I made a bit of a pledge to myself that I wouldn't do full on music analysis as its own blog post. I wanted to branch out. That's a thing. Second, though, I have a space for that under the post. This is about my reaction to the song, then and now. I've gone cold turkey on Crime In Stereo since their breakup. Sure, the first couple weeks after I heard about it, I listened to their discography (including early demos) but for most of October and all of November so far, I haven't listened to a single song.
I'm telling myself it's because I'm in mourning. But I think it might be more than that. I'm a different person now that they're gone and their influence on me is something that's deep and subtle.
I want to come back to Crime In Stereo in a couple years. When, hopefully, I've changed. When my tastes have morphed and spasm-ed in different directions. I want to hear Crime In Stereo with fresh ears again. (This of course, can't happen. My interpretation and subsequent analysis of their music is a part of me, to the point where their songs have root access to my emotions.)
Music is the answer? God, I wish.
Music is the problem. My memories invade the songs I listen to. (See?) Some people can trace their history through their tattoos. I trace my history through the songs. I hear so much and know so little that the little pieces of music at the bottom are breadcrumbs that lead to memories.
There's so little of Crime In Stereo that's unclaimed by a memory at this point. It's mostly Exit Halo, Sudan and the early, early demos where they weren't that interesting that are uncolored. What's left now, as the band winds down, is living enough to color in those songs in the future. To new memories and old songs.
And speaking of coloring in songs, here Crime In Stereo doing Hot Water Music's Paper Thin at their first of three final gigs, in October. You'll note both Kristian (singer) and Alex (guitarist in the background, the one that doesn't have a Strike Anywhere tattoo) have pretty intense health issues, so I have to imagine this is a watershed for the both of them.
What is Paper Thin, you ask? It's a song about being in a hospital and feeling absolutely powerless and terrified. This song was released in 2001 and Crime In Stereo was started in 2002. Do the math.
I'm telling myself it's because I'm in mourning. But I think it might be more than that. I'm a different person now that they're gone and their influence on me is something that's deep and subtle.
I want to come back to Crime In Stereo in a couple years. When, hopefully, I've changed. When my tastes have morphed and spasm-ed in different directions. I want to hear Crime In Stereo with fresh ears again. (This of course, can't happen. My interpretation and subsequent analysis of their music is a part of me, to the point where their songs have root access to my emotions.)
Music is the answer? God, I wish.
Music is the problem. My memories invade the songs I listen to. (See?) Some people can trace their history through their tattoos. I trace my history through the songs. I hear so much and know so little that the little pieces of music at the bottom are breadcrumbs that lead to memories.
There's so little of Crime In Stereo that's unclaimed by a memory at this point. It's mostly Exit Halo, Sudan and the early, early demos where they weren't that interesting that are uncolored. What's left now, as the band winds down, is living enough to color in those songs in the future. To new memories and old songs.
And speaking of coloring in songs, here Crime In Stereo doing Hot Water Music's Paper Thin at their first of three final gigs, in October. You'll note both Kristian (singer) and Alex (guitarist in the background, the one that doesn't have a Strike Anywhere tattoo) have pretty intense health issues, so I have to imagine this is a watershed for the both of them.
What is Paper Thin, you ask? It's a song about being in a hospital and feeling absolutely powerless and terrified. This song was released in 2001 and Crime In Stereo was started in 2002. Do the math.
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