GENIUS FORUMS

What throws you back into the past better than a good song? Sights, smells, tastes, and touches, they can all remind me of the past, but nothing can put me into a past mind-state the way a good song does. I feel like I'm right back in my old shoes again, with the same thoughts running through my head. I find experiencing these past states of mind to be an enjoyable one.

It also reminds me very clearly of the people and friends whom I associated with most at the time. The most interesting thing is how it helps to give me a good perspective on how I've changed and grown between then and now. I get a clear picture of how my consciousness of reality and truth has risen between my past lives and the present. We truly are a different person in each passing moment.

Do you think you'll ever lose interest in music?

I like music. I never associate music with nostalgia.

I like jazz and gospel, Fifties, Sixties, Seventies, Eighties, Nineties. I like rap and I like hip hop. I appreciate muscianship. I like classics.

I do not associate music with people. I do not even associate music with the composers of music. I like Zappa's music. I am not much interested in Zappa. I like Tupac's music. I am not interested in Tupac.

Faizi

MKFaizi wrote:I never associate music with nostalgia.

I do not associate music with people.

Were you always like this? I remember music taking me back to old memories and people I used to know and making me relive those attachments again. This was one of the main reasons I'd listen to music when I was in high school or college. Nick's post reminded me of all that.

But that stopped and music became something to invigorate or entertain me. Later, it was mostly just to avoid becoming bored. I have always hated street musicians because they would manipulate my thoughts and emotions unexpectedly, like a sneak attack, not just because the music is usually terrible.

Over a week ago, I stopped listening to music to see how I handled it. It is funny in a way because I had just purchased several new CDs that I really enjoyed. So far it has been very easy for me to not play any music at home.

No, I was not always like that. Even a year ago, I was not like that. I was interested in the people who composed or created music.

I do not often listen to music. I often have no stomach for it at all. In my car, I listen to talk radio, if anything. I don't care

No, I was not always like that. Even a year ago, I was not like that. I was interested in the people who composed or created music.

I do not often listen to music. I often have no stomach for it at all. In my car, I listen to talk radio, if anything. I don't care what they are talking about. I simply prefer discussion to music.

When I listen to music, it is because I specifically desire to hear music. Usually, that is at home. Once in a while. Then, I am selective.

My son is becoming a good guitarist. I have no objection to that. He is not quite sixteen and I think the guitar gives him some time with himself that is exclusive from group adolescence. At his age, it gives him some introspection. I encourage that. It is not quite thinking but it is intense concentration on a single thing and I think that is good.

Faizi[/url]

I am less and less interested in music. I miss it.

When I really liked music it was always an ego trip about me putting myself in the place of the singer or musician, and obtaining glorification from the tribe. Occasionally when drugged up on booze or dope, it would just be about letting go and revelling in the mob emotion.

Yep.

I reckon Buster fancies himself as AC/DC or somebody. For all that I know, he might be AC/DC or somebody. He is a damn good guitarist.

The guitar is his passion. At his age, passion is a good thing. I encourage it.

But it is not a bad thing when that passion subsides as ego gratification. Buster has a huge ego. I think that is healthy for a near sixteen year old kid.

So, what do you do after the fantasy?

Faizi

Rear Naked Choke wrote:Do you think you'll ever lose interest in music?

I already have lost interest in music, but I still listen to it on occasion be it intentional or not. My attachment towards music is not nearly as strong as it once was, but I still find myself enjoying a good song regardless at times.

So, what do you do after the fantasy?

Pine, and wait for something novel to come up.

The last music I enjoyed was on TV on the weekend - Ben Harper in concert (and before that Kasey Chambers - Oz country music). I used to be a huge fan, but got bored, however this concert was pretty good - larger band and far more improvisational type material.

Old songs you remember are powerful. They remind you of who "you" were in a very visceral way. Music is extremely potent and lingering.

I still listen to music I did years ago, but I have a different perspective on it now, I see its machinations on my being. It's still the same sound, but it slides away in it's effectiveness to define behaviour.

Do you listen to any jungle?

Music is by and large the worst kind of nostalgia. It excites the emotions, not reason. Who ever recalled a song that inspired them to think?

If so, what song.


Dan Rowden

drowden wrote:Music is by and large the worst kind of nostalgia. It excites the emotions, not reason. Who ever recalled a song that inspired them to think?

