I recently took a look at the first three chapters of Kylie Bisutti's I'm no Angel: From Victoria's Secret Model to Role Model. My wife has read the whole book, and she assures me my pre-emptive impressions are the correct ones.
The short version: Bisutti went into modeling, despite having no real interest in it, because people kept telling her how pretty she was. After a certain degree of success, she wound up winning an event through Victoria's Secret; not actually signing a contract with the company as the title of the book would lead you to believe. But after her unsupportive husband kept bursting into extroverted prayer enough times whenever the modeling industry shockingly revealed itself to be intertwined with sex, Bisutti nobly chose to become a role model for young Christian girls; presumably pretty ones who might be in danger of pursuing the career that they want.
Do I sound bitter? Angry even? Let me explain. I'm a Christian. It's how I was raised, and after a period of serious soul searching I realized I agree with the teachings of Christ. Curiously, I tend to disagree with a lot of Christians, so much that at one chapter of my life I tried disavowing my faith altogether. In the end, I came to a reconciliation: God isn't the church, people are. And people have a knack for sucking at the wrong times.
Bisutti's book has tapped into something with me that I can't quite shake off, and I think I can best explain it as a metaphor.
Imagine a wave pool, like at a waterpark. Now this is a huge wave pool, to the point that it may as well be a beach, because the deep end of the pool stretches so far away that it disappears over the horizon. Where is the deep end exactly? I don't know. It's too far away. We're not allowed to bring boats to this wave pool. The only way to check is to swim out there, and you'll probably die before you ever reach the end.
In fact, the curious thing about this wave pool is that it's where our dead go. The waves carry the deceased into these mysterious depths. So what happens? Are they eaten? Do they find Atlantis? Do they just drift indefinitely? Does it even matter? The simple fact is, we don't know. We haven't died yet. We can get in the water and swim around a little bit, or a lot, but we can't KNOW until it's too late to be a part of the living.
So let's focus on what we can know, the ground leading up to the shallow end. Now the problem when you first approach the edge of the wave pool is how many billions of people are standing around speculating what the wave pool is about. Most of them tend to be very pleasant, minding their own business or congregating in small groups discussing possibilities.
But then there are the assholes, and they have megaphones. As loudly as they speak, you'd think they KNOW everything there is to know about the wave pool. Some of them decide that the water is irrelevant and there's no point in even acknowledging it's existence. While others demand that EVERYBODY has to accept a definitive explanation for what the end of the wave pool is, or they'll not be able to take the post death journey. Both of these types of people do absolutely no good, and they have the most potential to start a fight at the water park.
Pushing past them, there is now a barricade of people splashing around the shallow waters of the wave pool. This is where Bisutti is lounging and prattling on about how wonderful the water is. And to a degree, she's right. It does feel good, rolling back and forth against your ankles. Children are put in the water where they chant song lyrics about the waves that they accept without questioning. And why not? They're children. It's as much of an understanding of the wave pool as they're capable of having.
Unfortunately, there's this mass of adults who confuse wading in the shallow end with swimming. They insist that feeling the water is all they need, and all there is. I can accept that they're half right. When you're a shallow person, the shallow waters may very well be all you need. But it's not all there is.
So what do I care? There are Kylie Bisuttis everywhere. Most of them go to church and throw around phrases like "God has a plan" and "we should pray for this person who we're passively judging" (I'm paraphrasing). My wife had a friend who used to write such diverse inspirational/country songs like "God is Great", "God, You're so Great", "Can Everybody See How Great I'm Saying God Is?", and "Thank You God For Your Wonderfully Low Expectations"; and I'm certain they didn't all sound exactly the same to her.
Is there ultimately any direct harm from this? Sure, it's annoying as all hell. I tend to respond negatively to people who treat their faith as 'deep' when it's only coming up to their ankles, and maybe the social energy potentially lures some people away from actually learning how to swim. But is it anything more than a nuisance?
Well...
Here's the trick: the Kylie Bisuttis are usually privileged. The strength of their faith typically goes untested. They experience pain like everyone, but they don't know what hopelessness feels like. And perhaps in this life they'll never need to. But then again, they may get hit by that wave and that undertow. That's a bad time to start learning how to swim.
Now at this point in the metaphor I could shrug my shoulders and say, "Well, people who can't swim, drown. That's first draft Darwin." But maybe for me there's something else at play. I think it was the way I was raised Christian. I grew up in a good youth group where we challenged each other and debated and disagreed, and we always came away feeling like we'd shared an experience even though we didn't come to a middle ground compromise. In fact, one of my most active church friends was openly atheist. What could be more Methodist than that?
I went to a college with a strong religious representation that continued exploring the struggles from my youth group. I may have graduated feeling spiritually broken, but that was never the fault of the institution. That just happened to be the age I was. Unfortunately, after college I never found that spiritual community again. I found too many people with 'answers' that they were convinced of, and I was wasting my time trying to reach through their barriers. They didn't want to be challenged. They wanted to feel comfortable.
