Musical Musings.

I think more than anything in my life music has been a catalyst for my emotions. Not that I am unable to emote, more so that music is the lyrical lubricant for me. Whether I'm on the elliptical at the gym and motivating myself with

DJ Tocadiscos - Freak



or laying in bed and sliding towards slumber while listening to

Lentil by Sia



It's all relative as to what I relate to but in the past few weeks I have been obsessed with French music. Particularly a singer named Camille.

Her sound is often times hypnotic. Her second album Le Fil (the thread) resonates most with me. Throughout it there is a sound. A soft hum. almost like a reverberation of sound bouncing between wires and amplifiers like an eternal echo in an empty cavern. Far off and distant but always present and were you unfamiliar you would think this was unintentional...it was not. The tone is B. It is a low level drone that connects one song to the next allowing the audience to appreciate the entire album as a story of sort. This album is also note worthy because of her use of sound; her own in particular. She uses her voice as an instrument to form concussive beats and rasping flares as opposed to a drum or a snare. It is often compared to Bjorks Medulla album in this respect. She also has a live album of songs entitled Live au Trianon which is...heaven. It's almost as if you're sitting in an empty room with this woman on stage, the band hidden behind a curtain but prepared for whatever she is prepared to perform, all for you.



I've also found this melodic masterpiece called, "No Trace Of Grey" by Anja Garbarek a Norwegian singer-songwriter. Originally heard (by me) in the trailer for the movie Angel-A by luc Besson. The song is lovely in it's simplicity. Barely a short story, more a simple thought.

"I decided to stop...I decided to look up."



"What are they doing...in Heaven today?"

How amazing is it that, depending on how the song came about, it is that a simple thought could create something so incredible.

I imagine laying on my back in a vacant field, wet grass licking at my limbs like tiny tongues, outlining me like a snow angel thawed till spring. The blue sky sporadic with clouds and not a soul for miles. Deserted but not lonely. Alone but comforted by the silence of my surroundings with only the sound of my breathe and the beating of my heart to keep me company. The rhythm of solitary solace. Peace. Barely a soft breeze...a whisper of wind passing over my lips and mouth like a lovers fingertips...

...Speaking of.



Poe's Fingertips. A classic favorite from my past. Before I even knew passion for another person I knew that this song spoke to what that would mean for me. The yearning for the touch..

...the foreign touch of an unfamiliar lover. Someone you know only from afar and the tension built after weeks, months, ages of longing looks and flirtation exploding into a slow bliss of erotic exploration. Waiting with baited breathe for them to acknowledge. The conspiratorial glance that confirms their affection. The first kiss is almost like a postage stamp; saying, "I'm ready, take me away." Not too fast. Slow...passionate in their labor. Wanting to let the palm and fingers remember every curve and shape of the body. Finding the hallows often neglected; the nape of the neck, the slope of the jaw, the curve of a hip graced gently by fingertips that reach beneath elastic waist bands and praying the the promise of passion. It's like imagining a persons breathe passing over your navel like a soft kiss turning you into...

"...A Junkie"



...But maybe it's not that simple. Maybe you haven't coveted this persons touch for ages, maybe it's been minutes, less than an hour and you know that your mouth belongs on them whether it be respectively their mouth or places much more lascivious in intent. The almost paralyzing pleasure of sex with a stranger. Something in them screams for your attention. The cool coy smile they toss in your direction. Seducing you without words and breaking down your defenses into a thousand pieces until they lay at your feet. Crushed like glass into powdered fiber ready for you to inhale and turn into energy a well spring of adrenaline. Letting you glow like a soft candle beside a bed cloaked in obsidian dark. The one night stand. Pule pounding pleasure ringing in your temples and blood like a symphony of seduction.

Um...wow. That is not a road I intended to traverse. I think I'll grab my bags and hop off here.