She Took Him To The Lake

Do you remember the story of a boy and his first date? She took him to the lake and he fell in love - She Took Him To The Lake, Alkaline Trio

The first night they went down to the lake the moon had been full. It glowed with a dull yellow shine casting shimmering gloom across the water. The water reflected the faces of the children as they stood on the shore, hand in hand. Julie was eleven years old. She wore a yellow polka dot skirt and a red cardigan over a white t shirt. Her complexion was soft, and with every anxious movement of Tom’s hand, she smiled a little.

Tom stood next to her. He was not familiar with the etiquette on such dates though he thought Julie might be. It was rumoured around the school that Julie had already kissed a boy in the year above. Tom tried hard to shake these thoughts from his mind for they prompted a tremendous discomfort in his stomach. He had come close to kissing Jessica Albrin once but there were logistic issues neither of them seemed to be able to overcome. Tonight though, it would be different.

Julie was as beautiful as a girl could be. Long blonde hair that flowed to her shoulder blades, still, blue eyes and the prettiest, sweetest face you would ever see. Tom’s friends assumed she had gone out with him for a dare but Tom thought he knew better. There was a definite spark. As Tom drew shapes in the pebbles with his foot, Julie spoke of the summer she spent picking apples with her grandfather from the family’s orchard.

“You’re too pretty to be picking apples.”

Tom blushed more than she did.

That night Tom had commented on how funny it was when he dropped a pebble into the lake they could still see their reflection, only it looked as if they were melting. When order was restored in the water, Tom would chuckle out loud and Julie smiled inwardly. The moon still shone. The light followed the couple as they walked back up the bank to their beds. The shimmer of the water remained after Tom and Julie had left, only without the reflection of their young faces the lake was much darker.

The two children continued to visit the lake each night throughout the summer. When the nights grew longer and the wind howled through the trees, Julie told Tom it was better they did not go back until the next summer, when the evening was cooler and the flowers bloomed once again.

They returned to the lake only a few times after the first summer, where they would spend long nights under the stars together, staring uncomfortably into each others eyes while Julie held Tom in her arms.

Their love was the talk of the town – ‘the sweetest thing’, ‘first love’. Playground romance had blossomed against all expectations.

One day at the end of summer, years after they met, as the leaves began to turn and drop from their trees, as the days grew shorter, as desire grew damper, Julie turned up at Tom’s house unannounced. She stood on the steps up to the porch for five minutes, waiting, looking for an excuse to turn back. She faced the door at first, but to postpone her task she turned a full circle admiring the paraphernalia that lay around the garden. To the right of the path a tree stole much of the garden’s space. Julie had never been sure of what kind of tree it was but it was beautifully majestic. It seemed to rise for miles and blocked out Tom’s house from the view of her bedroom window. The trunk had both their names carved into it.

It must have been six or seven years ago Tom tried to etch their love into the tough bark. For Tom, this was to serve as the ultimate gesture of his commitment. It was naïve. Tom’s knife failed and Julie reluctantly ran home to fetch her father’s hunting knife before any progress could be made.

To the left of the path lay an open space of grass, home to a rusted bike, a broken hose and various footballs and tennis balls that were now settled firmly into the ground; the grass grew around them, entombing them. At least once a year as spring beckoned, Julie thought, Tom would “get all memorable”, as he called it, and wish to fix up the bike, pry out the balls and relive “those days”. Julie would laugh it off, pretending she thought he was joking when really she knew there was nothing more he wanted to do. She looked around the neighbour’s houses noting the families that had come and gone. It seemed only Mrs. Rayes remained. She used to watch the two of them go to the lake in the evening, and be sure to say Goodnight to them a few hours later, making sure they returned home safe. But now she was ill. Her husband passed away and she was confined to the house. Julie had not seen her smile in months.

Tom’s mother saw Julie standing on the porch and shouted to Tom. Julie was not ready for him yet and only managed to grimace weakly at him when he greeted her. Her eyes shone with the emptiness Tom had always feared.

“You ok?”

It was easier than Julie expected. The excitement of young love was replaced with a love of convenience. Where soulmates once stood, there was now superficial, strained emotion and naïve expectation. She did not tell him this. It would have destroyed him. She told him, and this was the truth, her grandfather had fallen ill and she had to go look after her grandmother and the farm. This was her chance to make a fresh start, to gain experience in life and work, and love.