The bottom line is, we don't have answers. We don't know what's on the other side of death. We can read tomes on the subject and listen to professionals or celebrity voices, but we only have our own experiences to go on. We accept what makes the most sense. To us. As individuals. There's nothing wrong with that.
But my issue with shallow faith is that it creates an illusion of answers. With answers come the sense of correct and incorrect, and arguments, and exclusivity. It drives us further apart in an already isolated world. I continue to hope for a spiritual awakening of our species, but it's going to require an admission that self proclaimed role-models like Kylie Bisutti honestly know jack shit.
Addendum:
It's been brought to my attention that I may have written this blog from a place from a place other than love, and I'm inclined to agree. I may have come across as spiteful. While I still stand by my opinions, I have to admit there is a real pain in me regards to religion that I hadn't even realized was bubbling up.
My relationship with God is one of distance. It's not that I keep God away from me, I actually strive to become closer. But I sense the distance, and it hurts.
Edgar Allen Poe once described the power of music as being able to accomplish in a single chord interval what it took him thousands of words to convey. And he suggests that when you're moved to tears by a piece of music, it's not because you experience so much joy that it can't be contained. Instead, it's because a deeply rooted pain of separation from the divine (one that we ordinarily are able to repress) has been awakened.
I believe in God, and I believe some part of us will join the Divine when we die. And by that sensibility, I believe this same part of us was already connected at one time to Divinity. But here on this earth, it is disconnected, for whatever reason. Maybe to grow in a way not possible otherwise? I don't really know. But even though that piece of us has no cognitive recollection of being connected, it remembers the feeling.
Think about what drives you. Do you look for groups of people based on a common theme (sports fans, taste in anime, political affiliation) because something compels you to seek out a 'collective' larger than yourself? Are you drawn to images of babies (no) or puppies (awww) because they remind you of a world somehow more beautiful than the one you live in? Have you ever fallen in love with the wrong person because they seemed Divinity incarnate, or put a substance in your body to experience something that might allow you to feel connected, or hurt somebody because you thought it would get you closer to the feeling you wanted?
So, yeah, I think the compulsion exists in all of us, and I think being separated from the Divinity that Christians name 'God' is why. It's already a painful topic for me, and I guess lately I've been feeling a bit more emotionally charged about it. There are wonderful things about faith, and when one is able to find a community to hurt with, often it doesn't hurt as much. But I'm not finding that community anymore. Instead I'm finding Joel Osteen, who is the epitome of 'store your treasures on earth'.
I know there are a lot of amazing, insightful people of faith out there, but I don't seem to find them in churches much. And I suppose that's why Kylie Bisutti's book hit such a nerve with me. I'm not seeing a book about faith, I'm seeing one about success. She had success as a model, and when that started wane she found success selling out the modeling industry, and she's calling that faith.
Faith is about humility. I'm not seeing that from her.
Thursday, February 25, 2016
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
The Wax Buzzard Files: Chapter One -The Prologue's Epilogue
If you want to go back to the Table of Contents, this link will take you there. If you don't want to go back to the Table of Contents, that link will take you to Mount McKinley's gift shop. Choose carefully.
An old college professor I never had, or met, once drunk tweeted me the motto I'd live the rest of my days by. The message read "Atttentoin 2 Dtail iz thf mstresss ofg Tha Czrc7oNNimststs :)". I have it framed in my office even though the phone's battery ran down months ago.
I never figured out what that last word was supposed to be, but attention to detail separated the crocs from the gators. And in the field it could mean the difference between a dead man and a man whose name happened to be Deadman; although to be fair, once he actually died those details wouldn't exactly make for the best example.
Miss Nomer's story had omitted several details that a trained eye like mine could spot miles away. Now that she was miles away, I noticed she had neglected to mention what she wanted from me. Was she hiring me? Playing me for a sap? Did she just want to hang out sometime? I could have just walked away and never looked back, but since this was where I lived I was already in too deep.
It takes a sharp mind to see the big picture before you have any of the pieces, but I knew exactly what I needed; someone with a sharp mind. I knew just the guy, Vincent "the weasel" Smith. He'd tried for years to build a respectable reputation. I was the one who gave him the idea to stop telling people his middle name was "the weasel". Now Vinnie was the senior record keeper at the What's-His-Face Memorial Hospital. If anybody could take a wild guess at how to track down Miss Nomer, Vinnie could; and he owed me a favor. I intended to find out what for.
"Vinnie!" I called as I walked through the door. Pity he wasn't in that room and the people in the board meeting were less than receptive to my charisma. I had to search the hospital for a few hours, but I finally tracked down the front desk clerk and she got me pointed in the direction of the parking lot.
I never found Vinnie, but as I made my way across the street I got this peculiar sensation I was being followed. I glanced behind me and saw nothing but a huge crowd of suspicious looking characters. I started walking.
