It's quite amazing how the mind works in the wee hours of the morning. Even more amazing is what six straight hours of half-baked, seemingly coerced music could do to your body.
Music is something beautiful. I intend to keep this little rant-esque entry as brief as possible. Tally-ho.
Live Music: Eight random points to brood upon:
1. Icing : Cake / Vocalist : Band
- Now, there's a myriad of great bands out there, complete with the much required passion, gusto, and mad skills. True enough, some would believe that an insane guitar virtuoso or mad slapping speed bassist would be enough to bring a band to rock glory. In this case, I say nay.
If a vocalist sings like your resident drunkard, compares to your high school declamation champ, or is no other than Jayson Fernandez, then there's definitely something wrong. Yes, an obvious, and quite irritating problem nowadays.
2. In a charity concert, you get your money's worth.
- I'm not insinuating that they're in it for the money, but honestly, who plays for free? I'd say for every fifty really good bands, only three would wholeheartedly play free of charge. So, what about the other eighteen slots for the concert of twenty one acts? It's a little something called mediocrity. It's everywhere. It scares me.
3. The Ramones are Punk, you are not.
- Teenagers nowadays find sped up versions of old, mushy love songs quite "hip" and "cool", much to the dismay of the older generation and other teenagers who know better. It's this kind of travesty that really grinds my jellybeans.
Playing "It might be you" in doubled speed isn't something pleasant. To tell you the truth, I can't think of anything more ridiculous to compare it with. See how it impairs my thinking? Getting hit by a parked car pales in comparison to this sort of bullshit. At least I get a good laugh out of it. Hehe, funny parked car.
4. There's more to awesome than stock knowledge.
- Having diverse knowledge and distinct taste in music is definitely an advantage. This sets you apart from the newbies, posers, and dumbarses, kicking you up a notch on that ladder of music know-how.
This however, is not enough. You may be an avid fan of Rage Against the Machine, but to even think about attempting to cover these songs without having the slightest idea of how capable you are is somewhat...unexplainable. So, before you go out there to emulate Zack de la Rocha, make sure you can live up to the name, or at least sing decently.
5. Oh shit, it's the fog!!!
- If you're a fan of the band Join the Club, then you must know that they recently joined another club; the Obscure Lethargic Almost Terminated Sessionists, or OLATS.
Citing a certain instance last night during the particular charity shindig I've been ranting about, they were supposedly one of the twenty one bands to play. Despite their obscurity and lack of talent, they did show up early in the evening. As expected, no one cared.
Surprisingly, they disappeared later on, never to be seen during the remainder of the concert. Now, how obscure can one get, right? Yeah, I thought so.
6. Teenagers nowadays...
- I won't elaborate on this point, seeing how sad the situation is. Just use your imagination, do the math, then go figure.
7. Original turf = SUPERSTARDOM
- Just a little observation. Quite predictable, actually.
No matter how much you suffer from points 1, 3 and 4, as long as you're a prominent guy with a half-decent band on your own turf, the audience members will literally wipe the sweat off your face and frame the wet towel in their own little shrine. Creepy much? Embrace it. No one else will think you're cool anyway.
8. Leave to Hayley what is meant for Hayley, especially if your name is George.
- My own little pet peeve; role reversals which end in disaster.
This applies to songs from every female band which have that much fame in the teenage generation. Covering songs is fun and all, most especially in the company of your band, in the privacy of a rehearsal studio. Much better if you can pull it off with your own twist, thus giving a distinct sound.
Misery Business was never meant to be sung live by pre-pubescent boys. Better yet, it wasn't meant to be sung AT ALL by pre-pubescent boys. Yes, your testicles may not have dropped yet, but no matter how high up those balls are, you're still no Hayley Williams.
Point Zero -
- Giniling Festival is ALWAYS worth the wait. Whether it be the long dragging hour waiting for the first act, or the six hours of auditory madness before the last, which ever place you put them, they steal the show. See you guys at the UP Fair.
