Glen Hansard, I wish I knew how to quit you.
The Swell Season are back on tour for a few dates around Europe. For me, that means a lot of afternoons lost to YouTube for the next couple weeks.
Here is an especially delicious one. First, there’s something about it that is visually lush — maybe the combination of the lighting and the rich blue of the background. Of course, even more addictive is the song itself and the delivery that is, as always, impassioned, lovely, powerful, and resonant with my own heart.
Since first hearing the Once soundtrack three years ago, I’ve listened to The Swell Season almost daily. While I was in China for two weeks and the band were taking a short break, I told myself I could walk away at last. I had the albums on my MP3 player, but I wasn’t able to rely on old clips or the band’s tweets to get through the hiatus, since YouTube and Twitter aren’t available in China. So, I resolved to go cold turkey, keep it old school, and simply listen while I waited patiently for the next album.
But it’s useless — I can’t walk away. And why should I, after all?
Enjoy.
Showing posts with label The Frames. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Frames. Show all posts
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
“Becoming a Jackal” (Villagers)
I was recently driving along and listening to the World Cafe on NPR when I heard an amazing track that the show’s host, David Dye, later said was by an Irish band called Villagers. I made a quick note but sort of forgot about it when I got home.
A few days ago, I was at Starbucks and noticed a card for a free iTunes download for a track by a band called Villagers. “Hmm,” I thought, as I poured half and half into a cup of Earl Grey. “Villagers. That sounds familiar.” I dropped the card into my bag and headed home, but then I sort of forgot about it.
Yesterday, I was watching an interview with Glen Hansard on YouTube, shot during the Electric Picnic festival that was held last week in County Laois. During the interview, RTÉ Radio 1 host Philip King talks about what he calls a “golden age” of Irish music happening at the moment. And one of the names he threw out was Villagers.
And then, WHAM! It all came together like one of those movie montages where the main character’s life flashes before his eyes. Fate had been trying to get my attention, and I finally stopped for a second and noticed.
Conor O’Brien — who is Villagers, or fronts Villagers; I can’t quite figure it out — has a crazy-mesmerizing, haunting, addictive voice. He does remind me vaguely of someone ... but who is it? David Gray? Morrissey? Simon & Garfunkel? It’s sort of all of those, and none of them, at the same time. I know he’s unique and incomparable, and but there is something rich and atmospheric about his music that puts me in mind of those once and current greats. Either way, I am seriously loving it.
My favorites so far are the home sessions that are posted on YouTube. When someone sounds like that when he’s just hanging out in his kitchen, you know it’s quality.
Enjoy.
A few days ago, I was at Starbucks and noticed a card for a free iTunes download for a track by a band called Villagers. “Hmm,” I thought, as I poured half and half into a cup of Earl Grey. “Villagers. That sounds familiar.” I dropped the card into my bag and headed home, but then I sort of forgot about it.
Yesterday, I was watching an interview with Glen Hansard on YouTube, shot during the Electric Picnic festival that was held last week in County Laois. During the interview, RTÉ Radio 1 host Philip King talks about what he calls a “golden age” of Irish music happening at the moment. And one of the names he threw out was Villagers.
And then, WHAM! It all came together like one of those movie montages where the main character’s life flashes before his eyes. Fate had been trying to get my attention, and I finally stopped for a second and noticed.
Conor O’Brien — who is Villagers, or fronts Villagers; I can’t quite figure it out — has a crazy-mesmerizing, haunting, addictive voice. He does remind me vaguely of someone ... but who is it? David Gray? Morrissey? Simon & Garfunkel? It’s sort of all of those, and none of them, at the same time. I know he’s unique and incomparable, and but there is something rich and atmospheric about his music that puts me in mind of those once and current greats. Either way, I am seriously loving it.
My favorites so far are the home sessions that are posted on YouTube. When someone sounds like that when he’s just hanging out in his kitchen, you know it’s quality.
Enjoy.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
“Cúirt Bhaile Nua” (Colm Mac Con Iomaire)
Before I went to Ireland, I would listen to traditional music and imagine myself standing on a green, windswept hillside, with the sound of pipes in the distance and smoke rising out of the chimney of a charming cottage nearby. I thought of high kings at the Hill of Tara and great legendary and mythical figures: Brian Ború, Cúchulainn, Queen Medb. And I dreamed of standing at a cliff’s edge, gazing resolutely into the distance, while waves crashed into the rocks below.
Imagine my satisfaction when I went to Ireland and was able to live out all of these visions — with a few alterations, of course. There was plenty of standing on green, windswept hillsides, though it lacks a certain something without the pipes and the cozy cottage setting. It doesn’t take long before you start to feel like an idiot for being cold and windswept (and most likely rained on) when any sane person is in the pub having a pint.