If so, what song.


Dan Rowden

metronome artritis - at the drive-in:

strike this match and let loose the oven's breath
up the volume that flirts with the UHF

swipe the magnets on the audio tape
these arsons of grand arceny keep running,keep running in place
achilles tendon severed from the race

quick to the throat in this ink cartridge funeral
marble caps lock zip code affiliate
you got a run on your pharmaceuticals
you better change it before the night grows old

set the tempeature on delete
keep running,keep running in place
let's hit the nieghborhood today

you got a run on your pharmaceuticals
you better change it before the night grows old
prescriptions filled nowcut your suit and tie cuticles
you cut your fingernails way too short

what if forensics find the answers?
what if they stole my fingerprints?
where did I leave my book of matches?
we'll find you.

Linky Dink

drowden wrote:Music is by and large the worst kind of nostalgia. It excites the emotions, not reason. Who ever recalled a song that inspired them to think?

If so, what song.


Dan Rowden

pattern against user - at the drive-in:

the proposition handcuffed to the park bench
hypodermic people poking fun at the living
please lift the weight out of this
it takes the weight out of living
are we just infants that are ripe for the training
the opposition can't feel the tentacle reach suction cup the numb arms of the elderly
please lift the weight out of this
it takes the weight out of living
let these walkers trip on endless proof

pattern against user- dilated bastard waiting for nothing
circus carny guarding the gates of heaven pact stuck in limbo abduction
wormed our way through distant earth

this intuition limps with the kane of suspicion folding space in the crease of this page
it takes the weight out of this
it takes the weight out of- trickling the ticking of this grandfathers clock
the opposition can't feel the tentacle reach suction cup the numb arms of the elderly

and if this clock keeps ticking away will time be hesitated
of all the minutes that were taken away
will your watch be waiting
sand falls through time portals
these landfills- immortal and if this clock keeps beating down
let the branded time keep playing of all the minutes that were taken away
will your watch be waiting

Linky Dink

It's Alright Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)

Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The handmade blade, the child's balloon
Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too soon
There is no sense in trying.

Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fool's gold mouthpiece
The hollow horn plays wasted words
Proves to warn
That he not busy being born
Is busy dying.

Temptation's page flies out the door
You follow, find yourself at war
Watch waterfalls of pity roar
You feel to moan but unlike before
You discover
That you'd just be
One more person crying.

So don't fear if you hear
A foreign sound to your ear
It's alright, Ma, I'm only sighing.

As some warn victory, some downfall
Private reasons great or small
Can be seen in the eyes of those that call
To make all that should be killed to crawl
While others say don't hate nothing at all
Except hatred.

Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their mark
Made everything from toy guns that spark
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It's easy to see without looking too far
That not much
Is really sacred.

While preachers preach of evil fates
Teachers teach that knowledge waits
Can lead to hundred-dollar plates
Goodness hides behind its gates
But even the president of the United States
Sometimes must have
To stand naked.

An' though the rules of the road have been lodged
It's only people's games that you got to dodge
And it's alright, Ma, I can make it.

Advertising signs that con you
Into thinking you're the one
That can do what's never been done
That can win what's never been won
Meantime life outside goes on
All around you.

You lose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
Alone you stand with nobody near
When a trembling distant voice, unclear
Startles your sleeping ears to hear
That somebody thinks
They really found you.

A question in your nerves is lit
Yet you know there is no answer fit to satisfy
Insure you not to quit
To keep it in your mind and not fergit
That it is not he or she or them or it
That you belong to.

Although the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to.

For them that must obey authority
That they do not respect in any degree
Who despise their jobs, their destinies
Speak jealously of them that are free
Cultivate their flowers to be
Nothing more than something
They invest in.

While some on principles baptized
To strict party platform ties
Social clubs in drag disguise
Outsiders they can freely criticize
Tell nothing except who to idolize
And then say God bless him.

While one who sings with his tongue on fire
Gargles in the rat race choir
Bent out of shape from society's pliers
Cares not to come up any higher
But rather get you down in the hole
That he's in.

But I mean no harm nor put fault
On anyone that lives in a vault
But it's alright, Ma, if I can't please him.

Old lady judges watch people in pairs
Limited in sex, they dare
To push fake morals, insult and stare
While money doesn't talk, it swears
Obscenity, who really cares
Propaganda, all is phony.

