Category Archives: songs for the soul

where are you?

i rarely find songs that so perfectly encompass what i’ve thought about:

He drowns in his dreams
An exquisite extreme I know
He’s as damned as he seems
And more heaven than a heart could hold
And if I try to save him
My whole world could cave in
It just ain’t right
It just ain’t right

Oh and I don’t know
I don’t know what he’s after
But he’s so beautiful
Such a beautiful disaster
And if I could hold on
Through the tears and the laughter
Would it be beautiful?
Or just a beautiful disaster

He’s magic and myth
As strong as what I believe
A tragedy with
More damage than a soul should see
And do I try to change him?
So hard not to blame him
Hold on tight
Hold on tight

Oh ’cause I don’t know
I don’t know what he’s after
But he’s so beautiful
Such a beautiful disaster
And if I could hold on
Through the tears and the laughter
Would it be beautiful?
Or just a beautiful disaster

I’m longing for love and the logical
But he’s only happy hysterical
I’m waiting for some kind of miracle
Waited so long
So long

He’s soft to the touch
But frayed at the end he breaks
He’s never enough
And still he’s more than I can take

Oh ’cause I don’t know
I don’t know what he’s after
But he’s so beautiful
Such a beautiful disaster
And if I could hold on
Through the tears and the laughter
Would it be beautiful?
Or just a beautiful disaster

He’s beautiful
Such a beautiful disaster


musical battleground?

I’ve watched American Idol relatively devoutly for the last few seasons, despite certain friends’ disdain and derision. And while I watched the finale today, Kris vs Adam (or boy next door vs Goth rebel, as some have called it), I was thinking about music, musicians and pop culture. Personally, I have very indiscriminate music tastes – I listen to everything from Western Classical to R&B. And time and again, I’ve come under fire from people with, possibly, a more refined ear for music.

Pop, as I understand it, is looked down upon because of its “commercial” origins – bands and artists sing songs written by other people. I can understand why bands like NSync and the Backstreet Boys are preteen indulgences that we grow out of: their music is temporary, their sentiments mostly “synthetic” and their appeal is situational. They work and re-work cliches in order to make millions off the sentimental hankerings of people across the globe, fair enough.

The two finalists on American Idol this year, quite appropriately, represented opposing perspectives of American popular culture: the boy next door, Kris Allen was, I think, condemned to being written off because of his modesty and his self-effacing attitude despite his (yes, believe it) considerable musical talent. He took big, mainstream songs and effectively put his own stamp on them – changing melodies around, singing in his own style and managing to convey his sincerity through someone else’s words. Adam Lambert, on the other hand, seemed to be cast in the mould of the original American (adolescent) rebel, what with his Goth look, the much-talked about eyeliner and his unusual and admittedly astonishing vocal capacities.

While I thought both of them deserved to win, I did lean slightly more towards Kris, merely because he’s got just the sort of voice that I’d want to listen to, all the time. Adam, on the other hand, demands a certain incessant attention, a level of musical involvement that I just cannot give. But Kris’s docility and tendency to be less – well, attention-seeking – than Adam made him an easy target for being labelled “mainstream”, “pop” and that most undesirable of all positive labels, “Christian”. Adam’s alleged homosexuality also made it easy for people to say that America’s conservative middle class voted against him on the basis of everything other than his musical talent.

While I completely do not agree with the above assessment, I must admit that perhaps the above did happen, that Adam was disadvantaged because of his much-touted rebel image. But so what? In the end, both of them are different people, they’re allowed to believe in and represent different perspectives, just as we’re all allowed, individually, to conform and rebel as we see fit.

The problem arises when either one, conformity or rebellion, become the new norm. What we don’t seem to understand when we idolise either is that by simply adhering to one, or loudly declaiming the other, we ourselves are guilty of an opinionated bias – the very same bias that we’re often attempting to distance ourselves from.

So let me listen to my random assortment of music, while you listen to whatever it is that you want to. And if you feel moved enough to attempt to enlarge my musical vision, feel free. I’ll try anything.


In vain have I struggled, it will not do. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.

Yet again, Mr. Darcy. I’ve spent all of today, one of my many summer holiday Mondays, lounging around at home  and watching the TV series ‘Lost in Austen’ – the latest addition to the cult of P & P. And yes, it contains yet another feisty, erudite heroine in search of love and yet another smouldering, to-die-for Mr Darcy who simply stares and glares his way into her affections (and mine). There’s just something about men in breeches and waistcoats and high neckpoints that simply takes one’s breath away. And no wonder, I suppose, when what we’re sentenced to is often immature, idiotic and clad in dirty jeans and t-shirts. 

Of course, it was fictional wish fulfilment that made the series so enjoyable. I mean, what woman in the mould of the aforementioned title character would not want to be suddenly thrust into the 19th century, with the promise of Darcy, no less? 