Yeah, there it was. A string of footsteps keeping perfect pace with me. I stopped. My shadow stopped. I took one step forward and the tail followed suit. I did a hop shuffle ball change buffalo, matched by the synchronized steps behind me. I checked my posture to see if I was leaning really far forward and just hearing my own feet. Nope. Definitely someone there.
I had a decision to make. It was a long time ago and I didn't like it. Now I had another one. Would I whirl around and face my culprit, or would I shrug it off and go do the yard work I'd been avoiding? A third option entered my head. It was technically illegal and required one of those paddle ball toys with the elastic string, and I didn't feel like waiting in the long line at the convenience store across town.
But I had a thought. My shadow was likely a puppet. Not a shadow puppet, but the other kind of puppet, with strings, and someone else pulling them. Who was a shadow. Actually just forget about the shadow metaphor altogether. If this puppet had a puppeteer then those strings would lead me right to him. But how to get my shadow to lead me -I mean the puppet to lead me to the puppeteer when the puppet was clearly shadowing me?
Simple. I walked backwards.
That could have been my fatal mistake.
Obviously it wasn't, but it could have been; that's the point I'm making.
Chapter Two is available, but it's still getting over a serious breakup.
An old college professor I never had, or met, once drunk tweeted me the motto I'd live the rest of my days by. The message read "Atttentoin 2 Dtail iz thf mstresss ofg Tha Czrc7oNNimststs :)". I have it framed in my office even though the phone's battery ran down months ago.
I never figured out what that last word was supposed to be, but attention to detail separated the crocs from the gators. And in the field it could mean the difference between a dead man and a man whose name happened to be Deadman; although to be fair, once he actually died those details wouldn't exactly make for the best example.
Miss Nomer's story had omitted several details that a trained eye like mine could spot miles away. Now that she was miles away, I noticed she had neglected to mention what she wanted from me. Was she hiring me? Playing me for a sap? Did she just want to hang out sometime? I could have just walked away and never looked back, but since this was where I lived I was already in too deep.
It takes a sharp mind to see the big picture before you have any of the pieces, but I knew exactly what I needed; someone with a sharp mind. I knew just the guy, Vincent "the weasel" Smith. He'd tried for years to build a respectable reputation. I was the one who gave him the idea to stop telling people his middle name was "the weasel". Now Vinnie was the senior record keeper at the What's-His-Face Memorial Hospital. If anybody could take a wild guess at how to track down Miss Nomer, Vinnie could; and he owed me a favor. I intended to find out what for.
"Vinnie!" I called as I walked through the door. Pity he wasn't in that room and the people in the board meeting were less than receptive to my charisma. I had to search the hospital for a few hours, but I finally tracked down the front desk clerk and she got me pointed in the direction of the parking lot.
I never found Vinnie, but as I made my way across the street I got this peculiar sensation I was being followed. I glanced behind me and saw nothing but a huge crowd of suspicious looking characters. I started walking.
Yeah, there it was. A string of footsteps keeping perfect pace with me. I stopped. My shadow stopped. I took one step forward and the tail followed suit. I did a hop shuffle ball change buffalo, matched by the synchronized steps behind me. I checked my posture to see if I was leaning really far forward and just hearing my own feet. Nope. Definitely someone there.
I had a decision to make. It was a long time ago and I didn't like it. Now I had another one. Would I whirl around and face my culprit, or would I shrug it off and go do the yard work I'd been avoiding? A third option entered my head. It was technically illegal and required one of those paddle ball toys with the elastic string, and I didn't feel like waiting in the long line at the convenience store across town.
But I had a thought. My shadow was likely a puppet. Not a shadow puppet, but the other kind of puppet, with strings, and someone else pulling them. Who was a shadow. Actually just forget about the shadow metaphor altogether. If this puppet had a puppeteer then those strings would lead me right to him. But how to get my shadow to lead me -I mean the puppet to lead me to the puppeteer when the puppet was clearly shadowing me?
Simple. I walked backwards.
That could have been my fatal mistake.
Obviously it wasn't, but it could have been; that's the point I'm making.
Chapter Two is available, but it's still getting over a serious breakup.
Monday, February 8, 2016
The Carousel: The Call of Mardi Gras
I didn't realize Mardi Gras was so early this year. I've been wanting to get back into writing some Carousel material, and this idea just kind of came to me last night. At this point I have no idea where I'm going with the story but I thought it might be fun to just explore a little.
Enjoy!
Mardi Gras.
More accurately Lundi Gras, but to fifteen year old Becky there was really no difference. Her stepmom claimed she wanted her to have the full Mardi Gras experience, which was really a euphemistic way of saying Fredonna had wanted to go to New Orleans for five days and test her limits on alcohol consumption.
Becky couldn't understand what the big damn deal was about either Mardi Gras or New Orleans. She'd seen several parades, and they were fine if a little claustrophobic inducing. She'd gotten into the spirit to a point, having scavenged for a large handful of beads and three sought after doubloons. But the thing seemed more trouble than it was worth.
