my love affair with Coldplay

Many people in my life have wondered at my intense love of the band Coldplay. Many see them as U2 wannabe's and hear their music as nothing special. They have the classic watered-rock British sound, with tenor lead singer etc. However, I wish to take my lunch break and defend the top reasons why Coldplay is my favorite band.

Reason #1: I am drawn to the British bands

This might sound like a lame excuse, but it is the honest truth. I have traced back my musical tastes and other than a strange attraction to Ace of Base for a time, I have always leaned towards the Brits. It began with the Beatles and their consistent presence in my earliest years. Then enter The Rolling Stones, The Hollies, The Turtles, The Guess Who, Oasis, etc. Recently I have embraced bands such as Keane, (sort of British),Badly Drawn Boy, Travis, and Muse. But, Coldplay has been the only band to rival the Beatles in my dedication.

Reason #2: Their lyrics are honest

Once again, many have complained to me about the negativity of Coldplay's lyrics. It is true, some of their earlier songs can be a bit of a downer (i.e. Such a Rush, Only Superstition, etc) But I don't see negativity in their lyrics as much as honesty. I hear songs like Amsterdam, and Don't Panic, Help is Round the Corner, and See You Soon and can't ignore what I like to call the "Dark Chocolate Factor, or the bittersweet factor. The song may seem sad, but there is a smooth, sweet message that overpowers sadness in the end.

Reason #3: I love Chris Martin's voice

I am a singer and therefore, I realize a lot of lead singers out there, suck. It seems very rare these days to hear a talented lead singer. But, ever since I first heard Chris Martin's voice, I was impressed with his control and the natural seamless quality of his voice. It is strong and yet, never garish. My dream is to hear him live and compare; (since many singers have the advantage of technology to assist them in matters of tone in the studio) but, I have the 2003 live album and concert and I have seen live performances and I believe he is talented and as good as he sounds.

Reason #4 These band members are talented

Like his voice, I have always been impressed with Chris Martin's talent as a song writer and piano player. I also understand the drummer,Will Champion is a very talented guitar player who picked up the drums and adapted to be in the band. I have a high respect for instrumentalists who can play more than one instrument and be true musicians.

And Reason #5!!!

Coldplay is a comfort band for me;">There is a story behind this one... In Spring of 2003, a friend of mine played me Coldplay's big single, Yellow. I liked it, but I was not, in any way in love. However, it was enough to leave an impression on me. July of 2003 I was preparing to move to New Zealand to go to a study abroad. In search of some new music and on a whim (these were the days before I was an itunes junkie), I picked up their recent album, A Rush of Blood to the Head. It had stickers all over it from the awards they won at the Grammy's. I took it home and popped it in. I wasn't sure how I felt till I heard The Scientist. I immediately fell in love. Then, I got sick with a terrible cold. One week before I was to fly out, I was in bed, listening to Green Eyes and feeling comforted as I dreaded the large trip I was taking.

In New Zealand, my life changed. I was on my own for the first time, and I was on the other side of the world. I listened to the Rush of Blood album a lot. It helped me feel better when I was homesick. Then, curious, I picked up Parachutes while in New Zealand. Immediately, I fell in love with that album. I was hooked.

So, the top reason why I love Coldplay leads back to how they make me feel. I associate them with some of the scariest and best times of my life. And, when things are REALLY bad, I listen to them and I feel much stronger. Many of their songs have conveyed my exact feelings at various times of my life. Let's just hope they come around someday and I get the chance to listen to them live as one in the happy masses.

The Entertainer

ok, let's see if we can pull off a full-blown blog in a lunch hour!!! HAHAHA!!!

No, seriously... I wanted to take a quick moment and write about the history of playing the piano in my life. It has turned out to be something I have truly loved and lost and now, I come back to it with open arms.

Eight years old, I sat on a little stool at our gnarled 100 year old upright piano. When I was six, I had memories of my brother sitting at its keys and playing The Entertainer over and over again. Taking piano lessons would be my moment in the sun. So, I started to learn, and ultimately grew bored with playing silly two note songs over and over again. It wasn't that I was ahead of my time, but rather irresponsible. I wouldn't practice. Instead, I would sit at the keyboard and press 5-8 notes at a time with my hands in the upper and lower half of the keyboard. I simulated the "music" of storms and was drawn to the sound of the second to the highest octave. I experimented and sounded like some Modern Charles Ives, paying no attention to rules. I never bothered to learn any rules.

As you can imagine, this didn't last long. Maybe one year at the most and then add at least another 6-8 years of hearing, "you should have stayed with the piano and practiced... imagine how good you'd be by now." But, about the age of 18, I was forced to slice up those words and eat them with my pride.

