I’ve had occasion to reassess my perception of how much music really means to me lately (as in the last year or so, not the last week). When I say “means to me”, I’m being deliberately ambiguous, I’ve considered how much I actually understand in musical terms, and as a consequence; would I really be devastated if I never heard another note? If the music, quite literally, died? The answer to the latter, is, I think, “No”. At least not compared to how I’d feel if I could never read another word. I think I’ve always thought that the reason I can’t play an instrument is that I’ve never been bothered to work at learning it. Which is undobtedly true, to a certain extent. However, I now doubt if I’d actually ever be very good, even if I threw all my energy into it. I don’t think I’m “musical” enough. And how have I come to this conclusion? Well, I’ve been analysing my reaction to classical music. My favourite piece of classical music is Beethoven’s 9th, and my favourite part of that isn’t even the music, it’s Schiller’s Ode an die Freude. It’s the words and rhythm and the way the music underlines the words and rhythm I get a kick out of, not the music on it’s own. Music without words is nice, but boring. I have preferences – I like Rossini better than Mozart (even with words, as I generally don’t understand the words anyway) – but I find that my preferences, if analysed, actually have more to do with the “rhythm” of a piece than with any (other) musical merit. I like percussion, or other instruments “acting like” percussion. I’m not sure I’m explaining this very well…

Anyway, this is why “Music in my head” is normally technically “Lyric in my head”. A song needs a good tune, of course, but a good tune with a lousy lyric is a sure-fire way of annoying me. A good lyric with a lousy tune, I can tolerate. A good lyric without a tune (otherwise known as a poem), can still be “Music in my head”.

On the other hand, though I can’t sing, really (which doesn’t mean I don’t do it anyway), I can tell a false note from a clear one, within reason. Which all makes me wonder why I love the Eurovision Song Contest so much. The tunes are generally pretty lousy, the lyrics, quite frankly, suck (on the whole, letting everyone sing in English was a bad idea, it means we can actually “understand” (word used in it’s widest sense (look: parenthesis within parenthesis!), naturally) the lyrics, and that is not necessarily a good thing – mostly, it’s a major drawback, making otherwise forgettable songs so truly appaling that they haunt me months later), and half the performers can’t actually carry a tune. It’s good fun, though.

“Music” in the room: sound of a train on the local line; katchunk-katchunk-katchunk

Should I have included Douglas Adams? Probably. I still need to get it down to 5, though, so that wouldn’t really help…

Shakespeare… Well, despite Eric’s objections, you can’t not include Shakespeare, and Twelfth Night is my favourite at the moment. By rights, Shakespeare should have the five spots to himself, but I will impose a rule on myself to choose only one work per author.

Austen… Couldn’t leave her off, either. By and large, the main reason I can think of right now is that she manages to suprise me every time. Even after 20+ readings/listenings (I like audiobooks) of Pride & Prejudice, I still can’t believe how she pulls it off, and I still find new things to marvel at in terms of language, the twist of phrase… I think P&P is still top of my list, though Emma has been edging closer and is likely to overtake in the near future.

Wilde… While trying to decide whether An Ideal Husband or The Importance of Being Earnest was most deserving of the top spot, I realised that by far his best work, in my opinion, is Intentions. Which solved that problem nicely. Intentions contains profound wisdom (or possibly profound nonsense, but it comes down to the same thing, reallY) on art and life, and most of what lies in between.

Cummings… For one, he makes language sing. For two, he speaks truths. For three, he writes amazing novels, too.

And Waugh, I already explained.

So there’s my 5. Could I have 50 instead, please?

I slept 12 hours between Friday and Saturday and at least nine last night – and I’m still tired…

I’m exhausted. Why? What have I been doing? Nothing much, it seems. I’ve mostly been sitting on a couch, trying to read. However, the couch was at my grandparents’. And my grandfather is an expert at dalmilling (Dalmilling: n. continually making smalltalk to someone who is trying to read. The Meaning of Liff, Adams and Lloyd). I wouldn’t mind him interrupting my reading if he actually wanted to talk. But he either just wants to tell me a tidbit of some sort or show me a photograph, either of which I will have heard or seen before. So I look up and respond appropriately, and then he goes quiet, or disappears completely, and I think, oh, well, back to my book, and then, just as I’m getting into it, there he is again. Don’t get me wrong, I love him to bits, I just find it tiring being around him for a whole weekend.

Music in the room: Underneath Your Clothes (Shakira – yes, still playing it. Hey, that’s kinda hot, isn’t it?)

Just reread the post below, and it occurs to me that as the “mission” keeps changing, some of these posts may become rather more obscure than originally intended…

According to the UN, Norway is the best country in the world to live in. A journalist from The Independent has tried to figure out why. One thing puzzles me, though. He refers to all the rules we have in Norway, and mentiones the rule against crossing the road unless the green man is lit. As far as I’ve been told, in Britain, if there is a red light, it’s illegal to cross. However, since it’s basically legal to cross the street anywhere on foot where there isn’t a zebra crossing, if there is a red light, just walk a couple of metres to the left or right, then cross, and you won’t be breaking any rules. In Norway, on the other hand, the rule actually says that if there’s a red light, the cars have the right of way, if there are no cars, you can walk to your heart’s content.