The odd thing was, her stepmom seemed to be trying to reconnect with her youth. At the ripe old age of twenty-six. "Who was this holiday supposed to be for?" thought Becky. Not really for a fifteen year old girl. At least, not one who was down there with her stepmother's friends.
It was seven thirty in the morning. Becky woke up to the smell of pancakes and bacon, but a nearly empty second floor home. Fredonna's best friend Caris had managed to secure renting an enviable location with a balcony. It didn't face any parade routes, but it overlooked one of the side streets where people filtered in and out all day and night. Either most of the women had gone out extremely early or they'd not made it back the night before. And there on the balcony was the unmistakable figure of Zelphina, Caris's girlfriend.
Becky had grown up in a conservatively religious household. Her father was a preacher, and her mother had been an organist when she was alive. While her dad had never spoken down about same-sex couples, she could always feel that he'd had a bit of discomfort about the issue. But Becky loved her dad, and had always admired how he never let his feelings dictate his stance on topics. But Zelphina wasn't just Caris's girlfriend. She was also a demon.
What exactly that meant, Becky wasn't sure. Her dad couldn't explain it either, probably because he knew just as much as Becky did. But almost two years ago, something had happened to Becky that she didn't talk about. She'd become possessed. Becky had never understood by what, but Caris and Zelphina had been there, and they'd saved her life.
"Good morning Becky," said Zelphina, smiling only with her eyes.
Becky nodded silently, swallowing a mouthful of pancake. She had to admit Zelphina had a classic Hollywood beauty to her, even if her demeanor had always been a little intimidating. Much more so once you knew what she was capable of. Becky didn't know how common demons were in the world or why this particular one was reasonably helpful, but being left alone with her in New Orleans the day before Mardi Gras was a concept Becky felt more than a little discomfort over.
Zelphina gestured toward the wicker chair perpendicularly angled next to Becky. "May I?"
Becky nodded. "Where is everyone?"
"The girls are probably out looking for reasons to be irresponsible."
"You didn't want to go with them?"
"I agreed to keep you safe."
Becky swallowed a larger bite of dough than she'd intended and had to resort to the milk glass for relief. "I'm fine here," she said.
"Yes. You are fine here. But you're bored."
Becky didn't respond, but it was true. When Fredonna had invited her (practically begged her) to come, she said yes primarily owing to the fact that she had nothing else to do. But she hadn't been connecting with the Mardi Gras experience for three days now, and the whole thing felt pointless to her. She shrugged. "I guess so."
"I feel similarly about this festival. It's strangely fascinating to witness how many people are drawn to this street party with so much joy and pleasure in the feigned debauchery, and yet I experience no attachment to it whatsoever. I've been asking myself why that is."
"Aren't you a demon?"
"I am."
"What do you do for fun?"
"I don't do for fun. I do for instructions. Why? Do you believe I'm missing out on something?"
Becky chewed up the last bite that she was interested in eating. "What if someone instructs you to have fun?"
"I give them a look that dissuades them from giving me that instruction again."
Becky tried to push back a smile, mostly succeeding. "Can you teach it to me?"
"Perhaps. But what do you say to a bit of adventure? You and me. The streets of New Orleans. Maybe discover what the heart of this beast is."
"What do you have in mind?"
"Absolutely nothing," said Zelphina. "We explore. You navigate, I protect you, and we go wherever you like. What do you say?"
All things being equal, it's usually a good idea not to agree to a demon's offer. But in this instant...
There was no predicate to that sentence. Becky didn't realize it, but she'd entered into a long, time honored tradition of people who'd said yes to a demon despite being taught to say no. And the rationale was always the same. It began and ended with "but in this instant". Even if this instant was somehow different than any other, at it's core it was self-permission to say yes.
Together they walked down the street.
Enjoy!
Mardi Gras.
More accurately Lundi Gras, but to fifteen year old Becky there was really no difference. Her stepmom claimed she wanted her to have the full Mardi Gras experience, which was really a euphemistic way of saying Fredonna had wanted to go to New Orleans for five days and test her limits on alcohol consumption.
Becky couldn't understand what the big damn deal was about either Mardi Gras or New Orleans. She'd seen several parades, and they were fine if a little claustrophobic inducing. She'd gotten into the spirit to a point, having scavenged for a large handful of beads and three sought after doubloons. But the thing seemed more trouble than it was worth.
The odd thing was, her stepmom seemed to be trying to reconnect with her youth. At the ripe old age of twenty-six. "Who was this holiday supposed to be for?" thought Becky. Not really for a fifteen year old girl. At least, not one who was down there with her stepmother's friends.
It was seven thirty in the morning. Becky woke up to the smell of pancakes and bacon, but a nearly empty second floor home. Fredonna's best friend Caris had managed to secure renting an enviable location with a balcony. It didn't face any parade routes, but it overlooked one of the side streets where people filtered in and out all day and night. Either most of the women had gone out extremely early or they'd not made it back the night before. And there on the balcony was the unmistakable figure of Zelphina, Caris's girlfriend.
