead I refreshed my fandom of Radiohead's older album Ok Computer and the most recent album In Rainbows. It didn't hurt that Johnny Greenwood is a genius who composed the soundtrack for There Will be Blood. Discordant and haunting.

When you're stuck in a hospital, music can be the only balm to get you out of a funk.

Music therapy

I caught Prairie Home Companion on tv last Tuesday; Robert Altman's last film, starring M. Streep, K. Kline, W. Harrelson, L. Lohan, L. Tomlin, and PHC's founder himself G. Keillor. When it was released, I didn't get to see it on the big screen, it's a movie that lends itself well to the cosiness of the small screen. It's a movie about the making of the radio show of the same name, which is broadcast on public radio in the US, with a plot twist. The radio show as I remember it during my college days was sometimes hokey, but always entertaining. Puns, gentle literary humor, music, storytelling, all performed live in front of an audience one hears on air through their applause. Mr. Keillor's voice projects as the tranquil embodiment of the Midwest, very trustworthy in its bass grumble.

While the story was somewhat forgettable, I enjoyed listening to the folk songs performed by the actors. Didn't realize that it was Woody Harrelson until I heard him speak, he seemed shorter than I thought, and paired very well as Dusty to John C. Reilly's Lefty, two cowboys twanging their guitars and singing about all sorts of silliness (cowboy toilet humor). Ms. Streep has shown off her singing chops in previous films, so it comes as no surprise that she warbles as well as she does. She and her sister, played by Ms. Tomlin (her alto harmonizing against Streep's soprano), sing songs in dedication to their mother.

A few weeks back, I recall listening to a podcast about a musical ethnographer in the US who recorded a lot of folk music and ditties throughout the eastern seaboard and the south. He played samples of it through the presentation, and the voices were untrained but charming. Short spurts of it are enough to enjoy, listening to the words, the backyard noises, the underlying melodies. A lot of these songs will probably end up disappearing without the help of academic recordings, or shows like Prairie Home Companion.

Last month, the school I work for hosted a student music camp, and one particular workshop and concert dealt with tribal music, the facilitator (whose name I can't recall) is a dedicated Filipina ethnographist who has studied indigenous music around the country, hoping to save some of it before it all dies out. She taught the students about the links between music, the self, and storytelling without a lot of big instruments or fancy add ons. It was magical for the students to work with basic tools and sounds and learn how to make music through their own sense of rhythm. The students raved about the eye opening themes they picked up from her; I thought how wonderful it would be if their parents could have joined them in that eureka moment.

New year, new music

Walking through Borders on the last day of the year, yes, my book lust continues apace. I picked up more than my share of books in the last 10 days of being in the US. I have a copy of the Reluctant Fundamentalist, Tenth Muse, Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant, United States of Arugula, Persepolis (the complete set of comics that has been turned into an award winning cartoon movie from France), and another 5 books swimming in the suitcase.

I had a couple of hours of nothing, so used it by immersing myself in books, and saw new cd's and suggestions for downloads that sparked my interest. The latest from Nick Hornby, an old but good one from Calvin Trillin, and The Book Thief (young adult or no, it's still good reading).

Among the cd's, I finally bought Wintersong by Sarah McLachlan, a tribute album to Ella Fitzgerald, Sufjan Stevens' Christmas album, and a Sondheim assortment. For downloads, I downloaded three songs by Yael Naim, a french folk chanteusse.

Ok, I bought three more books. Happy New Year!

Morningsong

Sometime this weekend I read about a documentary film being worked on in the US about music and life in the big city. Over 80 regular joe's and jane's are going around town being filmed singing songs from Broadway musicals or jazz pieces in public areas like the subway, or around a park, or walking down the street. I am fuzzy on what the raison d'etre of this film is, but what it's turned out to be is not just a delivery on people singing in public, but how the public reacts to overt musical activity. For the most part, most people seem to be ignoring the activity. And the singers are asked how they feel before and after their performance. Most mentioned that it was awkward to sing in a "anonymous" public venue, and they felt conscious at the beginning. But it was the non-reaction of the rest of the people around them that made them feel worse. Is it perhaps the choice of music? Or is it the cold-hearted nature of urban living that puts a barrier between singer and the prospective audience?

This morning, while walking through a large business complex in Makati, I crossed paths with people who looked like they had gotten off their call center shift. And one of them burst into song (from a recently reviewed Broadway musical shown last month). Somehow in Manila, where police dance while working, or janitors sing to keep themselves from the doldrums, or secretaries sing along at work, it doesn't seem out of place. The fellow singing his ditty this morning wasn't strange. And he put a smile on this urban dweller's face.