While them that defend what they cannot see
With a killer's pride, security
It blows the minds most bitterly
For them that think death's honesty
Won't fall upon them naturally
Life sometimes
Must get lonely.

My eyes collide head-on with stuffed graveyards
False gods, I scuff
At pettiness which plays so rough
Walk upside-down inside handcuffs
Kick my legs to crash it off
Say okay, I have had enough
What else can you show me?

And if my thought-dreams could be seen
They'd probably put my head in a guillotine
But it's alright, Ma, it's life, and life only.

Yeah, Dan pretty much sums it up that there is no song out there that causes one to think in any life-altering, substantive way. Mostly, it (the thoughtful stimulus) fades away after a couple days and all is forgotten. Life then goes on its merry way ... back to the pre-set mode.


Tomas (the tank)
VietNam veteran - 1971

I think some of you are misunderstanding my post. The unique situation I'm speaking of has no emotion involved. It has nothing to do with the actual song or the words contained in it. My post is simply about the connection it provides to past mind-states of lower consciousness and how it reminds me of the things that have shaped me into what I am today.

Yes, I was going to mention Dylan as well. Also, Aphex Twin.

But that was only relevant for a certain time frame. I've moved past it. That is why music seems to lose it's appeal. Like any drug, you build a kind of tolerance. And once the endorphins have been released a few (hundred) times, the effect becomes seriously diminished.

It doesn't mean the experienced user is not capable of enjoying the newest thing. But it really must be a "new thing" because all the old patterns have been covered before, and usually better. New users don't know this, therefore we have modern alt rock.

My daughter and I heard The Who's "Won't Get Fooled Again" on the radio driving back from Portland this weekend, the full album version. She loved it and I didn't have to say a word. Guitar rock (except for maybe Radiohead and U2) has been downhill ever since.

Nick wrote:I think some of you are misunderstanding my post. The unique situation I'm speaking of has no emotion involved.

I think that's your fault since you said you enjoyed it. That sounded like you were feeling an emotion because of the music.

I find myself even less susceptible to beautiful women since I quit listening to music. Today I made eye contact with Rosario Dawson while walking down Times Square. Just a few weeks ago I'm pretty sure my heart would have started to beat faster in the same situation. Instead, I just walked past while people around me stopped to gawk.

Music is mind control. It's convenient for filling your mind with nonsense when you can't stand the emptiness anymore.

Rear Naked Choke:

Music is mind control. It's convenient for filling your mind with nonsense when you can't stand the emptiness anymore.

Subject: It's (Music)
Verb: To fill....your Mind
Predicate: with nonsense when you can't stand the emptiness.

Can you explain how events proceed from Nouns or Things?

frank

Okay, I ran it through a grammar-checker and have fixed the sentence:

"Music iz mind control. It's convenient ta fill yo' mind wiff nonsense when ya can't stand da emptiness anymo' an dat boil on mah ass."

Thanks.

There's a problem with Language.

In that 'something' is always being said about 'something'...

We think, write and speak in Language.

It is based on the Sentence, comprised of Subject, Verb and Predicate...

This implies an underlying belief that events proceed from Nouns or Things...

Philosophy teaches there are no things in the real Universe...

Yet we continue to 'break down' the Universe into 'things' to understand it, describe it....to tinker with it....

Take out this piece, add this piece, put this piece here, that piece there....disassemble the Organic Whole and 'blame' the Universe for the 'consequences'...

It's Astonishing.

I guess the first Humans that developed Language had a Sabre Tooth at the Cave entrance....and felt the need to say something about it....

Rather than saying 'It's the Tao'...

They said...'We have to kill that Noun'....or 'We are being overrun by Nouns'...

It's hilarious.

frank

I have no nostalgic attachment to music. I used to have that attachment somewhat. Music does not "take me back." For one thing, rock music has not changed much over the past fifty years. It went from Chuck Berry to Elvis to the Comets and this and that and this and that until it got to those interested in music -- the classic late Sixties crowd -- Hendrix, Zeppelin, Zappa, Pink Floyd, whoever. You don't need to be taken back by the Who or Floyd or Hendrix or Jimmy Page or Cream.

All you have to do is turn on the radio and the stuff is still current. You don't find it on oldies. My son listens to it and so does my daughter. Forty year old stuff.