Becky had grown up in a conservatively religious household. Her father was a preacher, and her mother had been an organist when she was alive. While her dad had never spoken down about same-sex couples, she could always feel that he'd had a bit of discomfort about the issue. But Becky loved her dad, and had always admired how he never let his feelings dictate his stance on topics. But Zelphina wasn't just Caris's girlfriend. She was also a demon.
What exactly that meant, Becky wasn't sure. Her dad couldn't explain it either, probably because he knew just as much as Becky did. But almost two years ago, something had happened to Becky that she didn't talk about. She'd become possessed. Becky had never understood by what, but Caris and Zelphina had been there, and they'd saved her life.
"Good morning Becky," said Zelphina, smiling only with her eyes.
Becky nodded silently, swallowing a mouthful of pancake. She had to admit Zelphina had a classic Hollywood beauty to her, even if her demeanor had always been a little intimidating. Much more so once you knew what she was capable of. Becky didn't know how common demons were in the world or why this particular one was reasonably helpful, but being left alone with her in New Orleans the day before Mardi Gras was a concept Becky felt more than a little discomfort over.
Zelphina gestured toward the wicker chair perpendicularly angled next to Becky. "May I?"
Becky nodded. "Where is everyone?"
"The girls are probably out looking for reasons to be irresponsible."
"You didn't want to go with them?"
"I agreed to keep you safe."
Becky swallowed a larger bite of dough than she'd intended and had to resort to the milk glass for relief. "I'm fine here," she said.
"Yes. You are fine here. But you're bored."
Becky didn't respond, but it was true. When Fredonna had invited her (practically begged her) to come, she said yes primarily owing to the fact that she had nothing else to do. But she hadn't been connecting with the Mardi Gras experience for three days now, and the whole thing felt pointless to her. She shrugged. "I guess so."
"I feel similarly about this festival. It's strangely fascinating to witness how many people are drawn to this street party with so much joy and pleasure in the feigned debauchery, and yet I experience no attachment to it whatsoever. I've been asking myself why that is."
"Aren't you a demon?"
"I am."
"What do you do for fun?"
"I don't do for fun. I do for instructions. Why? Do you believe I'm missing out on something?"
Becky chewed up the last bite that she was interested in eating. "What if someone instructs you to have fun?"
"I give them a look that dissuades them from giving me that instruction again."
Becky tried to push back a smile, mostly succeeding. "Can you teach it to me?"
"Perhaps. But what do you say to a bit of adventure? You and me. The streets of New Orleans. Maybe discover what the heart of this beast is."
"What do you have in mind?"
"Absolutely nothing," said Zelphina. "We explore. You navigate, I protect you, and we go wherever you like. What do you say?"
All things being equal, it's usually a good idea not to agree to a demon's offer. But in this instant...
There was no predicate to that sentence. Becky didn't realize it, but she'd entered into a long, time honored tradition of people who'd said yes to a demon despite being taught to say no. And the rationale was always the same. It began and ended with "but in this instant". Even if this instant was somehow different than any other, at it's core it was self-permission to say yes.
Together they walked down the street.
Tuesday, February 2, 2016
Heart: Valentine (A Dozen Roses from Ann and Nancy Wilson)
Something I never thought would happen to me just came into being. I bought tickets to see Heart, live in concert.
They're touring with Joan Jett and Cheap Trick, and I was amazed to find that the tickets weren't priced in the hundred dollar range. This collection of performers isn't just amazing, it's a slice of rock and roll history.
It's with a certain amount of shame that I direct attention away from Jett and (um) Trick to focus on the Wilson sisters, but their music has had the greatest impact on me, and their story is one that I find powerful.
Before Anna and Elsa, there was Ann Wilson and her little sister Nancy. As the daughters of a U.S. Marine, the family would have to move around frequently, and the girls turned to music for a sense of consistency. There are some artists who clearly love music, and then there are those who embody it. And there's just something about the Wilson sisters where you can feel the emotions poured into their work. There's a pain laced through every album, from failed relationships to on stage panic attacks, but there's also the unyielding hope that refuses to be snuffed out.
You're undoubtedly familiar with their power ballads from the mid to late eighties (Alone, Never, These Dreams and What About Love), and they were all really good songs. But when you compare them to some of their lesser known or in-danger-of-being-forgotten gems, I think you'll find they may not be the absolute best compositions.
So as a bit of a love letter to the Wilsons, I've put together what I consider, in my superficially humble opinion, to be the ultimate album showcasing Heart's soul. On vinyl, because it sounds better.
Side A:
1 Bebe le Strange (live) -Greatest Hits/Live (1980)
The album version of this song is good enough, but when you hear them perform it live it adds a whole new layer of energy. And that's one thing worth mentioning right out of the gate: Heart can play live! And they play the hell out of this song. The lyrics are about a female rock star receiving a fan letter from someone who has been captivated by her. Interestingly, it has nothing to do with the way she looks, but the way she handles her guitar. It's possible this song is based on the fan mail the sisters were receiving themselves, but I prefer to think of it as a fictional account of what drove them into the industry in the first place.