I also spent one glorious summer afternoon at the Hill of Tara, seat of the ancient high kings, which turned out to be a set of otherwise unremarkable undulating hills situated next to a busy visitor’s center. And none of my fantasies had involved the swarming masses of tourists always present at the Cliffs of Moher — except for the time I went in January and the wind blew so hard, you had to be especially careful not to get too close to the edge. There’s no resolute gazing when you’re gripping a rock wall in terror. (My friend might look happy in this photo, but I’m sure he was terrified on the inside.)
All of this is the long way around to saying that having a crush on a country is a bit like having a crush on a person. The better you get to know it, the more it will disappoint and delight you in unexpected ways. The end result may be even better than what you originally dreamed of, but it is still different, and something to get used to.
Listening to Colm Mac Con Iomaire’s version of “Cúirt Bhaile Nua (The Court of New Town)” brings back all those old dreams and visions. Which I don’t think is such a bad thing after all. They represent a longing to connect with a place, or a period of time, or a people that might not really exist anymore, except in a spirit that you can still sense in intangible ways — or in tangible cultural elements that remain with us thanks to artists like Colm.
Gaeilge (Irish) is also one of those things that, to put it plainly, I love about Ireland. Colm, who is also the violinist for The Frames and The Swell Season, tells a lovely story as Gaeilge (in Irish) about the title of his solo album, The Hare’s Corner, in this video from TG4.
Finally, in the clip below, you’ll notice that Colm says that this song is typically sung unaccompanied in the sean nós (old style) tradition. So please also be sure to check out the second video as well — an amazing clip of Nora McDonagh singing “Cúirt Bhaile Nua” as Gaeilge. The two songs actually sound nothing alike, but I’m taking it on faith that they’re two versions of the same beautiful thing.
Enjoy.
Colm Mac Con Iomaire
Nora McDonagh
Imagine my satisfaction when I went to Ireland and was able to live out all of these visions — with a few alterations, of course. There was plenty of standing on green, windswept hillsides, though it lacks a certain something without the pipes and the cozy cottage setting. It doesn’t take long before you start to feel like an idiot for being cold and windswept (and most likely rained on) when any sane person is in the pub having a pint.
I also spent one glorious summer afternoon at the Hill of Tara, seat of the ancient high kings, which turned out to be a set of otherwise unremarkable undulating hills situated next to a busy visitor’s center. And none of my fantasies had involved the swarming masses of tourists always present at the Cliffs of Moher — except for the time I went in January and the wind blew so hard, you had to be especially careful not to get too close to the edge. There’s no resolute gazing when you’re gripping a rock wall in terror. (My friend might look happy in this photo, but I’m sure he was terrified on the inside.)
All of this is the long way around to saying that having a crush on a country is a bit like having a crush on a person. The better you get to know it, the more it will disappoint and delight you in unexpected ways. The end result may be even better than what you originally dreamed of, but it is still different, and something to get used to.
Listening to Colm Mac Con Iomaire’s version of “Cúirt Bhaile Nua (The Court of New Town)” brings back all those old dreams and visions. Which I don’t think is such a bad thing after all. They represent a longing to connect with a place, or a period of time, or a people that might not really exist anymore, except in a spirit that you can still sense in intangible ways — or in tangible cultural elements that remain with us thanks to artists like Colm.
Gaeilge (Irish) is also one of those things that, to put it plainly, I love about Ireland. Colm, who is also the violinist for The Frames and The Swell Season, tells a lovely story as Gaeilge (in Irish) about the title of his solo album, The Hare’s Corner, in this video from TG4.
Finally, in the clip below, you’ll notice that Colm says that this song is typically sung unaccompanied in the sean nós (old style) tradition. So please also be sure to check out the second video as well — an amazing clip of Nora McDonagh singing “Cúirt Bhaile Nua” as Gaeilge. The two songs actually sound nothing alike, but I’m taking it on faith that they’re two versions of the same beautiful thing.
Enjoy.
Colm Mac Con Iomaire
Nora McDonagh
Friday, August 13, 2010
"Seven Day Mile" (The Frames)
The Frames are an Irish indie rock band that have been kicking around for the past twenty years. Since 2007-ish, when Marketa Irglova is added, voila! They become The Swell Season. The two bands sound similar, and different. The Frames is The Swell Season, and The Swell Season is The Frames, except when they are not. As I recently read on another blog, they are two sides of the same coin.
I haven’t seen The Frames live, but they’re touring this fall. It will be interesting to see what kind of sound they have without Marketa. As the old saying goes, you can’t go home again. It seems to me that it would be impossible to go back to being the same band they were before — before Glen and Marketa made the movie Once, before their Oscar win, before they moved from a harder edge to a more mellow folk sound. Surely they have been affected personally and professionally by all the changes brought about by the past few years, and those changes are sure to come through in the music.