Bah. Baloney. So, this ends my little bashfest.
Crappy as the night may have seemed, it took just one person to turn things around 180. Sensya na medyo lanta yung mga bulaklak, si Bruce kasi eh. XD
IHYMH XD
The times you ask God, WHY?
Take Five
Nothing flashy, nothing articulate, nothing witty, nothing boggling, nothing beautiful, nothing artsy, nothing interesting, nothing relevant, nothing good, nothing to see.
Nothing at all.
Whippity Slip
For twenty years, much has been evident in this blurred field of vision. The bewilderment offered by uncertainty, even more by the unknown. Forever cloaked in a mysterious enigma of sugar-coated taffylike bittersweetness. Scrumptious goodness masking the acidic core of rage and despair.
Forever have I yearned for the transcendence of mind offered by much time dwelling in silence and solitude, steadily listening to the wind. At times a violent gale, though overlapped by the calmness of a summer breeze. The wind merely blows upon my soul, causing nothing else but a slight chill.
For a score have I been aware of everything, keen in almost all senses, my mind in perfect rhythm with every single thought, bubbling endlessly into a parallel universe.
For once, I honestly don't get it.
Kindled Sky
Darkness of the ceiling.
It started off with a vibration from under my pillow. I scoffed at my cellphone's alarm and got ready to doze off for a few more minutes.
I couldn't afford to be late this time. Strike three, and they'll be off with my head.
It was already 5 o'clock, and the sun was still seemingly fast asleep. Orange light from the lamp post crept across the front lawn, onto the window sill, giving me that weak sense of security at night. My room was chilly and dark; lifeless, let alone the tiny night light flickering in the corner to an eerie rhythm. Just like every morning, just the way I like it.
Breakfast was out of the question. A quick shower was on the agenda as I hurriedly prepared my daily belongings, zipping through the house. The tepid water was such sweet gratification in such a morning gone awry, making me forget why I even bother to wake up so early, why I even bother to earn for my own ass, why I even bother...period.
With the faucet's knob tightened, I snap back into reality.
Concluding my morning rituals, I bid the family farewell. Plugging in my earphones, I set off to the big city. Making a living can be tedious. It's like clockwork. Every day's a new day, but you know damn well it'll be the same.
I took the usual path towards the first part of my dawn trip. A short walk down the street, a quick jeepney ride, and an eternity of waiting at the bus stop.
Humming to Audioslave's Be Yourself, I kept my cool among the other irate morning travelers. I slowly closed my eyes and bobbed my head to the drumbeat of each verse; tapping my shoe to the distorted chorus. The song kept me at bay for a while, Chris Cornell was a lifesaver...but for how long? Feeling my fist clenched tightly for a whole twenty minutes with the song looped, I had reached my limit. I prepared to let out a yell of frustration, careless of whoever would fall victim to my noise.
The bus arrived...just in time.
For the longest two hours of my life, I was smothered in-between the bodies of hurried people, desperately squeezing themselves into the bus aisle. Noisy and whiny, incurring my piss-hatred by the minute. I don't know what the big rush is, it's not like their offices will leave them or anything. Jerks. Yes, the morning angst blurred my common sense in such a comical fashion.
Ah yes, the towers peeked from the horizon, signifying how damn close I was to getting to work. I put away my MP3 player, lazily rolling the phones around the metal body for safe keeping. I got ready to alight the bus.
A few passengers including myself slowly moved towards the exit, one by one onto the main road. I stared blankly at the steps, at the concrete, then to my right...
A truck careened into the side of the bus, toppling the mammoth automobile like a pile of wood. A flurry of sparks and flying debris sent everyone into a stampede of panic, turning the otherwise quiet morning into a riot.
I was still dazed, feeling a warm, piercing pain on my left arm. I dared not look.
I slumped down beside a concrete wall, clutching my left arm in fear. I stared at the morning sky in its bright orange hue, beckoning me into a fiery abyss, so lovely...
Next time, I'm having breakfast.
