Because I can play nicely with others.
athenais tagged me.
I'm not quite so pointless as
papersky for this one, but.
Total musical files on my computer 6.68 GB. All loaded from MP3 CDs a friend had with him when we shipped out to Iraq. More than I thought, and that drive could use some cleaning up, because I never use them.
Last CD I obtained: A collection of Christmas music, odd bits of jazz and instrumentals from a late friends collection. Bought? I don't recall. It was a while back.
Listening to now: John Coltrane-Master Tapes 1985 MCA. (Song of the Underground Railroad).
Music is a funny thing for me. I love it. And I can live without it, sort of.
I don't go anywhere without a pennywhistle. I took two of them to Iraq. I bought a CD player and some CDs in Kuwait. A friend sent me odd folk, and Al Stewart (I was listening to Bedsitter Immages: The Ballad of Mary Foster when we crossed the berm. Headphones tucked under my helmet, earpieces on my mastoid [so I could listen for gunfire, without losing the music... I suspect I am one of the few {if not the only} soldiers to drive into a combat zone listening to Al Stewart]. Changing disks to KD Lang and Tony Bennet was easier in a HUMMVEE than it would have been in a regular car). I spent a lot of time listening to them. Homeward Bound, by Paul Simon, was touching (he and Stewart lived across the hall from each other for a while), but way painful.
I used to play the cello. I keep wanting to pick it back up. There was a time I sang in choir. I need lots of rehearsal to be decent, and my voice isn't meant for solos.
I go to places I can hear music. Bars, clubs (sometimes) concerts, friends houses, high school shows.
But I go for long stretches without listening to music (apart from in the car). Part of this is situational. The only CD players in the house use either a computer, or the television.
I also have ecclectic tastes, and I spend most of my time in the main living area (the house has a living room/dining area, a kitchen (separated by a deep counter, and overhanging cupboards, add a door and it would be like a restaurant pass-through), so making everyone listen to Scott Joplin piano rolls (going in next) because I want to hear them while I cook seems not so fair (anything which I can hear in the kitchen is audible everywhere.
Much of the music has migrated to the car, because we drive so often. Singing along counters highway hypnosis (though Oingo Boingo doens't work in this regard. Jimmy Buffett works fine, as does Meatloaf, and (though most wouldn't think so) Carl Orff.
Five Songs that mean a lot to me:
What day is it?
Mozart's 40 Symphony.
Haydn's Trumpet Concerto (esp. as performed with Wynton Marsalis) This is one of my favorite pieces of music, bar none. It was on the final of my music appreciation class (said final conducted spread out around the house of the instructor, because he wasn't going to let a bomb scare on campus [around the corner] stop the final) and it was played on the radio on That Tuesday. What a day that was. The planes, having to go milk cows at the L.A. County Fair (what did they care if New York was collapsing to rubble, and the Pentagon burnt to slag... they needed to be milked. Maia and I were pretty much the only ones to show up for work. Maia's mother lent us her cell phone, in case I was called in. I was. Then a pipe on the pastuerizer blew and clobbered Maia in the head. It was a day of contrasts. Mundanity, horror, stupidities, rage, fear, and in the middle of it all, hope: from the trumpet of Wynton Marsalis came the third movement, and that thrilling uplifting run of Haydn playing with the trumpet.
Battle Hymn of the Republic: As
pnh said, this is song to inspire trembling and dread. Powerful in its own right, the imagery in it ought to make people weak in the knees when it's sung with passion and fervor, if one is the object of that singing, well, it's all the power of Puritan New England's determination, wrung out as a paen to righteous battle, ponder that, ye mighty, and despair. It was the closing number at the last performance in which I sang (Army Birthday Ball, June 1994).
After that... they become a tangled mess. Showtunes and perfomance piece from high school (and all the attendant memories which come of rehearsals, and performance, and the travel and the setting up and tearing down), moments from the past which a song will evoke (the girl I was dancing with, the people who went to the show with me (Boiled in Lead will always make me think of Gary Louie and an evening at Trancas in Malibu), Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown makes me think of the third floor flat we had on the South Side of Chicago when it came out (I knew right where, "down there" was in the lyrics... I can't have been more than four).