2 Magic Man -Dreamboat Annie (1975)
This is THE definitive Heart song, and the first one you hear if you listen to the albums in order. A woman is being seduced by a man, even against her conscious better judgment. She's doomed and she knows it, but she's addicted. It's all the more poignant by the omission of any details about this man other than his eye color. The guitar is exciting and haunting at the same time. There's more of an emotional arc in this five minute track than Stephanie Meyer's entire body of work.
3 Without You -Magazine (1977)
I hate this song. "Wait, what?" you cry, "Then why do you have it on the album?" First off, there's no need to cry, it's just a blog. Second, I'm talking about the actual Badfinger song written by Pete Ham and Tom Evans, and everyone from Harry Nilsson to freaking Mariah Carey seems to think it's some sort of romantic love ballad. It's not. Whether Ham and Evans realized it during the writing (no joke here: both committed suicide), this is the epitome of an unhealthy one-sided relationship. Ann Wilson is the only singer I've ever heard who sounds like she's singing it from this approach. As far as I'm concerned, that makes this the only version of this song.
4 Barracuda -Little Queen (1977)
Oh boy. The origin of this song is just painful. A Detroit radio promoter flippantly (and sincerely) asked Ann about her lover, referring to her sister Nancy. Ann was outraged, and went back to the hotel room, pouring everything she was feeling into writing this song. Then Nancy heard what had happened and channeled her fury into the melody and bridge. The result was one of the all time great Heart songs, and probably the sister as their most vulnerable.
5 Make Me -Jupiter's Darling (2004)
I literally discovered this song a few days ago. Post-eighties Heart is where the entity of the band really is defined as the Wilson sisters (being the only consistent force since the inception). The eighties was a productive time where musicians and studios had a solid working relationship. The nineties was the decade of the breakup between artists and establishment. "Make Me" has a clear return to roots feel, similar to Pat Benatar's overlooked 1997 sapphire Innamorata. Nancy shows she doesn't need studio technology to kill it on lead guitar, and nobody is going to keep Ann's powerhouse voice down.
6 I Want Your World to Turn -Brigade (1990)
Ann Wilson may very well have the greatest female hard rock voice in music history; I'd certainly support her claim of the title. But little attention has been given to Nancy as a singer. She really could have made it as a solo artist. I've listened to this song since the album came out and I've only just found out that it was Nancy singing lead, not Ann. This is another 'dirty' love song that Heart is so virtuoso at performing. Here we have a woman in love with someone who is openly non-monogamous. She doesn't seem to have a problem with it conceptually, but she's developing a sense of possessiveness. It's a fresh set up, and Nancy's voice is awesome.
7 Wild Child -Brigade (1990)
You can't go into Rock and Roll if you only like nice songs. At its core, rock is about the dark side of passion, but once in a while you get a song like "Wild Child" which feels like it has all of the grit and ash of typical rock, but is actually a purely happy song. Sexually happy, yes, but we're in a place devoid of pain (temporarily anyway). This is just pure, wild, unbridled fun; an inner child released into an adult carnival.
Side B:
1 Dog & Butterfly -Dog & Butterfly (1978)
I take an interest in the order that songs appear on an album, and this beautiful folk song is the perfect way to begin side two (a la "Here Comes the Sun"). I've loved this song since I was a teenager, (even if I had difficulty convincing my peers of its merit) and I still want it performed at my memorial service [There, mom. I finally wrote it down. Happy?]. This is what this song is about. You have a dog and a butterfly (duh). The butterfly can fly, and the dog can't. But the dog forgets this because it's playing so intensely with the butterfly. And when it winds up on its back on the ground, the dog laughs at its own foolishness. And it does it again and again, because the experience of failing at flying is so delightful on its own. Then you wrap that chorus in a few verses of someone experiencing defeat and finding the strength to get back up in this image. It always brings me tears. All the more reason I shouldn't be working on this blog in a public place.
2 If Looks Could Kill -Heart (1985)
The concept of this song is pretty basic, confronting someone who has betrayed you. The execution on the other hand is awesome. It has a fast tempo and a driving guitar riff, making it the most dangerous Heart song to drive in rush hour traffic to. Sadly, that's all I have to say about it. But take my finite word, it's a great song.
3 Mistral Wind (live)/Hit Single/Strange Euphoria -Greatest Hits/Live (1980)
Kind of a cheat here, but this has always felt to me like one very long surreal track. "Mistral Wind" kicks us off with a sailing in uncharted waters metaphor. The seven minute piece has an ethereal sound to it, conveying the emotions of someone who feels touched by something 'out there'. Ann's passion (particularly in the live version) comes across as almost agonizing that she can't experience this force all the time. But as the melody fades into a simple music box measure, we move into "Hit Single"; a dreamlike arrangement of outtakes from studio recording sessions. This bizarre tension builds, and then an abrupt silence. And from out of the dark comes...I'm not even sure what this is, but I really wouldn't mind it going on for twice as long. The aptly named "Strange Euphoria" just paints a picture of what a world devoid of ego would sound like. I really can't tell you what happens on this three track journey, but it's something quite special.