He turned white as if all the life had been sucked out of him and all that remained was a bloodied frame. The wound ran deep. It had been quick and purposefully executed. The girl remained on the porch, still, holding the cut, stopping the blood from pouring out. The boy explored death. “We can make this work”. She twisted the knife. The blood began to seep. From the corner of his eye at first, then from his mouth, and finally from his heart.

She did not expect to go this far, but after this there was no coming back. She had to end this with no hope of revival. The boy fell to the ground. After she did all she could, she left. Down the path, the tree to the left of her burst into flames and branches fell around her. To the right, the bike burnt through the ground leaving a hole in the grass into which you could see the depths of hell. As she reached the bottom of the path, the girl turned back for her parting shot. There was no use. He was there, but there was nothing left.

****

This was one the first short stories I ever wrote. I loved the imagery created by Alkaline Trio’s track and couldn’t resist using the song’s story as a basis for a piece.

Booze Books: My drunken writing experiment

“WhyIoughtta wiipe zat smile offa yeur face, yer smarrrmy lill weaaazzl,” he slurred, lurching forward, empty Advocat bottle in hand.

This fictional man is fictionally drunk in a fictional price of writing. I intend to turn this scenario on its head.

Inspired by the work of MyHarto in her Youtube series, My Drunk Kitchen, where she gets boozed then tries to cook, I am going to get sloshed/sozzled/binned/battered/muntered and try to write.

LET’S GET GEOFF HOONED.

Gone are the days where journalists could get Geoff Hooned at lunch and return to the newsroom to finish the splash half-cut, so my experience of drunken writing is minimal. In fact, I actively try to avoid it. If I’ve had anything more than two pints, writing tends to be off the cards for I know it will end up aimless drivel (unlike most of my work, which is bang-on-the-money brilliant, yeh). So, this could be interesting.

This Saturday I have a few plans in the pipeline. Y’know, socially. And will have a few bevvies, like. After these bevvies, I will return to my flat in the dead of night and begin to write. Exactly how, who knows? Exactly what, I’m not sure. I’m not setting myself any guidelines or boundaries and will only consider the content when I plonk myself on my bedroom floor, laptop on knee, salt beef bagel in hand, and begin to write. Or pass out.

Anecdotally, musicians/artists/masseuses find their true creative soul under the influence of drink/drugs so maybe this drunk writing could be the key to success. Maybe. Just maybe. This will be my moment. My big break. I will find myself. I will become one with my writing. It will be like a big, literary, slightly squiffy, sexgasm.

Or. More than likely. It will be a misguided fumble in the dark with the ever-present risk of hurling.

WATCH THIS SPACE. Bleurgh.

 

Some of the albums I like that were released at some point over the 365 days of 2012

In our never-ending quest to categorise everything into genres, labels and pigeonholes, the end-of-the-year list is a powerful vehicle. It sorts the wheat from the chaff from a 365-day harvest – all that is picked up by the wind and carried away is left to the annals of time, all that falls to the floor will be later sorted into an end-of-the-decade list, then later into an end-of-the-century list and so on until the apocalypse greets us and we are left pondering a very small list of which of the four horsemen released the best post-electronica concept album. And with that in mind, here I add to the inane ramblings of many a list picker vying for a percentage split of the list-hungry wheat sorters. Or something. Before this list/wheat metaphor runs for thousands of words, accidentally turning into some sort of listless Crime and Punishment, I present to you some music records of this present year – 2012 – which I thought were quite good and stuff. They pleased my ears, let them please yours.

Tall Ships – Everything Touching

Tall Ships’ debut album seemed to be coming for years. And once it finally arrived, it did not disappoint. Full of infectious instrumentals, catchy hooks and snips of soft, indie vocals, Everything Touching is where guitar music should be, but never bothered to go. Inventive yet traditional, I want to call it post-indie but I’m worried somebody will find me and punch me if I do.

Twilight Sad – No One Can Ever Know

It’s dark, brooding and menacing. The Twilight Sad, who apparently fall into the shoegazer genre, have refined their sound from a wall of kick-you-in-the-face noise to a simpler construction with a much more electronic foundation.

Bad Books – II

I’m getting bored of my own list – never a good sign – so read what I wrote about this Manchester Orchestra/Kevin Devine hybrid here.