At their age, I would not have listened to music from my parents' generation. With the exception of Sinatra's and Sammy Davis Junior's voices, it sucked.

From my son's perspective, it is not the voices in the songs or the words or the emotion.

It's the music, stupid. It's the skill.

More like playing golf than about wallowing in one's own masturbatory release.

Definitely requires a big ego. A big ego definitely requires gratification but that gratification does not necessarily connote emotional gratification.

I seldom listen to music. I never listen to it for emotion of any kind. When I listen, I am more interested in the quality of the voice or the guitar or whatever other instrument.

I think Janis Joplin had an extraordinary voice. I don't give a shit about her love affairs or about her hard life or her reasons for using drugs to excess. Don't care about the blues. But what an extraordinary voice.

Same with Hendrix. I don't give a crap about whatever happened to him or how he became an extraordinary guitarist. But, damn, dude could play.

Tupac could rap and Zappa could compose.

You can attach whatever emotion you want to whatever you want and the musicians attached whatever emotion to whatever.

Don't matter.

When I decide to listen to music -- and it is a conscious decision -- I listen to it for quality -- no matter the genre.

Ten years ago, I would have listened to Van Morrison or Leonard Cohen for emotional evocation. I still like the music of each of those musicians/composers but not for the emotion.

I like to listen to jazz and classical and be-bop and whatever -- for quality. I am fond of the voices and harmonies in some fifties songs.

But none of it puts me in an emotional place. None of it takes me back in time. None of it elicits fond memories of dropping acid or getting chased by the cops or Insane Liberation.

Could be early signs of Alzheimers but I doubt it. I find it refreshing and interesting to listen to music when I choose to do so -- not from habit -- but appreciation of technique and interest in sounds from many cultures.

I learned to love the voice of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. He was essentially a very emotonal, religious singer. But what a voice. He had a gift. I feel fortunate that I cannot understand the Punjabi/Urdu. I think understanding the words would ruin the voice for me.

The other night, I listened to some pretty raw blue grass music out of Norton, Virginia. Coal mining country. The singer was singing in some sort of English but damned if I could understand it. It was very good music, David Hodges -- I know you have no appreciation for blue grass. But this was below blue grass. No kin to country music in the least. Beyond outlaw -- defined by Waylon Jennings as double parking. Beyond outlaw, it was mutant. American aboriginal.

Out on Buff'ler on the outskirts of my town, there are still some people who can understand that language but not many. It is hard to imagine that in 2006 America such people could exist but they do. The yearly carnival brings 'em down from the hills.

Kind of like the Darling family on the Andy Griffith Show but with less teeth and Charlene would not have worn a skirt. My daughter is a lot like Elly Mae on the Beverly Hillbillies. Blessed with good teeth. But she would 'rassle with the devil. A Paka-cracka. Half Pak, half redneck.

She has decided to be a RN. Very serious about it though I tried to talk her out of it. I would like to see her nurse in a rural area in far southwest Virginia or eastern Tennessee or Kentucky or southern West Virginia.

There is still a lot of wilderness in the US.

If you listen to the music of the wilderness that remains, you can get that.

Faizi

.
Tharan writes:

My daughter and I heard The Who's "Won't Get Fooled Again" on the radio driving back from Portland this weekend, the full album version. She loved it and I didn't have to say a word.

I've been meaning to get over here and tell of a very fond memory I have of this song.

My mum and stepfather gathered my 2 step-sisters, my older brother and myself once on a saturday night to tell us we were now in charge of our own decision to attend church the following day and thereafter. I must have been around 14 or so, a young aspiring hippie, and had already engaged in some youthful arguments regarding the existence of god and the uglinesses of religion. I had also only been attending church for about 5 years -- since my mother's remarriage after my father's death. My 'real' dad would have nothing to do with churches and religions when he was alive and didn't see any need for it for his children, either.

So there's my parents standing there on Sunday morning, ready to load the car with whoever wished to go; and there we were, 3 of us -- myself, my brother, and 1 step-sister, still in pajamas for our answer. Right after they left and we heard the garage door close, my brother got out his Who album, put on this track far beyond the usual permissible volume, and he and I danced our asses off to it like children released into the wild. :)

We won't get fooled again . . . whoa no-no!

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