As I’ve said before, part of my inspiration for falling in love with Ireland was my infatuation with all types of Irish music, beginning in my early teens. The irony of that is, when I lived in Galway in the ‘90s, my relationship with music essentially ended. Or, I should say that my musical experience at home and my musical experience in Ireland were dramatically different. All the intricacies of those differences is a story for another day, but the short version is that I never heard of The Frames until Once came out. How did I miss this band? In 1996, the year I arrived in Galway, Fitzcarraldo was released by ZTT Records and went to #26 on the Irish charts. I always tell people that if a band wasn’t playing the university’s reading room, then I missed them. But that hardly seems like an excuse. (It’s also a little disingenuous, but that, too, is a story for another day.)
In any case, I am now doing my best to catch up. I was familiar with “Seven Day Mile” before The Swell Season played it at the Nelsonville Music Festival last May, but only after filming this clip did I sit down and study the lyrics. What a beautiful song. In another clip, Glen Hansard introduces this song by saying that it’s about checking in with someone to say, “I’m thinking about you. Are you alright? I hope you get better. I’d help you in a more practical way if I could, but all I can do is send you a song.”
Sometimes, though, sending a song is really the only thing you can do. With that in mind, these lines in particular resonate with me:
Well this might take a while to figure out
So don’t you rush it
And hold your head up high right through the doubt
‘Cause it’s just a matter of time
You’ve been running so fast
It’s the seven day mile
Has you torn in between here and running away
I think we all face times when we feel torn between here and running away. And when my mother died, I often found myself thinking, “It’s been two weeks/two months/a year ... I should be over this.” But sometimes things take a while to figure out. Some things are harder to get through than others. And some people need more time than others. That’s all. I don’t think there are any answers here, which is what I love about this song. It’s like my husband — when something comes up, sometimes he’ll say, “Well, I’ll be here.” That didn’t make any sense to me for a long time. “What does that even mean?” I would say. Then, over a chunk of years, a whole bunch of tough stuff went down, and he was there all along. And then I got it. He didn’t have any answers, but he was there. That’s all. That’s everything.
Enjoy.
I haven’t seen The Frames live, but they’re touring this fall. It will be interesting to see what kind of sound they have without Marketa. As the old saying goes, you can’t go home again. It seems to me that it would be impossible to go back to being the same band they were before — before Glen and Marketa made the movie Once, before their Oscar win, before they moved from a harder edge to a more mellow folk sound. Surely they have been affected personally and professionally by all the changes brought about by the past few years, and those changes are sure to come through in the music.
As I’ve said before, part of my inspiration for falling in love with Ireland was my infatuation with all types of Irish music, beginning in my early teens. The irony of that is, when I lived in Galway in the ‘90s, my relationship with music essentially ended. Or, I should say that my musical experience at home and my musical experience in Ireland were dramatically different. All the intricacies of those differences is a story for another day, but the short version is that I never heard of The Frames until Once came out. How did I miss this band? In 1996, the year I arrived in Galway, Fitzcarraldo was released by ZTT Records and went to #26 on the Irish charts. I always tell people that if a band wasn’t playing the university’s reading room, then I missed them. But that hardly seems like an excuse. (It’s also a little disingenuous, but that, too, is a story for another day.)
In any case, I am now doing my best to catch up. I was familiar with “Seven Day Mile” before The Swell Season played it at the Nelsonville Music Festival last May, but only after filming this clip did I sit down and study the lyrics. What a beautiful song. In another clip, Glen Hansard introduces this song by saying that it’s about checking in with someone to say, “I’m thinking about you. Are you alright? I hope you get better. I’d help you in a more practical way if I could, but all I can do is send you a song.”
Sometimes, though, sending a song is really the only thing you can do. With that in mind, these lines in particular resonate with me:
Well this might take a while to figure out
So don’t you rush it
And hold your head up high right through the doubt
‘Cause it’s just a matter of time
You’ve been running so fast
It’s the seven day mile
Has you torn in between here and running away
I think we all face times when we feel torn between here and running away. And when my mother died, I often found myself thinking, “It’s been two weeks/two months/a year ... I should be over this.” But sometimes things take a while to figure out. Some things are harder to get through than others. And some people need more time than others. That’s all. I don’t think there are any answers here, which is what I love about this song. It’s like my husband — when something comes up, sometimes he’ll say, “Well, I’ll be here.” That didn’t make any sense to me for a long time. “What does that even mean?” I would say. Then, over a chunk of years, a whole bunch of tough stuff went down, and he was there all along. And then I got it. He didn’t have any answers, but he was there. That’s all. That’s everything.
Enjoy.
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