Plan B – Ill Manors

Aggressive, vitriolic and politicised. Plan B’s Ill Manors, released to accompany his film of the same name, is a zeitgeist collection of distrust and disgust. I never thought it would be my cup of tea but it’s hard not to be sucked in by the underworld Ben Drew creates with his tales of drugs, sex and death in “Broken Britain”. It’s by no means the slickest album – but if it was, it wouldn’t work half as well as it does as a modern-day protest album.

The xx – Coexist

It was almost written to feature on end-of-year lists. Simple, shy and ever-so sexy, Coexist is even more stripped back than the xx’s debut album, yet twice as alluring. Coexist sees Jamie Smith’s influence on the production increase with more of the sort of two-step percussion he’s fond of and the subtle anti drops that litter his remix work, whereas the vocals and simple reverb riffs remain the same. Perhaps the trio have done all they can with their sound and using Smith’s production values is a sort of get out of jail free card – but Coexist still makes for a brilliant album.

Right Away, Great Captain! – The Church of the Good Thief

The beautiful conclusion to Andy Hull’s side project – a trilogy charting the pain and anguish of a man who found his brother in bed with his wife, ran (swam. In a boat.) to sea, then returned and murdered his brother. Yikes. The Church of the Good Thief is songwriting at its best.

mewithoutYou – Ten Stories

I wrote a review of this on my own blog here so enjoy. It’s a cracking concept album centered on the derailing of a circus train and the subsequent adventures of its animals, including a bear and a fox who become friends, so much so that the bear throws himself of a cliff so that the fox might have something to eat. *sobs*

And some more…

The Unwinding Hours – Afterlives

Scottish music rocks.

Alt-J – An Awesome Wave

I don’t really think I could say anything new about this record. But suffice to say, I enjoy it.

Deftones – Koi No Yokan

Deftones are one of a dying breed: bands founded in the alternative rock and heavy metal heyday who have retained their identity and managed to consistently put out solid music without abandoning the sound which made them. Immerse yourself.

Ben Howard – Every Kingdom

Brilliantly boring. Or boringly brilliant. Either way, it’s brilliant. And a little bit boring.

Biffy Clyro at iTunes Festival: Needs more discovery and invention

The Roundhouse shakes while 4,000 people inside shiver with goosebumps when Biffy Clyro are at their best at the iTunes Festival. In between these peaks of rock supremacy is the occasional moment of boredom and mediocrity. It’s no secret the Scottish rockers, as their pseudonym has become, abandoned the sound that made them great two albums ago, but that’s not to say they don’t still make great songs.

Openers Frightened Rabbit do a respectable job warming up the crowd with a perfect representation of Scottish indie rock in its prime but they’re not the band the masses are here to see. Biffy arrive on stage to a bizarre soundtrack of Simon and Garfunkel before launching into a strobe-lit intro.

There are more bland ballads now than ballistic aural assaults, but tracks like The Captain and That Golden Rule still produce some of the best reactions of the night. Bubbles, complete with an impressive bubble machine, is one of the most best-executed pieces of live music this reviewer has ever seen. On top of the two additional live musicians, the bare-chested Biffy trio command a huge stage presence. Their energy is barely rivalled and their technical ability remarkable. They are widely regarded as one of the best live bands about – and with good reason.

But at the Roundhouse on Saturday, they try out too many new songs. So much so that even the faithful ‘Mon the Biff crowd lose interest. Songs such as Folding Stars and Many of Horror, so far removed from the frantic brilliance of their first three albums, rouse the crowd – but for the wrong reasons. Everyone loves a good sing-along. But people also like singing along to Wonderwall at 4am stumbling home from the city centre. Objectively, these songs do a gig no favours.

Strung To Your Ribcage and 27 were the only pre-Puzzle tracks on display, and herein lies the greatest weakness of the show. Biffy Clyro have a rich and varied back catalogue which could lay waste to any venue in 90 minutes, and though they perfectly demonstrate this strength with choice cuts, overall they disappoint by allowing weaker songs into their set. Any music fan should see Biffy before death, but do it quickly because album by album, the quality of an ever-diluted setlist is slowly waning.

