And what a retirement it was. I resolved for New Year's not to blog about anything that wasn't worth blogging about. At first it was a resolution not to blog at all, but then I put in an "unless it is worth writing about" clause, you know, just in case. To be honest, I all but gave up this blog only a few short weeks after I started it, and it is surely a lot of garbaaaahhge.
January came and almost went. Then my nephew sent me a link to his demo album. I clicked on the link and downloaded RocketCity's debut Bedroom Demos, saved it to iTunes and planned to sample a few seconds of each track. I listened straight through to the end, burning a red quinoa dish along the way (never fear I salvaged what wasn't actually stuck to the pot, added some broth and spices and the kids ate it up none the wiser).
I must find the words to tell you how much I love this album. The words that come to mind are so overused that I cringe at their appearance here. Bedroom Demos is hauntingly, stunningly, heart-wrenchingly wrought of a (very) young man's life, love and talent. The lyrics are sweet, clever, wise beyond their years, yet joyously youthful, speaking of regret but always pointing to hope. Yes, Arthur, paradox. Armed with only his understated, unassuming, lovely (and most importantly) in tune voice, a Stratocaster, some reverb and a wah-wah pedal (you'll have to excuse me if I didn't get any of these items correct...I'm painting an image here, not necessarily striving for factual accuracy) this album was produced quite literally in his bedroom. The melancholie ridden lyrics are only matched by the bittersweet melodies, the two synergisticly evoking something more than any of the meager tools would belie.
I am again brought to tears as I listen to the album in the background as I write. I am sandwiched between emotions and pulled forward and back by the reasons for them. I knew this baby when he was born, the first-born of my older sister. As an infant he would mistake my voice for his mother's and be tricked into accepting me babysitting him for a while. He reminds me in that way of my own sons, especially my first born. The freshness with which my mind can conjure perfect memories of him so young, speak to how fleeting time is. The grown-up heartbreak he conveys breaks my own heart over that baby being so old, capable of experiencing and communicating such love and hurt, healing and breaking. It fills me with fearful anticipation, a sort of creeping, shadowing dread of what awaits my young sons. The misunderstanding, the mistakes, the rejection, even hatred that awaits and the the strong desire to protect them from these things all overwhelm me.
He takes me back to a time when my heart was capable of truly feeling that crazy kind of love, and then makes me doubt that I ever had it in me, finally making me mourn the fact that it simply does not. I am taken back to to a wonderful terrible time when feeling and breaking rode over each other like waves coming without any apparent rhythm that threaten to keep the heart tumbled til its lungs burned up...if only there were anything left to break.
Somewhere in the sadness is an undercurrent of hope. I hear a deeper song of a love that isn't fickle and doesn't change and would never break the bearer. The mark of what I consider truly great music is the steady driving force behind each track. A love that puts the pieces of the broken back together and breaks anew a heart of stone long thought to be dead. In the end, that's what really got me.
The talent matched with a willingness to work hard and get himself out there impress me with what wonderful parents must have raised him. Granted I am biased, because his mother has been the truest friend I have ever had and I have more than once been jealous that his father had not been my own. (Don't anyone take that too literally) It just seems like they really gave him some good tools, and certainly God didn't scrimp on the talent. Questions rush into my mind: how do you be that kind of parent? how do you impart such confidence and chutzpah to your offspring? how do you love them so that they can grow up and love and then write about it?
RocketCity is my new hero. RocketCity writes, composes, produces and has put out what I predict will remain my favorite album of 2011 in its Bedroom Demos. Please give it a listen, it is available for free http://www.megaupload.com/?d=V4O9X1O4 Please tell your friends about it, especially if your friends are discerning people in the music biz with an ear for the kind of talent that touches the heart.
