groan. the fetid zombie scratches his nuts and pours some coffee. the smell does not open his eyes. he hears voices from the television and its morning show. he swears: “not fucking news” or “go fuck yourself katie couric.” he makes the minor preparations which constitute “getting ready for work.” a dab, a dollop, a splish, a splash. he pulls clothes from the pile. he fills his pockets with the necessary items to navigate a day in the world. he grunts toward his cats, kisses his girl, and stumbles out the door. half a block toward the train station he locates the white earbuds, taps the white plastic, and the music begins…
why is it that we so often call up the loud / up-beat / aggressive / driving music first thing in the morning? do we want to jolt ourselves into consciousness? are we offering ourselves up to the familiar hooks hoping they’ll dig in and drag us into the day? do we need the emotional kick like the sonic equivalent of caffeine? i know that in my case each morning i tend to go directly to my hip-hop playlist. it’s loud, obnoxious, familiar, and ultimately mindless. somehow it seems to offer just the right rhythm for weaving confidently through the morning commuter-crush. the synthetic bravado, pumped directly into the reptile center of my brain, allows me to face the thousand vile train-strangers each morning. it provides a crest for my smoldering dawn-hour hatred to ride on. but is this brainless strut any way to start a day? or to end one?
for the last couple of weeks i’ve forced myself to change this behavior, by-passing the hip-hop, the glitch, the funk, the rock, in favor of my “shhhh” playlist. it’s all drawn-out melodies and introspection. the effect is palpable. where as before i was a toe-tapping automaton ziging and zaging through my morning route in a convincing illusion of purposeful sentience, now i am like a quivering new-born snail, soft and vulnerable, with the predators weaving patterns all around me. i’ve slowed down. i actually notice the sun coming through the trees of central park. i see the fog swallowing whole swaths of the skyline. i even occasionally think thoughts.
what a different experience it is fostering quiet and encouraging lucidity both first thing in the morning and at the end of the workday. the streets are not merely obstacle-dotted footpaths but are instead infused with sadness and dappled with intriguing shadows. the crowds on the subway are not only undulating herds to dodge and despise but oddly touching human tableaus as well. in short- things are somehow more interesting.
so, dear text skimmers, what in the hell am i trying to say? i’m saying that casting off the defensive morning posture has been enjoyable. i’m saying that being a raw, exposed nerve out there on the streets, like a writhing downed power-wire, feels good.
as such i thought i’d offer the particular alchemusical concoction i’ve come up with for effective aural damping.
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archer prewit - gerroa songs / white sky
six organs of admittance- dark noontide / for octavio paz
pullman- turnstyles & junkpiles
codeine- the white birch
bonnie prince billy- i see a darkness
songs ohia- ghost tropic / the lioness
chico freeman- spirit sensitive
simon joyner- the lousy dance
john frusciante- niandra lades and usually just a t-shirt
van morrison- astral weeks
dirty three- she has no strings apollo / whatever you love you are
lonnie liston smith- visions of a new world
miles davis- kind of blue
mogwai- come on die young
tom waits- closing time
charles mingus- mingus plays piano
spiritualized- laser guided melodies
godspeed you black emporer- Yanqui U.X.O.
do make say think- & yet & yet
usef lateef- the centaur and the pheonix
idyll swords- ll
king crimson- islands
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i know it’s a strange mixture but there you have it. stir liberally, spice to taste, and it makes for an interesting commute.
actually, i’d love to hear some recommendations to add in this general vein. i’m open. feel free.