"A little bit of this. A little bit of that. A pot, a pan, a broom, a hat. . ."—Anatevka, "Fiddler on the Roof."
This is a blog about everything and nothing. A little parenting, a little humor, some poetry, news, essays, a lot of music. I don't want to waste your time, just send positive vibes into the blogosphere.
Oh, yeah, my name is Sarah Torribio. Enough about me, how are you?
Showing posts with label "sarah torribio". Show all posts
Showing posts with label "sarah torribio". Show all posts
Who remembers this adorable one-hit wonder? Wikipedia tells me Bic Runga, who climbed charts in 1999 with her indie-pop hit "Sway," is a highly-awarded singer/songwriter from New Zealand This, my song of the day, made it onto the "American Pie" soundtrack.
It was the era, long about 2000 to 2010, where many movies--even some forgettable ones--had lots of hits randomly pressed into them. There are also a couple winners on the soundtrack of "Loser," a 2000 rom com meant to serve as a vehicle for newly-hot "American Pie" actors Jason Biggs and Mena Suvari. These include the dance-floor earworm "Blue" by Euro-pop group Eiffel 65 as well as Wheatus' endearing "Teenage Dirtbag."
I'm on a music binge. It's often the only way I can get myself motivated to work on large projects like screenplays. When I'm in the middle of them, I always feel like I'll never get it done.
I'm just catching up with some Alkaline Trio trio songs off the band's 2010 album This Addiction that I somehow missed. I haven't even started on the band's latest release, the 3-month-old EP "Is This Thing Cursed."
Anyhow, I'm most pleased with my song of the day, "Eating Me Alive."
If you don't sing along with "Back on the Chain Gang" by The Pretenders age 30, you don't have a heart. If you don't sing along with this song after age 30, you don't have a brain.
Sorry. I get a little authoritarian when it comes to the other side-of-the tracks/ intergalactic talent of Pretenders front-woman Chrissie Hynde. She's life itself, isn't she! (I'm paraphrasing a quote by Adele, who in one interview said the same of R&B songstress and Barbados beauty Rihana.)
Chrissie Hynde has that irresistible tough-girl exterior, underscored by her trademark long shaggy bangs. The message is clear, or perhaps two messages are clear.
One is back-off pugnacious: "You don't look at me, I look at you."
The other represents a flirtier sort of rebellion: "I have pretty eyes. If you're lucky, maybe one day you can see them."
In other fangirl admonitions, don't underestimate Chrissie Hynde's lyrical ability. I mean, has there ever been a better line than, "Like a brick in the battle was your part. In the wretched life of a lonely heart."
Chrissie he also plays a mean guitar. Thanks to her catchy, original and impeccable riffs, Pretenders songs find a cozy place in your heart and stay there.
In another note
You know how old people tell the same stories over and over? I'm heading there.
Every time I think of Chrissie Hynde, I can't resist recounting an anecdote from Morrisey's 2013 biopic, aptly titled "Autobiography."
(Easing a sim cigarette into a long ivory holder)
"So Morrissey is at a pub in England with his friend and fellow singer/songwriter Chrissie Hynde of the Pretenders."
(lighting the cig with nicotine-stained fingers and inhaling deeply)
"The musical icons are enjoying a pint when a woman approaches Chrissie, breathless."
(exhaling a cloud of smoke toward my imagined audience.)
"The woman exclaims, 'Oh my God ! You're Chrissie Hynde. You used to mean so much to me.'"Chrissie's response to the backhanded compliment? "Well, I don't now, so fuck off!"
You can't tell me Brian Eno didn't have a hand in "Fire In Bone"— a 2020 single from Imploding the Mirage, the' sixth studio album by The Killers—if only via inspiration. I could look it up, but sometimes a gal's just too tired to Wikipedia.
My song of the day also follows a now-familiar pattern, in which the Killers purposely straddle myriad eras. You can hear it in the rollicking rock 'n roll wild west romp that is Sam's Town and in the disco-kissed flavor of a number of subsequent songs.