4 I Love You -Brigade (1990)
There are so many wonderful Heart songs that I know I'm doing a disservice to by not including them ("Crazy On You", "Heartless", and "Tall, Dark, Handsome Stranger" to name a few), and I very nearly overlooked this one. But then I remembered what it was about. Unlike "Magic Man" or "If Looks Could Kill" where there's a clear 'victim' in the narrative, "I Love You" is about a couple who truly love each other but have also had a fight so huge that they may have irreparably damaged the relationship. This is Ann Wilson of the early nineties, singing from the voice of adult maturity. And while she's not having the adolescent meltdown of "Without You" you can sense the subtext may be coming from the most broken place in any of the songs. The fact that the question of reconciliation remains unanswered makes this song all the more grueling.
5 I've Got the Music in Me (live) -Magazine (1977)
It's kind of a pity that I have to end things on one of the songs the sisters didn't write, but there really is no other song that captures the essence of 'this is what Heart is'. It's another fantastic live song, and when you place it after several of the more painful numbers, it feels like a rebirth. As I said at the beginning, Ann and Nancy's collective claim of having the music in them is more than just a pretty chorus. It's an anthem. Rock and roll is this whole ambiguous world. Thank God for our heroes, or in this case heroines, who can enter that wild realm and bring some of that magic back out for the rest of us.
See you on September 20th!
They're touring with Joan Jett and Cheap Trick, and I was amazed to find that the tickets weren't priced in the hundred dollar range. This collection of performers isn't just amazing, it's a slice of rock and roll history.
It's with a certain amount of shame that I direct attention away from Jett and (um) Trick to focus on the Wilson sisters, but their music has had the greatest impact on me, and their story is one that I find powerful.
Before Anna and Elsa, there was Ann Wilson and her little sister Nancy. As the daughters of a U.S. Marine, the family would have to move around frequently, and the girls turned to music for a sense of consistency. There are some artists who clearly love music, and then there are those who embody it. And there's just something about the Wilson sisters where you can feel the emotions poured into their work. There's a pain laced through every album, from failed relationships to on stage panic attacks, but there's also the unyielding hope that refuses to be snuffed out.
You're undoubtedly familiar with their power ballads from the mid to late eighties (Alone, Never, These Dreams and What About Love), and they were all really good songs. But when you compare them to some of their lesser known or in-danger-of-being-forgotten gems, I think you'll find they may not be the absolute best compositions.
So as a bit of a love letter to the Wilsons, I've put together what I consider, in my superficially humble opinion, to be the ultimate album showcasing Heart's soul. On vinyl, because it sounds better.
A Dozen Roses
Side A:
1 Bebe le Strange (live) -Greatest Hits/Live (1980)
The album version of this song is good enough, but when you hear them perform it live it adds a whole new layer of energy. And that's one thing worth mentioning right out of the gate: Heart can play live! And they play the hell out of this song. The lyrics are about a female rock star receiving a fan letter from someone who has been captivated by her. Interestingly, it has nothing to do with the way she looks, but the way she handles her guitar. It's possible this song is based on the fan mail the sisters were receiving themselves, but I prefer to think of it as a fictional account of what drove them into the industry in the first place.
2 Magic Man -Dreamboat Annie (1975)
This is THE definitive Heart song, and the first one you hear if you listen to the albums in order. A woman is being seduced by a man, even against her conscious better judgment. She's doomed and she knows it, but she's addicted. It's all the more poignant by the omission of any details about this man other than his eye color. The guitar is exciting and haunting at the same time. There's more of an emotional arc in this five minute track than Stephanie Meyer's entire body of work.
3 Without You -Magazine (1977)
I hate this song. "Wait, what?" you cry, "Then why do you have it on the album?" First off, there's no need to cry, it's just a blog. Second, I'm talking about the actual Badfinger song written by Pete Ham and Tom Evans, and everyone from Harry Nilsson to freaking Mariah Carey seems to think it's some sort of romantic love ballad. It's not. Whether Ham and Evans realized it during the writing (no joke here: both committed suicide), this is the epitome of an unhealthy one-sided relationship. Ann Wilson is the only singer I've ever heard who sounds like she's singing it from this approach. As far as I'm concerned, that makes this the only version of this song.
4 Barracuda -Little Queen (1977)
Oh boy. The origin of this song is just painful. A Detroit radio promoter flippantly (and sincerely) asked Ann about her lover, referring to her sister Nancy. Ann was outraged, and went back to the hotel room, pouring everything she was feeling into writing this song. Then Nancy heard what had happened and channeled her fury into the melody and bridge. The result was one of the all time great Heart songs, and probably the sister as their most vulnerable.
