So I’m three acts deep in the Tempest, and I am digging it. I am digging it, digging it. For the first time in a long time, I’m not feeling like some voyeuristic pervert giggling in class every time a pun is used. Apparently, the Tempest is really dirty. Well, I was, at least until Mike reassured me that it wasn’t just me.
I really thought I was losing my mind. That this influx of hormones, of interest, of, yes, I’ll admit it, of The Filthy Shakespeare which I just purchased was at fault.
I’m rather relieved that it was the bard himself.
Having decided to do the legal music thing (and listening to a bit of her on YouTube), I also ordered Amy Winehouse’s Back to Black. I had been off-put by her rep, I suppose, not having heard her until very recently.
Oh. My. God.
I may have mentioned that I’m a huge Tool freak. Van Morrison, too. Several bands with several CD’s that I’ve heard. It has not been since Throwing Copper since I have utterly and completely fallen in love with a CD on the first listen through. And by utterly, I mean every. Single. Song. Since I bought it in 1994, it’s been 14 years.
Bouncing around Eileen, saying “no no no” (quite possibly the most annoying thing I’ve done in recent history), I tried to explain why it was so absolutely, breathtakingly awesome. Angie hates “Rehab” “How can you hate “Rehab”? I asked. “This is Motown shit.”
“She’s a whiny bitch. ‘I don’t want to go to Rehab’? Oh, come on.”
That’s just it. Her pain is cracked open, but I do not ever get a sense of whinyness about it. It’s covered in a good beat, in humorous lyrics, in whatever. Her lyrics took me off guard at times: pop-y, silly, sexy-mad, and then utterly heartbreaking to come around again. It didn’t have time to be whiny.
I told Eileen that her product: the music, lyrics, everything, this product of her performance with its shifts and raw vulnerability is exactly how I want to write.
So, yeah. I’m a huge Winehouse fan now. Her soul seems to scream through her voice, and I’m so, so, so digging that kind of music.
And this wasn’t exactly what I was going to blog about this morning. Not what I was going to blog about at all, actually.
It was actually about non-attachment. Which is cute, I suppose, considering how attached I am to this CD right now.
But considering the time and the threat of death should one appear late to F-dawg’s training meetings, I’m going to hold off on that.