Episode 4: On Being Invisible

"Perhaps I like Louis Armstrong because he's made poetry out of being invisible."

-Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man

One of my New Year's resolutions for 2010 is to be a better reader. Now I don't mean "better" in the sense that I aim to increase my vocabulary and double the speed at which I am able to finish a Thomas Hardy novel (thought these are welcome side effects). I mean "better" in a much more humble, pitiful sense: I simply want to finish everything I start reading. From short articles on the internet, to music reviews, to the instructions that come with my headphones, to novels, the goal is to finish what I start. I've found it increasingly difficult to commit to the extended written word as I've moved further from college. And it's difficult for me to avoid the thought that this struggle is exacerbated by the one-line-wonderment of the internet and text message worlds. The thought that these two phenomena are inversely proportional to one another is tough to shake off, though I'm sure, as with most problems, the culprit is a complex fusion of corroborating issues. Whatever the reasons, I have begun working towards my goal by completing a novel I started during the summer of last year.

I had read the famous first lines of Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man months earlier in an education course I was taking to complete my masters. The lines must have resonated with me, because after I finished reading Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston, my mind fixated immediately on Ellison's masterpiece. (Plus, thanks to my friend Taylor, the book had been sitting precariously on my bookshelf, as if it was willing itself to fall into my lap at any moment). The book is wonderful, and my interest was immediately piqued when Ellison's nameless narrator began by divulging his love of music. This is quite an extended passage I'm about to quote, so I apologize to those who are annoyed by such indulgences:

"Now I have one radio-phonograph; I plan to have five. There is a certain acoustic deadness in my hole, and when I have music I want to feel its vibration, not only with my ear, but with my whole body. I'd like to hear five recordings of Louis Armstrong playing and singing, 'What Did I Do to Be so Black and Blue'--all at the same time. Sometimes now I listen to Louis while I have my favorite dessert of vanilla ice cream and sloe gin. I pour the red hot liquid over the white mound, watching it glisten and the vapor rising as Louis bends that military instrument into a beam of lyrical sound. Perhaps I like Louis Armstrong because he's made poetry out of being invisible. I think it must be because he's unaware that he is invisible. And my own grasp of invisibility aids me to understand his music. Once when I asked for a cigarette, some jokers gave me a reefer, which I lighted when I got home and sat listening to my phonograph. It was a strange evening. Invisibility, let me explain, gives one a slightly different sense of time, you're never quite on the beat. Sometimes you're ahead and sometimes behind. Instead of the swift and imperceptible flowing of time, you are aware of its nodes, those points where time stand still or from which it leaps ahead. And you slip into the breaks and look around. That's what you hear vaguely in Louis' music.

Once I saw a prizefighter boxing a yokel. The fighter was swift and amazingly scientific. His body was one violent flow of rapid rhythmic action. He hit the yokel a hundred times while the yokel held up his arms in stunned surprise. But suddenly the yokel, rolling about in the gale of boxing gloves, struck one blow and knocked science, speed and footwork as cold as a well-digger's posterior. The smart money hit the canvas. The long shot got the nod. The yokel had simply stepped inside of his opponent's sense of time. So under the spell of the reefer I discovered a new analytical way of listening to music. The unheard sounds came through, and each melodic line existed of itself, stood out clearly from all the rest, said its piece, and waited patiently for the other voices to speak. That night I found myself hearing not only in time, but in space as well. I not only entered the music but descended, like Dante, into its depths.

...

At first I was afraid; this familiar music had demanded action, the kind of which I was incapable, and yet had I lingered there beneath the surface I might have attempted to act. Nevertheless, I know now that few really listen to this music. I sat on the chair's edge in a soaking sweat, as though each of my 1,369 bulbs had every one become a klieg light in an individual setting for a third degree with Ras and Rinehart in charge. It was exhausting--as though I had held my breath continuously for an hour under the terrifying serenity that comes from days of intense hunger. And yet, it was a strangely satisfying experience for an invisible man to hear the silence of sound. I had discovered unrecognized compulsions of my believing--even though I could not answer 'yes' to their promptings. I haven't smoked a reefer since, however; not because they're illegal, but because to see around corners is enough (that is not unusual when you are invisible). But to hear around them is too much; it inhibits actions...besides, the drug destroys one's sense of time completely."

Ellison's idea that one can "descend" into music in a way that moves beyond cursory indulgences is a beautiful one. I find it incredibly delightful that Ellison is able to successfully articulate experiencing each "melodic line" as a distinct moment. He accomplishes in a few short sentences what I have spent hours trying unsuccessfully to capture in words and thought. Ellison is also able to use his overarching theme of invisibility as a vehicle to propel this discussion of his musical experience. When Ellison descends into Music's depths, he is exploring those aspects of music that, to most people, are invisible. They exist beyond the realm of simply "listening" to a song, of letting the various sounds enter your ears and be interpreted by your brain--this is the stuff of the prizefighter, the science behind it. The invisible elements, on the other hand, are the ones that only the yokel, in his valuable unsophistication, is able to "step inside" and feel. I'll spare you from anymore incoherent, pseudo-analytic ramblings, but I do encourage you to pick up a copy of this book if the above passage has interested you.