5 Make Me -Jupiter's Darling (2004)
I literally discovered this song a few days ago. Post-eighties Heart is where the entity of the band really is defined as the Wilson sisters (being the only consistent force since the inception). The eighties was a productive time where musicians and studios had a solid working relationship. The nineties was the decade of the breakup between artists and establishment. "Make Me" has a clear return to roots feel, similar to Pat Benatar's overlooked 1997 sapphire Innamorata. Nancy shows she doesn't need studio technology to kill it on lead guitar, and nobody is going to keep Ann's powerhouse voice down.
6 I Want Your World to Turn -Brigade (1990)
Ann Wilson may very well have the greatest female hard rock voice in music history; I'd certainly support her claim of the title. But little attention has been given to Nancy as a singer. She really could have made it as a solo artist. I've listened to this song since the album came out and I've only just found out that it was Nancy singing lead, not Ann. This is another 'dirty' love song that Heart is so virtuoso at performing. Here we have a woman in love with someone who is openly non-monogamous. She doesn't seem to have a problem with it conceptually, but she's developing a sense of possessiveness. It's a fresh set up, and Nancy's voice is awesome.
7 Wild Child -Brigade (1990)
You can't go into Rock and Roll if you only like nice songs. At its core, rock is about the dark side of passion, but once in a while you get a song like "Wild Child" which feels like it has all of the grit and ash of typical rock, but is actually a purely happy song. Sexually happy, yes, but we're in a place devoid of pain (temporarily anyway). This is just pure, wild, unbridled fun; an inner child released into an adult carnival.
Side B:
1 Dog & Butterfly -Dog & Butterfly (1978)
I take an interest in the order that songs appear on an album, and this beautiful folk song is the perfect way to begin side two (a la "Here Comes the Sun"). I've loved this song since I was a teenager, (even if I had difficulty convincing my peers of its merit) and I still want it performed at my memorial service [There, mom. I finally wrote it down. Happy?]. This is what this song is about. You have a dog and a butterfly (duh). The butterfly can fly, and the dog can't. But the dog forgets this because it's playing so intensely with the butterfly. And when it winds up on its back on the ground, the dog laughs at its own foolishness. And it does it again and again, because the experience of failing at flying is so delightful on its own. Then you wrap that chorus in a few verses of someone experiencing defeat and finding the strength to get back up in this image. It always brings me tears. All the more reason I shouldn't be working on this blog in a public place.
2 If Looks Could Kill -Heart (1985)
The concept of this song is pretty basic, confronting someone who has betrayed you. The execution on the other hand is awesome. It has a fast tempo and a driving guitar riff, making it the most dangerous Heart song to drive in rush hour traffic to. Sadly, that's all I have to say about it. But take my finite word, it's a great song.
3 Mistral Wind (live)/Hit Single/Strange Euphoria -Greatest Hits/Live (1980)
Kind of a cheat here, but this has always felt to me like one very long surreal track. "Mistral Wind" kicks us off with a sailing in uncharted waters metaphor. The seven minute piece has an ethereal sound to it, conveying the emotions of someone who feels touched by something 'out there'. Ann's passion (particularly in the live version) comes across as almost agonizing that she can't experience this force all the time. But as the melody fades into a simple music box measure, we move into "Hit Single"; a dreamlike arrangement of outtakes from studio recording sessions. This bizarre tension builds, and then an abrupt silence. And from out of the dark comes...I'm not even sure what this is, but I really wouldn't mind it going on for twice as long. The aptly named "Strange Euphoria" just paints a picture of what a world devoid of ego would sound like. I really can't tell you what happens on this three track journey, but it's something quite special.
4 I Love You -Brigade (1990)
There are so many wonderful Heart songs that I know I'm doing a disservice to by not including them ("Crazy On You", "Heartless", and "Tall, Dark, Handsome Stranger" to name a few), and I very nearly overlooked this one. But then I remembered what it was about. Unlike "Magic Man" or "If Looks Could Kill" where there's a clear 'victim' in the narrative, "I Love You" is about a couple who truly love each other but have also had a fight so huge that they may have irreparably damaged the relationship. This is Ann Wilson of the early nineties, singing from the voice of adult maturity. And while she's not having the adolescent meltdown of "Without You" you can sense the subtext may be coming from the most broken place in any of the songs. The fact that the question of reconciliation remains unanswered makes this song all the more grueling.
5 I've Got the Music in Me (live) -Magazine (1977)
It's kind of a pity that I have to end things on one of the songs the sisters didn't write, but there really is no other song that captures the essence of 'this is what Heart is'. It's another fantastic live song, and when you place it after several of the more painful numbers, it feels like a rebirth. As I said at the beginning, Ann and Nancy's collective claim of having the music in them is more than just a pretty chorus. It's an anthem. Rock and roll is this whole ambiguous world. Thank God for our heroes, or in this case heroines, who can enter that wild realm and bring some of that magic back out for the rest of us.
See you on September 20th!
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