Monday, May 25, 2009

Morning Music

Whirl walked to the Outtherarama, juggling demons into becomemoths.

‘I’d hoped for butterflies,’ he whispered, blowing lungfulls of nothing into a handfull of the same. “But at least you don’t bite.”

Moths, dust, memories; rising in incandescent clouds till I shatter the writer’s muserly illusion to cough, snagging on a face suddenly swollen with beauty’s cruelly exacted cost.

Oh, summer, mad, is here, and I will rage against its excess of summons, bury my head in the glowing sand and watch for the sun through the miracle sheen of my eyes’ timely blinds.

And lo, a champion will quiver into sinew from the light’s burning flametalons — but hey, bugger, fuck all of that, all you need to know is that my cactus continues to sprout, Sock Monkey has been sent a better sewn half-brother and the guy who lives round the corner (who looks like Rick Wakeman on an all expenses paid weekend away from having to be Rick Wakeman) still looks like Rick Wakeman. Can’t help trilling my fingers, raised aloft o’er my hips, whenever he passes by with his moderately plausible 70s prog rock beard.

So, anyhow — music.

I was talking with a friend of mine a while ago about music genres — how ambient hip-hop grunge thrash is so different from thrash ambient grunge hip-hop (maybe it’s a rhythm thang) — and we concluded that of all the evident mutations of the I Can Twang My Polyps gene, the least proliferate is the Morning Music kinda first string thing — unless you’re a sad enough muso to count among your all time favourite songs the warblings of Daryl “The Sparrow” O Hoolihan and his Dawn Chorus Chirp Ye Chirp Vagabond Orchestra.

So, what is Morning Music?

Consider the French accordion player who shimmies onto the decking of your emerging dawn verandah in tight satin trousers, prompting you to wonder if he has a slimmer, yet slightly less sexy, twin brother. The French have it, don’t they? That Ooh-la-la joie de vivre thing that sits so delicately poised between the Get What You Want At All Costs mantra and the Want What You Get At All Prices sigh like a bird. Flies. Gone.

It’s a bit late now for Morning Music, I know, but I’ve listened to this a couple of times today and ended up in a different room to where I started out, not simply because of some habitual pedestrian humdrum, or even the surprise insemination of wandery-abouty liquid by aliens intent on suppressing my latent All Flibbulatoids Beauty Pageant Prowess — but because it’s brilliant. So, late on in the day, I flap it on out.

Everything about this song stuns gravity into momentary submission.



McKoala said...

I am unsure. It would wake me up, though.

When I was at uni I wanted to look like that.

JaneyV said...

‘I’d hoped for butterflies,’ he whispered, blowing lungfulls of nothing into a handfull of the same.What a great line Whirl. You amaze me sometimes.

As for the music - it would certainly get the blood pumping but it would not give me the joie de vivre of which you speak. Isn't that the brilliant thing about music though - how completely personal tastes are. My favourite morning music uplifts and calms at the same time. The kind that causes a swelling in the chest (right in the solar plexus) and yet makes you feel like the world is a perfect place. I must go find some now and dance around the kitchen.

PS I just bought Rick Wakeman's autobiography for Hubby. I just hope he's not inspired into wearing a wizard hat and listening to Yes.

Whirlochre said...

Rick Wakeman's autobiography?

JaneyV said...

Grumpy Old Rockstar

Whirlochre said...

Dear old Rick — he's our insurance against alien invasion, isn't he?

Mary said...

A little more French, a little less thrashy, a little more early 80s in respect of costume and video styling ;). In other words, re-mix the whole thing, and then... maybe!