I realized my junior year, I loved to sing. I wasn't the best singer, but I had talent. Enough talent to work hard and keep up with all the sopranos who had been in singing lessons since they were 7. Music and singing became my life. But I couldn't read a note. In an attempt to create musical improvement (and keep my vocal scholarship at WSU), I put myself through the largest crash course of all time: college music classes.

I started at the very beginning with a fast paced fundamentals class and pulled myself through a year of Keyboarding, Music Theory, Ear training and Sight Singing. Along with this, I broke away from the melody and comfort zone of the soprano line and began singing parts in the two choirs I was in. I struggled more than I even remember, but happily, this earned me a music minor (which I believe took more time than my 2 year English/creative writing degree). I didn't need a minor, but I did it for me.

"Is this some moralistic story in which Katie is trying to preach to us," you ask? No. I really just wanted to say that I am glad I did it, because now I can play the piano for myself. I am still very bad at the piano. I never learned to practice. But, I can bleed and fall through a song and eventually learn to play it well. And, I am the one who benefits most.

Now, when I play the piano, my mind zones out and takes off. I re-run ideas, and recent conversations and function in a beautiful peaceful state. It is how I feel when I go running. I do something taking concentration and it allows my mind peace.

Recently I have returned to the piano. I had taken an extended break after a bad recital last May. Last night was the first time I picked up my music and really played. It felt liberating and lovely and I am ashamed, after all I have learned, I let fear and embarrassment get the better of me. Here's to Chopin in 2008!!!

The Year of Joy

"Adam fell that men might be; and men are that they might have joy." -2nd Nephi 2:25


I have never been very fond of New Years. While other people find it an amazing time to make resolutions and jump into diets, I see it as the stagnant middle. The dead center of January, winter full blown, and a time when sunlight is lacking. It was always such a let down to drag myself away from the beauty of Christmas and welcome another month without the joy of the holidays. I never liked it. But, one thing I do love, is the simple act of writing the month. I love reaching the end of 12 and writing 1 again. This simple act reminds me everything has a beginning. I live my life week to week, but every once in a while, it is a marvelous thing to step back and see the large year, in circles, fold back to its beginning.

One way I embrace change each January, is to set a "theme" for the year. Now, do not confuse this with a resolution. My theme is an idea to keep in the back of my mind from month to month. Maybe I will write a simple list of things to look forward to in the year... but regardless, the theme provides focus and direction.

Last year was the "Year of Kate." Maybe this sounds a bit too broad. In January, of last year I was getting ancy about my age. The birthday I had approaching in June was not one I was looking forward to. So, I felt like it was time to make the year, MY year. I didn't know how, but I was going to do something to make 2007 stand out from the rest. My 2006 was a hard one, so, in the year of Kate, I was going to take as many risks as possible. This would be my year.

How did it turn out you might ask? Well, it was one of the most difficult and wonderful years of my life. I will discuss this further in another blog... but I would like to address this year's theme.

2008 is the Year of Joy.

Watching my life change and the lives of those I love change, I realized negativity (especially in myself) has become a terrible disease. It has just become easier to see life through Woody Allen glasses. It was easier to frown and expect sadness to come. Anyone who knows me, knows I am a happy person by nature. It was nothing I learned. Happiness has always come naturally, but it is possible to lose that if you look down long enough. So, I decided this year would be the year of joy.

The purpose of life..... (here it is!!!! the answer everyone wants to know...) is for men to have joy.



So, what is joy? In his book, 'Surprised By Joy' C. S. Lewis describes it as having one characteristic different from happiness and pleasure... "anyone who has experienced it, will want it again." The drive or ever-burning need for joy does not leave a person. Instead, it stays steady. And, Lewis also made the observation that "joy is almost never in our power and pleasure often is."

We can conclude then that joy is something constant, like a hunger and that it out of our power. Here is what I believe.

I believe joy is something long-lasting. But, that since it is our purpose in this life "to have joy," we are always looking for it. Like Lewis said, we hunger for it. Joy makes us stronger, while pleasure and/or happiness can be fleeting. Joy in a sense is peace and since we live in a erratic world with problems and we are flawed individuals, joy becomes our goal.

I have had moments of joy... one moment was at a concert at the Saltaire. The music was ethereal, the snow was peaceful, and I was with a loved one. Another moment was when I walked gardens by myself, the first day in June. I have also known joy in long conversations with family and those as close to me as my family. I had never been able to name the feeling I got after I wrote, or sang. These were the intangibles. But, I now know, these moments are joy. The more I have them, the more I want to make myself worthy for more of them.

And, this year will be the year of joy. I know better then to expect the year to go smoothly without any bumps, but I also know I only have power to recognize joy when it comes. These are the moments we live for and this is the year I will be aware and prepared.

