Raise your voice it swells, find your meaning then.
Some albums define your own life like your parents, your friends or your own decisions. Some albums make up for lost friends, lost loved ones and heartbreak. Some albums make the sweetest moments in life that little bit better. And then there’s some albums that are always there, no matter if times are good or bad. I know that everyone no matter if he obsesses about music, or is just a casual top 20 listener will have that one song, or, in this case, that one defining album.
I guess it was sometime in 2005. I started a part-time job next to school to have a little money to spend on my Vespa, on going out and on records. There was this little record shop I used a 15 minute drive away from where I grew up. The good thing was, it was located just around the corner from the supermarket I worked in. So when I had a full day shift on saturdays I’d spent most of my lunch breaks browsing through the few racks of vinyl. I had heard of the shop before, but it was a little off the haigh-street. So one day, I went looking for it and found this little shop. It was called “Indiepunk Records“. The small square room had the vinyl stacked on the left hand side. Opposite the entrance was the CD rack and on the right side of the room you could browse through the 7” section. Then there was a little cubicle in which the owner would sit behind an old windows computer smoking hand rolled cigarettes. Yes, you could indeed smoke in the shop back then (I haven’t been there in a couple of years, so I’m not sure if you still can). Continue reading Favorite Albums: Hot Water Music – Fuel for the Hate Game→
Sometimes it’s amazing how life turns out. You can be the luckiest person for one day and the next, you find yourself in an aweful mess. But while we all have our personal ups & downs we tend to forget the broader questions and challanges life poses upon us. This might go a little far and philosophical for some of you, but it seems to be a reocurring topic I’ve been discussing with one of my friends over the last few years: What the hell are we doing? Continue reading Front Page – Who we are and where we want to be→
But it was only in my head
because no one ever says
what they really mean to say
when there’s so much at stake
I’ve spent a lot of time recently to listen to David Bazan and his old band Pedro the Lion. Maybe it was the winter in Berlin, or the autumn that started it all. But rainy days and long nights call for suitable music. Some might say Placebo would be the right choice. I agree, if you are some kind of suicidal psychopath who wants to kill off every remaining ray of light within oneself.
Between 1995 and 2005 Bazan released 5 albums under his moniker Pedro the Lion. And in all honesty, I find it very hard to pin down my personal favorite – though “Control” might just edge it because of the distorted guitar sounds. The lyrics send shivers down my spine. Combining his gritty voice, the beforementioned guitar sound and the direct drums, this is as fantastic a record, as I can imagine. “Options” is a wonderful song about how hard it is to tell the truth in a relationship, “Penetration” a clever lyrical criticism of capitalist culture. Bazan manages to transport everything he wants to say without saying too much, without overcomplicating things and without forgetting the song!
She stepped outside into the morning air
To watch the cars go by and let the sun dry her hair
It’s cold outside. Winter has returned after misleading us into believing it had just been here for a short stint. Apparently it just took a little detour round the corner, like a hurricane, keeping all quiet in the midst of it before letting all hell loose again. I am living in the middle of the biggest city in Germany and one would guess that snow is not a common good given all the global warming etc. Ha, how foolish a mistake to believe.
I will always associate the kind of music Mineral play with life in the USA. Somewhere in the Mid-West, where you can’t get from one place to another without using a car. Some place with lonely wooden barns painted in red, a windmill attached, fields of grain along straight lanes of black tarmac. Cliché basically. But this is what I feel, when listening to those sounds. You can feel the summer dirt crawling up your nose, the dry earth under your palms when you sit on the brown, dried-out grass, staring at the blue sky and the few white clouds above. This music exemplifies the “other” America. The one us Europeans hardly think of, when referring to the USA. Continue reading Mineral (or how this is not the last post about this band)→