In fact, one of my professors at Uni, who is English and has also lived in Germany, but is now married to a Norwegian, said that in his opinion, Norwegians are just as preoccupied with rules Germans (the stereotypical German, of course, being obsessed with rules). The difference, he said, is that when you arrive in Germany, the first thing everyone tells you is what the rules are. When you arrive in Norway, on the other hand, the first thing everyone tells you is what the rules are and how to get around them. Which is probably pretty accurate. We’re quite good at loopholes in this country.

Norway may be the best country in the world to live in, but the outlook for this weekend is 30ish degrees. I wish it was autumn. It’ll be here soon enough, though, I expect.

By the way, going off to see my grandparents this weekend, so once I leave work today I won’t be online again until Sunday evening. Just so you know.

Music in my head: Öpna landskap (Ulf Lundell)

The general forum at Bokprat has a challenging topic up: What are the five best books you have read, and why? The challenge, of course, is twofold. First, narrow the field down to five. Then explain why those five made it. Why is Emma better than Pride and Prejudice? Come to think of it, do I really think Emma is better than Pride and Prejudice? And isn’t both of them better than pretty much everything else I’ve ever read? Should I limit myself to one work per author (or cheat, with “Complete works of” listings)? If not, would I end up with a Jane AUsten x 5, or maybe, considering a little, Shakespeare x 5? Should I judge “best” on personal enjoyment, or on quality? What is quality, separated from personal enjoyment?

Difficult…

This is as far as I’ve got:
Jane Austen – Emma/Pride and Prejudice/Persuasion
Shakespeare – Twelfth Night
Rosemary Sutcliff – Robin Hood
Oscar Wilde – An Ideal Husband/The Importance of Being Earnest
Zora Neale Hurston – Their Eyes Were Watching God
e.e.cummings – “complete works”, or, if you like, selected poems
Evelyn Waugh – Brideshead Revisited
James Joyce – Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Dante – Divina Comedia
Chaim Potok – The Chosen

But why? Well, Waugh is easy: He entrances me every time. I close the book; I’m convinced that the Roman Catholics have it right, and I have no idea why. I mean, religion basically wrecks everyone’s life in Brideshead Revisited. And yet, he wrote it, apparently, on purpose to convert people, and somehow he’s got it right in way that most so-called “Christian Literature” hasn’t. The usual promises of God being on your side and everlasting life are completely missing, all Waugh seems to promise is tough choices and estrangement from the people you love. You wouldn’t think that was attractive, would you? An yet, I put the book down and I have to remind myself firmly that I could never accept the idea that the Pope is infallible, and that I would have serious problems with some of the other things I would be expected to believe in, and I get back to earth with a thud. It normally takes a day or two before I manage to shake the impulse, though. Besides, the story Waugh tells is lovely, of course, though “lovely” might not be quite the right word, but you know what I mean. That’s probably why it’s so effective.

The rest of them, though. Hm.

“Music” in my head: cummings poem from 1×1 starting “plato told him”

I hate it when I spend ages troubleshooting a technical problem and nothing makes any difference, and then, clutching at straws, I try something which should make no difference whatsoever, and it suddenly works. Ok, so I’m glad it works. I’d just like to know why. If I knew why, I wouldn’t be left with a feeling that it only apparently works and that it is all going to go horribly pear-shaped. Consequently, I have a headache (or it could just be I’ve stared at the stupid screen for too long).

The secret mission changes each day. It is a bit US centered, isn’t it. Though in a way, it would perhaps have more subtle anarchistic consequences here, as people might not immediately realise that I have invented the place.

So, guys, I’m thinking about moving to Lincoln City. You know, the state capital of Lincoln (LI). That tiny one on the West Coast between Washington and Oregon. Figure I could be close to the sea, and reasonably close to both Vancouver and Portland. And, of course, it’s the birthplace of my favourite author, Gillian MacDuff, who wrote “At Home in Lincoln” and “Find Your Place on the Map”.

I don’t think I want this blog to be paticularly “Hot”, really. I only added it because the Hot or Not thing might generate traffic (turning into an exhibitionist, I am). Besides, compared to some of the other sites listed, mine is hot – unless conservative politics turn you on, that is.

Music in my head: I only want to be with you (whoever, it was on the radio this morning)

Now I need to find someone who can tell me the administrator password for the test machine.

Music in my head: Don’t Call Me Baby (Madison Avenue, isn’t it?)

Street scene, everyone looking very busy, doing at least two things at a time (driving car and reading paper…), voiceover talking about saving time and “when are you going to have the time to spend all the time you’ve saved”. Zoom in on guy sitting in a cafe, drinking mineral water, looking very relaxed and like he has all the time in the world. He gets up (relaxedly) and leaves. Punchline: “Time doesn’t pass. It comes,” (clumsily translated) is supposed to sell said mineral water.

Here’s the catch: When the guy leaves the camera zooms in on the bottle left on the table. It’s more than half-full. They’ve already made a big point of this guy being intelligent enough to take time out, so the only logical conclusion is that the water tastes so horrible that he doesn’t want to finish it…

Everyone else seems to be doing it, so to jump on another bandwagon: Is my Blog HOT or NOT?

Music in my head: These Boots are made for Walking

“Well, at least I’m awake now.”

“You’ve been awake for a while, actually. The phrase you’re looking for is “feeling less shitty”.”

“Granted. So I guess the problem isn’t whether I’m awake yet or not. In fact, the problem is that I don’t want to be awake.”

(I guess you had to be there.)