Ah, but what does this all have to do with the four albums I'm about to review? As I was listening to some of The Besnard Lake's new album, The Besnard Lakes Are The Roaring Night, I was struck by the degree of their obscurity on the indie-rock scene. Despite hailing from a creatively fertile social network of Canadian songwriters, and despite having two brilliant albums under their belt, the Montreal husband/wife duo has remained relatively--ahem--invisible to the indie music scene (did I force it?). I can't remember the last time I heard someone bring them up in a conversation about music, and if I am lucky enough to remember them while recommending bands to total strangers on the bus, they look at me like I'm crazy. I'll be listing off bands to people who know way more about music than I do, and when I get to their name it's like I've hit a large boulder in a wooden wagon. "Who?" they'll ask with a slight tilt of the head and an inquisitive inversion of the brow. Well, they're The Besnard Lakes. And they Are The Darkhorse, and they Are The Roaring Night! Right...

My goal is to make them a bit more visible so that people might experience their beautiful invisibility.

Artist: The Besnard Lakes

Album: The Besnard Lakes Are The Darkhorse

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The Besnard Lakes quietly released this album in 2007 (well, not so quietly in Canada, but it was much quieter in the states). If it weren't for a good friend of mine, I would never have stumbled across its brilliance. I'm not quite sure how to describe their sound, but a good place to start would be classic rock/psychedelic/progressive/pop. Whatever the hell that means. There is something decidedly "classic rock" about their sound--it's guitar driven, raucous, and expansive. But they save themselves from sounding recycled by creating records with a psychedelic atmosphere. Guitars are drenched in effects, voices are droning and distant. If you're not fucked up while you're listening to it, you'll feel that way by the time your done. The progressive element is apparent in their song structures. They are able to switch time signatures in a way that I find much more tolerant than most metal/hardrock groups, whose transitions seemed forced and somehow clunky. For The Besnard Lakes, such shifts are conducive to their longer tracks, and help to extend them into mini-epics. The pop component of their music lies in their ability to bring catchy hooks and melodies to the forefront. This music is viscous. It's heavy and it will coat your sense of time with disorienting drape. I recommend checking out this album before you get the new one. In fact, if you can get a hold of their first album, Volume 1, you should start with that. As of yet I have been unable to get a copy. I'm sure it's fantastic.

Artist: The Besnard Lakes

Album: The Besnard Lakes Are The Roaring Night

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With three songs passing the five minute mark, and two songs reaching over seven minutes, this album finds The Besnard Lakes really stretching their progressive wings and expanding on their already large sound from The Besnard Lakes Are The Darkhorse. Before hearing this record, I was feeling ambivalent about the band releasing a new album. On the one hand, I loved their previous record and thought they did a wonderful job incorporating tried and true elements with their own unique style. On the other hand, I was nervous their sound might have the potential to become a bit bland and watered-down if overused. This effort sees the husband wife duo evolving to a four-piece. The keyboard is a bit more pronounced in this album, but overall their sound remains consistent with their previous album. They did not disappoint. If anything, the album picks up from where The Besnard Lakes Are The Dark Horse left off, and leaves you wondering where, exactly, the culmination of this bands evolution is poised to unfold itself. The vocal back-and-forth of Jace Lasek and wife Olga Goreas is somehow more pronounced and beautiful when used in this album. Another solid album from a band who deserves more credit. Due out in February. Check it out.

Artist: Midlake

Album: The Courage of Others

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Despite being panned by some critics as sounding too much like 70's classic rock, I love Midlake because of the ponderous, weighty music they create. The production in their previous albums was, at times, almost too smooth, but their albums were somehow cathartic in their unapologetic sentimentality. Needless to say, I was excited to listen to this album when I woke up this morning; I was a bit disappointed. While Midlake is certainly consistent, there's something about this album that falls flat. It's just a bit underwhelming, and I can't help but feel they've settled into a groove and it's quickly wearing through to expose their blandness. That being said, if you are a Midlake fan, you should absolutely check it out to decide for yourself. Otherwise, if you'd like to hear one of their albums that I thought was fantastic, check out 2006's The Trials of Van Occupanther.

Artist: Spoon

Album: Transference

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Spoon fans: you will probably like this album. I'm a Spoon fan, and I like this album. But, as with the new Midlake album, there's something a bit stagnant about this new effort. Where I normally find Britt Daniel's whimsical and unpredictable lyrics to be charming, to increase to Spoon's inexplicable power over me, this album has me feeling like maybe he wasn't trying that hard. There are still some standout tracks here (The Mystery Zone, I Saw The Light, and Out Go The Lights), but I can't help but want to throw on GaGaGa, Girls Can Tell, or Kill The Moonlight instead.