1) They sound almost identical to Garbage. Their approach to music is practically the same, using riffs, hooks, and sound effects, all beaten into line by over-enthusiastic drums. Curve preceded Garbage, and I could definitely hear how one has influenced the other. Sadly, Curve never hit it as big – it would seem that Garbage figured out the winning formula.

2) Toni Halliday and Shirley Manson look and sound strikingly similar. They have the same vocal range, the same edginess in their attitude, and have the same grungy look (pre-Beautiful Garbage). I was blown away. Watching Curve’s video was like watching Shirley’s older sister rock out.

So this week’s song is one of my favorites I’ve heard for Curve so far – it’s called Fait Accompli, which is an accomplished and presumably irreversible act. The lyrics speak of darkness, aggression, insomnia, and giving in to temptation – a theme that is also dominant in Shirley’s lyrics.

If you like Garbage, you’ll like this band. If you’re already familiar with this band, then you know what I’m talking about.

Video for Fait Accompli: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQO-nr0zSvw

Left: Shirley Manson; Right: Toni Halliday

Top: Toni Halliday; Below: Shirley Manson

Honeybee is about someone who’s always flitting from flower to flower like a bee, but never to her – and she wants him, badly. Current story of my life.

At least I got a taste once, but we all know that just one taste is never enough.

“When you gonna notice me
God you’re such a little tease
When you gonna finally land it on my lips
When you gonna give me just a little sip
You’re a honeybee…

You’re killing me.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hLj6KX-hRek

When I first saw it, I thought it said “Bugger.” I mean, the guy is clearly in a pickle – he’s got a noose around his neck and one more chance to solve the puzzle!

There are so many possibilities. Let’s list a few, shall we?
-Bigger
-Hugger
-Logger
-Digger
-Rigger

It’s like a fun game of TextTwist. Try to figure out how many words you can make of this before you look at the picture below.

Now what does the picture above say? Did you even think of that before seeing this?

I sure didn’t. Hadn’t even crossed my mind. This goes to show that without context, words are subject to our own perception. I thought the hangman was in dire straits, therefore as an expression of this unfortunate situation, he was thinking, “Bugger.” Someone else might think of another word to fill in the blanks based on how they perceived the situation.

Though mind you, eventually the “N word” would have come across our minds, but would have been dismissed because who would make that implication in a public museum? But with the second picture, context plays a crucial role, and we become sure of the answer.

If you’re near the MoMA, have a look at this exhibit on the third floor near the elevator.

Yet, there are some talents that I would love to have, such as music. I think I would have been good had I been given the opportunity, and at one point I tried to take things into my own hands – I bought a bass guitar back in 2003 and taught myself how to play. I wasn’t very good at it, but I enjoyed it. My best friend is a musician (a damn good one, too), and I’ve seen him write songs before – it’s magical. He hears it somehow, somewhere among the firing of his synapses, and breathes life into a series of numerically-based sounds. The same way my sentences are more than a sum of the words in them, his songs are more than just the notes he writes down – they’re a part of him – fun part, sad part, silly part, happy part, scared part… all sorts of parts. Like any talent, you need inspiration for that kind of thing, and sometimes the muse takes a hiatus. Well buddy, you’ve got a poem on your desk – and I know because I sent it to you – maybe you need to pick up those instruments and go beyond the jazz standards that bring you comfort. Jump into this, and maybe you’ll remember how much fun it is. It worked for my mother.

Ah, yes – my mother. I was surprised when she announced one day that she was going to take up painting. She went to classes, she practiced, she painted until she got it right. She made paintings for my friends, one of which is hanging over a piano in Cap Sur Ville, and the portrait she made of my father captured enough of his essence that our old neighbor started talking to it thinking it was my dad. (Then she put her glasses on and felt a little bit stupid, like you would feel when trying to push open a door that’s clearly labeled “pull.”) But she lost her muse too, perhaps a victim of the 2006 war with Israel. The paintings stopped, the canvas remained unloved, and the acrylics dried up in their bottles. The easel stood in its corner, dejectedly waiting the day that someone would decide it had taken up enough space and it was time to throw it out – I had to do something. Frank needed a painting on his wall, and mom needed a muse, so I asked her to make a painting for him. It took her months, but it now adorns his bedroom wall in Waltham, traveling across the Atlantic to get there – and it wouldn’t be the last portrait she’d paint.

I admire my mom’s talent, and the fact that she picked it up at a later stage in her life after three kids (who kinda sucked up most of her time). I admire the talent of one who can draw, and constantly wish that I had that kind of coordination – oh, the worlds I would create! The characters I would give birth to, the things I’d make them do, the satire I would create! Wishful thinking. All I can do is admire the work of others, but instead of moping about how I can’t draw, I’d rather admire how someone else can. I love it when someone tells me that my piece moved them, so I love to see the look on an artist’s face when I not only tell them that something is beautiful, but why it speaks to me.

Perhaps one of the most accessible talents to pick up (after writing) is photography. In this day and age, it’s easy to find the right tools – a good camera and a good image editing program. However, there’s more to it than that. You have to have the eye. You have to find that perfect moment, know when it’s coming, and know how to make your camera capture it. Ayham taught me that. It’s not about taking five, ten, fifty photos and choosing the best one – that’s for advertising, functional and calculating. Photography is like a scalpel, you have to cut into the flow of time and extract the exact moment that you want, and not everybody knows how to do that, nor does everybody know what to do with it once they have it.