Three years since Daisy: Why we’re prepared to wait for Brand New

Today a grim anniversary passes. It’s unlikely there will be many ceremonies, no minute of silence, no flags at half mast. There may be some tears, a hand held tight by a loved one, a melancholy head held in trembling hands – but these will be behind closed doors. Even those who do mark the day, uttering a quiet prayer to the heavens, will not wallow. They will pause, then move on.

September 22 marks three years to the day Brand New released their last album, Daisy. Scoff at my calender crossing if you like but worse bands have gone shorter periods of time without new material and had to suffer baying fans whining for more. And Brand New aren’t just any Tom, Dick or Harry, they’re the alternative music’s Lady Gaga. They too seemed to have developed a die-hard group of followers, a mature, music-savvy, discerning band of Monsters. Or Beliebers? No.

Brand New’s fans are not just people who like their music, but a cult. A flippin’ cult. Sort of. A cult that talks in lyrics and cuts its hair in time with Jesse. And these members of the cult have had three years of radio silence as far as tracklistings, artwork or studio time goes. But, while they might shed a tear or have a little sing-along to Bought A Bride, they would not dream of forcing Brand New’s hand prematurely.

This is not because they do not want more. God no, they want more. It’s because these fans (myself included, so, really it’s we)… It’s because WE are respectful enough of Jesse (Lacey, that is) and co and understand how delicate and intricate their musical progression has been from debut Your Favourite Weapon in 2001 to the present day that we would not dare ask for more than they have given us already. We are so smitten and feel so lucky to have been given a single album, a single song, a single note, of theirs that anything else is an invaluable bonus. Had Jesse (we are as close as we sound, sort of) decided to end YFW after seven minutes, we would have solemnly accepted his decision without protest.

But, with love comes fear. After 2006′s The Devil and God are Raging Inside Me, an operatic tour de force, we were anxious for Daisy. Now, after Daisy, we’re cautious. We, the fans and the band, are at a crossroad. All thousands and millions of us are huddled together at this junction of musical life waiting with baited breath for someone in the band to pipe up and say, “I think it’s this way.” We will move as one.

The passion of Brand New fans might look bizarre and pathetic, and silly, and a little over the top, to outsiders, but it is warranted. Though the Long Island band’s incredible musical progression is widely recognised – from basement punk rock to introspective geniuscore – and emotional attachment to lyrics and themes is not unusual in such a genre, it is Jesse’s sincerity and authenticity in anything the band puts its mind to which has kept fans enthralled. I could reel off the clichés about pouring his heart and soul into the music and all that jazz, but it’s true. When the Devil and God demos leaked, Jesse and the band were so upset they scrapped eight of ten of the tracks and started afresh. Little sneaky extra album there for us. Shhh.

This might sound like the transcript of a drunken 4am monologue, so let’s try and conclude. When Brand New decide their route, we will follow. But until Brand New have picked up the pieces left strewn across the musical landscape by the self destruction of Daisy, we can have little clue what direction it will be. So ferocious was Daisy, so unsure of footing, so raw and scared, it is impossible to say what the next step in this musical journey will be. It is this uncertainty, which makes us willing to wait.

In Daisy’s title track, Jesse sings “if the sky opened up and started pouring rain, like He knew it was time to start things over again”. Daisy was a biblical flood, drowning everything that came before. The band have now been rinsed clean. And though it has taken time, and it will take more, I, we, Brand New’s Monsters, are confident their next step will be devastatingly brilliant.

Grey

 

She walked slowly along the pavement, admiring the apathetic grey of the concrete slabs while imagining their cracks opening wide and swallowing her up. She would not reach out a hand to hold onto the earth, she would cross her arms over her chest and close her eyes. As she contemplated this fantasy disappearance she crossed the bridge over the river on autopilot. The river ran parallel to the railway line but they were not bridged by a single crossing. There was an unnecessary stretch of flat, grounded path lined with hostile brambles in-between.

Alice stopped in the middle of this flat and looked back. The river bridge was much prettier than the railway bridge but the shimmering aesthetics of the river would not serve any purpose. She put her head to the sky and breathed in deep. The grey sky held the same cracks as the pavement but hundreds of times the size. Alice smiled. She started on the path towards the peak of the bridge, a man in a new, dark raincoat brushed passed her as she swayed her steps. Alice stared at the floor. The man must have thought her insane, depressed or on drugs. Alice looked back at the man but he was already over the river bridge and had already forgotten about her.