A we move further through "Fire in Bone," we find ourself ensconced firmly in the '80s. Brandon Flowers' wavering voice channels more than a bit #gray Bruce Springsteen's Rage Against the Lonesome Inner Fire growl.
The Killers are always redefining themselves. I've been away, but I have a feeling I"m going to enjoy catching up with these gents.
I'm a lady writer, and I'm striving to become a good one. So forgive me if I like the 1979 song "Lady Writer" by Dire Straits based on the title alone.
As I get older I'm catching up with something I was never exposed to. The songs by Dire Straits that got little airplay, at least during my '80s and '90s growing-up days.
The more I listen, the more I appreciate Dire Strait's rambling, roaming river of sound. Led by singer/guitarist/producer Mark Knoffler, the band's guitar is pure flow.
I'm one of those impatient music consumers who skips a song if it doesn't grab me right off the bat. I decided to give London Grammar the benefit of the doubt and I'm glad. The beat, albeit a gentle beat, drops at 42 seconds, followed by a sticks-with-you chorus: "You say you miss me now. What a way to lose your head."
By 2:43, timing wise, the beat doubles and the keening of Hanna Reed's silky keening intensifies. The cumulative result is a pretty and momentous indie pop/dreampop song.
My song of the day is "The Bandit" by Kings of Leon. It's a single off the band's forthcoming 8th studio album "When You See Yourself," set for release on March 5, 2021.
This song has the kind of energy I've needed for months: rocking, rollicking, caucus and slightly overwrought. The especially lovely guitar is served three ways, entwined to wall-of-sound effect: shoegaze jangly, Foofighters-driving and guitar-hero soaring. If this sneak preview is any indication, the record should be divine.
My song of the day is another Lana Del Rey gem, "Chemtrails Over the Country Club." The new single is off the album of the same name, set to drop on March 19.
It follows the trademark trope of the darkly glamorous singer/songwriter. Lyrical nostalgia. Transcendent beauty. Pleasure that brooks no moral code. and, as ever, a subterranean current of doom and decadence waiting to surface.
Also, shout out to Ms. Del Rey for acknowledging the criss-cross nature of today's skies.
Do you ever listen to a song you've always liked, and feel it's the first time you've paid it proper attention? That's the case with my song of the day, "Close to Me" by The Cure.
I've always viewed "Close to Me"—one of the big singles off the band's 1985 Head on the Door album— as being one of the band's "lite" songs. I've considered the song a playful romp, due to its upbeat and buoyant tone and a keyboard riff that sounds like a child's toy xylophone.
The song is radio-friendly and imminently danceable. So you might be tempted to paraphrase that old Wendy's commercial and ask where's the goth? I think it can best be found in the fever dream lyrics of then heroin-addicted Cure frontman Robert Smith. He spends quite a bit of time in the song wishing he could be sure that "the head on the door" he once envisioned is only a dream.
Back to my latest musical reverie, in which I gained more perspective on "Close to Me." This song is actually intricate and genius, init? (I like to pretend I'm cool by nicking English slang.)
Between drum beats, synth claps and Robert Smith's just-finished-a-5K panting, it's percussively effervescent. It's also quite the wall of sound, with an airy symphonic flute eventually descending followed by some unexpectedly fat and jazzy horns.
Call me impulsive, but I'm moved to make a New Year's Resolution. I plan to listen to The Cure's entire catalog in a state of mindfulness. Better late than never, and also namaste.
Music has a frequency. Sometimes I feel harried, pressed for time, overwhelmed, socially maladapted, unkempt and feral—and that's just for starters. All of the bad stuff.
When it's like that and my nerves are jinglier than windchimes made from xylophone keys, I have a go-to band. It's Men at Work. It's a balm to my soul. it's like having a kitten asleep in my lap. It's like taking a shot of tequila before hitting the dance floor or drinking warm milk before bed.
If there wasn't the competing force of The Police, Men At Work would be more celebrated than it is. Or maybe there are other closet super-fans out there.
So, hoping to calm, focus and right I decided it was time, yet again, to listen to some music. I do it everyday with a passion. Men at Work, I thought to myself. And then I heard a refrain in my head: "It's a Mistake."