Meedo does. I have never met this man before, but the way he presents his images go beyond just simple editing and “fixing them up.” He’s daring, he tries things, pays homage, finds that perfect combination of tint, grain, and sharpness to make your heart stop. Or your eyebrows furrow in puzzlement, depending on what he’s trying to make you feel. Point is, he makes you feel it, and no matter how dumbed-down your explanation of “why you like this picture” can be, the way you feel about it is inexplicable. What a talent. I think that someday my sister will be doing just that in a way I never can.

So no, I don’t have all the talents that I wish I did. I doubt that anyone is a complete package, otherwise he may as well be named Adobe. But I happen to know that my mother started to paint in her late thirties/early forties, and I know that I love the bass guitar. Maybe one of these days, a few years from now, Frank and I will write a song while my sister freezes those precious moments in time with her camera.

Hey, it could happen.

There are times when I crave Solitude. I love having friends and having an active social life, but sometimes I just want to wind down and talk to myself for a bit, see how I’m doing. I like to write, or paint, or play a video game, and usually the best way for me to do that is by being alone, because all sorts of magical things happen when I’m by myself. Sides of me that I want no one to see take the opportunity to come out and play; they make their mark on my private writing projects, on my daydreams, on my canvas, even on my energy. Solitude can be a very liberating thing.

The old adage is true in most cases – too much of a good thing is bad. Too much Solitude, for instance, can be detrimental. All that time spent alone, being forced to confront yourself and those sides of you that you keep hidden from everyone else. They’re like guests that overstay their welcome, and you just wish someone would knock on your door unexpectedly so that those sides of you can retreat faster than Bruce Willis’ hairline.

I have been spending time with friends. I have been going out and doing my thing. I have been balancing my work with my play, and doing a good job of it. I got belay certified in rock climbing, I’m going to the gym, I’m even going to Club Cafe on a Tuesday night. Thing is, I’m not only doing it to seek fun – I’m also doing it to actively avoid Solitude. And it’s been a while since I had to do that.

Am I depressed? Certainly not. I’ve got a lot to be happy about, actually. It’s just that there’s a lot of uncertainty in my life right now, and Solitude has a nasty way of rubbing it in my face. It grabs me by the hair and plunges my face into a tub of viscous salt water, where lying at the bottom I can see all the questions plaguing me. Will I find a job soon? Will I stay in Boston? Will I move to Beirut? Will I be happy there? Will I be accepted? Will people find my Westernized charms more of a nuisance? Will Solitude follow me there?

And in that tub of water, I desperately bob for apples – but there’s one apple in particular that I want. It’s floating just out of my range of vision. I can’t turn my head because Solitude won’t let go of my hair, but I know it’s there – I caught a glimpse as my face careened towards the water, propelled by Solitude’s vicious grip. That apple is the one that will put Solitude back in line and stop it from overstepping its boundaries, and I’ll no longer have to avoid it. The other apples – friends, family, social life, self-fulfillment – I already got a taste of those, and they’re very sweet. I love them. I would never trade them for anything. But that one apple… I just want a bite out of that one, to add it to the collection of pleasant tastes in my mouth and in my life.

I’m lonely, and I want the apple of my eye.

Maya stayed with me for a week. We’d walk along the sidewalk and sing the chorus. We’d ride the train and think about the chorus. We’d go rock climbing and hum the chorus. We’d stroll through Central Square, pull it up on her iPhone, and have an impromptu dance-off to the chorus. (Not really a dance-off, but we got stared at a lot.)

This song totally fits into my life right now. I was recently musing over how long I’ve had my current celebrity crush, and this is perhaps the longest I’ve adored the same celebrity on a consistent basis. Just look at the lyrics to this chorus: “I’m your biggest fan, I’ll follow you until you love me / Baby there’s no other superstar you know that I’ll be / Your papa– paparazzi” Come on. It’s perfect.

And for the record, I memorized the chorus faster than Maya did. That speaks either to how much I really do like this song, or to my incredible memory (which we all know is shit so it can’t possibly be that).

Lady GaGa

This week’s song is “Footprints,” by John Gerard.

Gerard is a singer/songwriter based in Boston, and he makes his living through the dollars dropped into his guitar case as he busks along the T or throughout Boston/Cambridge. He has three CD albums, all of which I own, and I must say I had the pleasure of meeting this man in person – not only is he a nice guy, he gave me one of his CDs as a gift for being a fan. If you ever hear about him having a show nearby, go see him. If you hear him playing on the T or in Harvard Square, stop and listen. This man has talent.

What I like about Footprints is that Gerard takes an old adage and turns it on its head. You know that anecdote where a guy walked through life, and God always claimed he was with him? And then the man looks back to see that in the hardest times of his life, there was only one set of footprints. The man asks God why he left him during those times when he needed him most, and God said, “Those were the times that I carried you. (Jackass.)”

In this song, Gerard says, “For all the times I walked the shore, all I ever saw were my footprints, and nothing more.” But throughout the song, he points out all the other places where he saw God, and it’s pretty heart-warming. I don’t think it’s meant to be a religious song – God holds many meanings to many people, from hope and mirth to comfort and understanding – but whatever God means to Gerard, it sounds like he knows where to find Him if he ever needed Him. It’s kinda made me think about where I see God myself, and for some reason makes me miss my brother.

Of course, I could be totally wrong and may have missed the point entirely, but that’s what I gather from this song. It has profoundly affected me and is, therefore, my song for the week.

John Gerard