Music is part and parcel of life, and the songs are part and parcel of me.
I'm not tagging anyone.
I'm not quite so pointless as
Total musical files on my computer 6.68 GB. All loaded from MP3 CDs a friend had with him when we shipped out to Iraq. More than I thought, and that drive could use some cleaning up, because I never use them.
Last CD I obtained: A collection of Christmas music, odd bits of jazz and instrumentals from a late friends collection. Bought? I don't recall. It was a while back.
Listening to now: John Coltrane-Master Tapes 1985 MCA. (Song of the Underground Railroad).
Music is a funny thing for me. I love it. And I can live without it, sort of.
I don't go anywhere without a pennywhistle. I took two of them to Iraq. I bought a CD player and some CDs in Kuwait. A friend sent me odd folk, and Al Stewart (I was listening to Bedsitter Immages: The Ballad of Mary Foster when we crossed the berm. Headphones tucked under my helmet, earpieces on my mastoid [so I could listen for gunfire, without losing the music... I suspect I am one of the few {if not the only} soldiers to drive into a combat zone listening to Al Stewart]. Changing disks to KD Lang and Tony Bennet was easier in a HUMMVEE than it would have been in a regular car). I spent a lot of time listening to them. Homeward Bound, by Paul Simon, was touching (he and Stewart lived across the hall from each other for a while), but way painful.
I used to play the cello. I keep wanting to pick it back up. There was a time I sang in choir. I need lots of rehearsal to be decent, and my voice isn't meant for solos.
I go to places I can hear music. Bars, clubs (sometimes) concerts, friends houses, high school shows.
But I go for long stretches without listening to music (apart from in the car). Part of this is situational. The only CD players in the house use either a computer, or the television.
I also have ecclectic tastes, and I spend most of my time in the main living area (the house has a living room/dining area, a kitchen (separated by a deep counter, and overhanging cupboards, add a door and it would be like a restaurant pass-through), so making everyone listen to Scott Joplin piano rolls (going in next) because I want to hear them while I cook seems not so fair (anything which I can hear in the kitchen is audible everywhere.
Much of the music has migrated to the car, because we drive so often. Singing along counters highway hypnosis (though Oingo Boingo doens't work in this regard. Jimmy Buffett works fine, as does Meatloaf, and (though most wouldn't think so) Carl Orff.
Five Songs that mean a lot to me:
What day is it?
Mozart's 40 Symphony.
Haydn's Trumpet Concerto (esp. as performed with Wynton Marsalis) This is one of my favorite pieces of music, bar none. It was on the final of my music appreciation class (said final conducted spread out around the house of the instructor, because he wasn't going to let a bomb scare on campus [around the corner] stop the final) and it was played on the radio on That Tuesday. What a day that was. The planes, having to go milk cows at the L.A. County Fair (what did they care if New York was collapsing to rubble, and the Pentagon burnt to slag... they needed to be milked. Maia and I were pretty much the only ones to show up for work. Maia's mother lent us her cell phone, in case I was called in. I was. Then a pipe on the pastuerizer blew and clobbered Maia in the head. It was a day of contrasts. Mundanity, horror, stupidities, rage, fear, and in the middle of it all, hope: from the trumpet of Wynton Marsalis came the third movement, and that thrilling uplifting run of Haydn playing with the trumpet.
Battle Hymn of the Republic: As
After that... they become a tangled mess. Showtunes and perfomance piece from high school (and all the attendant memories which come of rehearsals, and performance, and the travel and the setting up and tearing down), moments from the past which a song will evoke (the girl I was dancing with, the people who went to the show with me (Boiled in Lead will always make me think of Gary Louie and an evening at Trancas in Malibu), Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown makes me think of the third floor flat we had on the South Side of Chicago when it came out (I knew right where, "down there" was in the lyrics... I can't have been more than four).
Music is part and parcel of life, and the songs are part and parcel of me.
I'm not tagging anyone.