I have to catch a plane in six hours, but I can't sleep. I could say its because my dogs are at Auntie TheProducer's house, and I miss them and their weight on either side of my body on the bed, but that's not true. I miss them, yes, but I cannot sleep for another reason.
There's so much beautiful music in the world. So many good musicians. So many passionate people making really great songs, but so few of them make songs that resonate with me. It used to take a lot of anger to crack through my tough girl Bunny shell. Ani DiFranco--so angry, so good--and she got to me for about ten years before I realized how little she does to fix her own problems. Aimee Mann's anger was cool. She was a stone cold, rage filled cat, and I loved her for it. Patty Griffin was more about despair, but the anger was still there, and what was it about Pete Yorn? He wasn't that angry, more cynical, but the simplicity of his songs, his straightforwardness I loved, and for a few years he was my standard.
I needed these folks and their albums. They could make me feeeeeeel, and I needed to so badly. We all need to feel no matter what we're told to do about it. So when I needed to get at some pent up rage, I used rage music to access rage feelings, and it really worked. I began crying again just a few years ago, and I doubt I could have done that without the help of Ani DiFranco.
Tucker doesn't listen to music. There's something wrong with that. Music is so important to keep the head on straight, the feelings going, the soul emoting and...oh, that's why he doesn't like it. Poor pent up thing. So for years, the years I lived with him, I didn't listen to any music and it was awful, you could just feel all the weight of it on your back, on his back and in the air between. He couldn't be around it because its true, you know? It forces you to be very aware of what you're going through, very conscious of it, and if you don't want to feel at all, then you have to turn it off because the awareness comes whether you like it or not. Southern ass rap excluded. He listens to that a lot. Its his safe music.
Now that I'm on my own and have funny money to play with, I've been going hog wild on Itunes downloading willy nilly and having me-parties in my living room. Its so freeing, to be able to dictate your own soundtrack. I've explored punk, rock, R&B, folk, country etc. I've begun reading up on current music and taking notes. I listen carefully to Indie radio. I stumbled upon an article about a beared singer songwriter chap in Rolling Stone (What the fuck has happened to that magazine!?) He was a sort of handsome hippie in a plaid flannel shirt. Rolling Stone said he was the best vocalist in the world. That's a hefty corporate compliment. This hisute hippie couldn't possibly have afforded the PR to fake such an honor, so there must've been some truth to the statement.
I went straight from the toilet to the Itunes and typed in Ray LaMontagne, his name. Upon sampling, I found his stuff to be delightful, folky, sweet and slow, and yes, his voice was nice. It was sort of raspy. I decided to buy an album.
That was six hours ago and I cannot stop listening, nor can I leave the fetal position when I do so. I now own a complete anthology of Ray LaMontagne, every piece of music he's ever recorded. If there is anybody out there familiar with Ray LaMontagne, could you please email me and tell me what the hell this guy is all about and why I am completely obsessed with him? Perhaps this is just me being OCD, but...
I. Fucking. Love. This. Man.
Posted by The Bunny at 2:04 AM