Alice thought the slow rumble she could hear was the sky groaning, inhaling, exhaling. But it grew louder and more distinct. It was not the sky but a train. Alice shook her head to attention and quickened her pace up the path. By the time she had reached where the keystone stood solid beneath her feet the train was in sight. Alice freed her hands from her pockets and gripped the railings tight. She tried to look nonchalant, staring into the distance. Truth is she did a very good job of projecting this characteristic as this was very close to how she actually felt. She stared at the train approaching as a tired commuter might heading home from the city. But then, when it was a few hundred metres from her, she placed her right foot on the hold she had already noted in preparation and lifted herself up. She placed her left higher up. At this point she was closer to falling off the bridge than she was the safety of the floor. She did not know whether the driver had seen her, would see her. She steadied her right foot on an ornamental, iron curl and tensed herself. She looked towards the sky again but it had not changed. The train stayed its course with a determined monotony. One, two, three, the train was close now. Very close. Alice gripped the top of the railings with both hands and, with one succinct movement, freed her left foot and leapt with her right. Her coat did not catch the air as she fell. It looked like she was already dead, mid air, hurtling towards the ground. The train did not blink as it hit her. Alice had timed her jump perfectly. She was killed instantly and knew not whether the train stopped or just kept on going.

Run on, Rabbit, Run! mewithoutYou master a circus concept

I reckon it’s generally accepted concept albums are a dangerous venture. The story needs to be one which can be reasonably told by a set of 11-or-so tracks, then the execution needs to be perfect. The concept itself needs to be ever-so-slightly hidden from view so as not to be crude but present enough to be worth doing in the first place. It is by no means easy or even necessary.

As far as storytelling goes, mewithoutYou have nailed it several times in individual songs  - their allusions to bible tales and the goings on of various animals seem to be their favourite topics – but this is this is the first time they’ve tried it throughout an album. And they’ve only gone and bloody done it.

Critics of the Pennsylvanian five-piece will point to their last album, It’s All Crazy, It’s All False, It’s All A Dream, It’s Alright, as the moment the band relinquished their rage-filled, raw, damn-near apocalyptic, semi-religious spoken word. Post-hardcore to some. Furious volume to others. To some degree, those critics are right. Only occasionally in their last album can the distain and anger of A–B Life be heard – and I think it’s mainly when Aaron Weiss is singing about tomatoes – and the music certainly mellowed too. In their new offering, Ten Stories, the musical direction is midway between It’s All Crazy and Brother, Sister - in my view, the best place it can be. The guitars return much closer to the punchy riffs kicked along by purposeful drums than the etherial and arguably quirky melodies of before. More importantly, the anger and urgency has returned. It has returned to the structure of a beautiful tale of a circus train crash.

Ten Stories follows the tales (no pun…) of various animals – a rabbit, a fox, a bear, an elephant and some others – as they escape the flaming wreckage of this circus train crashed on a cold night in February, 1878. Weiss’s ability to paint such a vivid picture is incredible. Right from the off (‘February, 1878′), we hear the rabbit’s panting sprint from the nets of the policeman, the tiger’s hesitance and the elephant’s concerns over his age and physical strength to get away. Throughout, Weiss switches from his tuneful drawl to the spitting shouts which gave mewithoutYou their unique sound several albums ago.

Even on the first listen the characterisation of the animals can be picked up. The elephant, who charges the animal car to release them immediately after the crash, is then too old to escape and is caught. Come track five, ‘Elephant in the Dock’, the jurors in a courthouse call for him to be hung. These are stories you wouldn’t find in many albums. Arguably, they would not work in many other albums, but herein lies Weiss’s and the rest of the band’s ability to construct such a believable, tangible piece of storytelling. Like an over-emotive film  trailer, the tone of music provides the perfect backdrop to the vocals – whether cracking with fear or inaudible with power. The intricate imagery of the lyrics is translated almost faultlessly through each song.

The combination of the artwork, the stories, a return to the more forceful music and an increase in urgency in the vocals combines to make Ten Stories mewithoutYou’s most accomplished and well-rounded album. I’ve only had the cd a few days but already am picking out different notes of brilliance unheard on first listen and I am sure this novel will eventually go down as one of my favourite works.