I did a bit of googling while I sat here drinking my tea; unsurprisingly enough, there are a considerable number of Darcy-bashers (not too many though, maybe one for every five adoring fans).  Apparently, the twenty first century woman would rather be with an enlightened, sensitive man whose penchant for equality would preclude any chivalrous impulses he might have. Darcy is now identified as being repressed, domineering and entirely undesirable. 

10MrDarcy

But I suppose it might be interesting to delve into why women still cling to the Darcyesque Byronic hero type, whose veneer of cynical detachment is a masque par excellence, and one that only the right woman can see through and gently peek behind.  Personally speaking, I’m a feminist. I believe in equality. But as far as chivalry or compassion go, I’m still very much aware that I’m a woman, and I still want to be taken care of. I’d never win the award for being Miss Independent, but neither would I want to be characterised as one of those prissy, simpering women who need men like a fish needs water.  

Darcy seems to fill that in-between space: he’s neither overtly concerned, nor is he an advocate of free love and casual sex. And of course, any relationship involves a certain amount of power play, though in a typically 21st century manner of being politically correct, we’d rather not admit it. Darcy’s attractive precisely because he’s so politically incorrect: he would automatically assume the role of the dominant, superior partner in a relationship, as a matter of principle.

This 21st century penchant for the middle-ground, for tolerance, for an everything-goes sort of attitude towards life is just disconcerting. Where do you find yourself, how do you define yourself, and what do you categorise as important in a world that isn’t willing to commit to definitions or categorisation? But I think, in the race to be politically correct and to foreground our acceptance of differences, we’ve begun to glorify insubordination to such an extent that it has become the new norm. Rebellion isn’t just taken into one’s stride anymore, it’s expected.

Which is why, I suppose, a character like Fitzwilliam Darcy still resonates. In a world where everything seems to be falling apart, and the only principles are those that you coin in order to suit yourself and your goals, he represents constancy, value, respect, integrity and intelligence. And without those, what is love or life?


it creeps into my toes.

I’ve been listening to the soundtrack of Pride and Prejudice, watching The Tudors, reading ‘The Rivals’ by Sheridan and explaining English history to people all day. Yes, I realise how creepily obsessed with ‘England’ I can be sometimes, but all of this furore over nationality and patriotism is something I’ve never been able to comprehend.

After all, till date my only motivation in watching any sport remains the attractiveness of the men in question: unfortunately, I haven’t found anyone in the Indian cricket team worth supporting. But then again, I haven’t watched cricket in a while, and the last time I watched football was– well, last week, but that was pure chance.

But to get back to my point in writing this, I’ve been listening to an eclectic mix of music this week and honestly, it’s never been clearer to me that music can completely change your mood around. On a grumpy Monday morning, on the way to college in a noisy auto, listening to ‘The Militia Marches In” from the P&P soundtrack can really make you laugh out loud with happiness; listening to ‘Evenstar’ or ‘The Council of Elrond’ or ‘The King of the Golden Hall’ from the LOTR soundtrack can make you feel like nothing you’re doing is of any importance, that reality can be transcended.

Listening to hip-hop is mindless, transporting you into a hazy world of remembered drunken nights tinged with the smell of sweat, perfume and cigarette smoke spent in close quarters with strangers. Listening to the Beatles and ABBA makes me feel happy, self-contained, at peace with the world; Dire Straits and Pink Floyd remind me of my parents, every time.

And Bach, Mozart, Vivaldi, Tchaikovsky, Beethoven – the music seems to creep into my toes, into my blood, into everything.

I really want to start learning to play the piano again.

Pointless post, in the end, but I was just killing time until episode 10 of the Tudors loaded anyway :)


love will keep us alive

…flashes of conversation, hazy with alcohol and smoke and tears and the smell of memory…

we exchange so many words, we pretend to filter through our feelings, only portraying ourselves as those clay images that people will admire – hiding the flaws in the hollowness of the core.

I just want to go back to the beginning. back to the start, when expectation and reason played little or not part in what I saw of you or you of me.

we swim in a sea of heartache and carried-over warnings from past trespasses of the heart.

put it in perspective, see it from above and you’ll realise how needless it is that we force ourselves to hold back.

but conversely, from upside down – i’m glad we did. too much love will kill you, and you won’t understand why. let’s stay this way, loving what we’ve got to offer but nothing more.

i’d do anything for you and that’s just the way it is.

I was standing
All alone against the world outside
You were searching
For a place to hide

Lost and lonely
Now you’ve given me the will to survive
When we’re hungry…love will keep us alive

Don’t you worry
Sometimes you’ve just gotta let it ride
The world is changing
Right before your eyes
Now I’ve found you


Love will keep us alive.

 


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