Academics

In honor of meeting Mr. Billy Collins (the former US poet Laureate and the first poet I fell in love with who wasn't dead) last night, and especially because I have dedicated my last three weeks to studying for the GRE; I felt like it was time to post a poem a bit lighter than the heavy academic world. I wrote this poem for my last professor. My last class before I graduated was Russian Lit and along with my last paper, I slipped this under the stack of papers. I welcome comments on this one because I have been told this poem might be offensive to a professor. I prefer to believe anyone with a sense of humor would appreciate it.

English Professor

He’s herded us through
fifteen weeks of communist ideology,
and six Russian novels
totaling 1,849 pages together.

We’ve compared each protagonist’s
mental state to Freud’s
theory of the Ego
and looked for phallic symbols
among Joseph Cambell’s archetypes.

He’s suggested we read
books like Lolita
and A Woman in Amber
sometime before we die.

We’ve analyzed the proletariat,
the theory of Animism,
and the Catholic Church
by the end of class,
and stayed ten minutes extra
as he explained the role
of excrement in a novel.

By the time we reach
Voinovich’s satire,
we’ve lost our
sense of humor.

But as he lectures
on a scene between
Gladishev and a horse,
he laughs and
wipes his mouth
like he’s just finished
a plate of ribs.

All Saints Day

Several years ago, while my best friend Jess and I were driving to school (commuting an hour if you will) I came to a realization. It was the day after Halloween, commonly known as All Saints Day. The air was thick with fog and smoke and it was cold as winter slept in the grass and under the car's hood. I looked out the window and watched as neighborhood after neighborhood unfolded into thin and quiet. Pumpkins were either burned and puckered on porches, or their faces were smashed into orange shards in the road.

I realized, Halloween has always been an amazing night of pretending to be something you are not. It was about dressing up and eating the best of the best candy. It was about fear, and the power of curiosity, to seek out screams and continue feeling unsafe. And then, this one morning, I noticed how calm swept in over the valley. People were themselves again, sleeping and breathing evenly and knowing with 100% assurity, everything was as it should be. Ghosts and ghouls and terror had drained away. It was pure relief.

All Saints Day is traditionally a day to honor the dead and those who have made religious sacrifices. This is another reason I love it. The day after evil has slipped into our line of vision, we are tugged back into good and light.

As I drove to work this morning, I recognized peace still present in the tired faces of career-driven people commuting into the city. Another October of sugar and fangs and rapid pulses, over. The night went well. We survived another season of fear.

a poem by someone else

I really wanted to share some awesome lyrics from one of my favorite songs right now.
The guy is named Jeremy Enigk and he has played in several bands...Including Sunny Day Real Estate and The Fire Theft. But, in 2006 he released a solo album called World Waits. Since I am an itunes junkie, I had to partake of the goodness.

The album is very good. Many would classify him as "emo" but I prefer to hear the optimism in his lyrics. Take a look...

Been Here Before

Been here before.
Though there's something in the air this time.
Now I wanna give away what I've taken back.
Run away with you toward the night.
A thousand names.
Though this something in me cannot smile,
don't wanna spend the day retracing steps.
Run away with you toward the light.

I can't stay long in the morning.
Another world went wrong - it's ok.
Now that you're gone,
hold me in your eyes or suddenly deny
I sympathize.

Those diamond days
A thousand strands of sunlight in her eyes.
Now I wanna give away what I've taken back.
Step away with you toward the night.

Hold me in your eyes or suddenly deny
I empathize.

Hurry up and sleep,
to the night you go

Two Poems

These Two poems were written a few years ago. They are autumn scenes and needed to be shared. Especially because when I took them to my English professor, they were rejected because they were about Halloween and pumpkins and were too cliche. So, yeah. I still like them. Especially All Saints Day. this blog is where I publish what I want!!! HAHAHAHA!!!







One Hundred Shades


Dozens of pumpkins
are turned out,
their smooth faces forward.

Eyeing one hundred shades
of orange,
the boy’s mind moves
from apples, dirt
and plastic spiders.

Pulling his mother behind him
he weaves her through the crowd,
with his hand over hers,
and pulls her fingers across
a cool, rigid stem,
bent like a door handle.

She stoops
and lifts the pumpkin,
darker than the rest,
and balances it
on her hip like a round child.

With his hands,
the boy traces
the seams of the pumpkin,
piecing each segment
and stitching its shape,
naming one shade of a hundred.





All Saints Day

The pumpkin’s wide,
singed jaw
puckers under 5 a.m. frost,
its hollowed eye
fixed past the porch,
on a dog,
ticking in sleep.

The air—
smoked and spiced,
runs up the bone of the
dog’s back,
breaks apart his dream,
and passes through
the lowered gate
of the cemetery.

Several coughs
are heard along the plots.
The dead smother their mumblings
and stretch low,
grasp their bone toes,
and tuck themselves back
in the ground
to watch the
round Jonagolds
drop
into their yard.