Albums

When listening to music, my typical mindset is that of a glutton at a buffet. I think nothing of mixing and matching sounds, cutting out a part of the song I don't like and rotating around albums that fit my exact mood. I look to music for a certain therapy, I guess. It's a domain where I have absolute autonomy.

However, somewhere in mid-December I realized that it had been ages since I listened to an album all the way through. So, I decided that this year, I would limit myself to two albums per month, with the rule that I would not skip any songs and that I would listen to the album in order. The first album would be on my computer (early morning grading, prep periods, writing) and the second album would remain in my car.

I then wrote the names of twenty-four of my favorite albums (allowing the Thrice Alchemy Index to be one album) and then I picked two per month out of a hat.

This month?

Damien Rice's O album is my in-car pick, while The Swell Season (both the name of the album and the name of the duo Glen Hansard and Czech singer and pianist Markéta Irglová). Both albums have a raw, unfinished feel alongside beautiful vocals with cellos, violins and piano. Both of them deal with themes of love and loss in a way that only Irish singers seem to pull off without sounding overly sentimental.

Here are some random observations about this process:

• Damien Rice goes too long on just about every song, adding a whisper or an extra violin solo or an additional vocal that doesn't quite fit.  It drives me nuts, because that's how I am.  I'm "that guy," the one who, at a party, doesn't realize that the conversation ended or that my story went too long.  This quirky side of the album has made me more intentional about conversations. 
• Being duets, both albums create this effect where one person is singing and the other seems to listen patiently.  Add this element to the fact that I don't get to skip any songs and it has me thinking about the intentionality of listening to people.  Not all the time, but often in a conversation, I tell myself not to cut in, because every conversation is a duet.
• I'm becoming more aware of nuance and detail. When I hear "Cannonball" for the tenth day in a row, I pick up on a vocal inflection and the song has a subtle, new meaning.   
• When I get tired of an album, I'm stuck with silence.  However, I forgot how much I enjoy silence. It makes me think that there is value in being "stuck" with something that will ultimately be something I enjoy.