Subscribe via Bloglines here:
For this site's Atom XML feed: click here.
Monday, August 13, 2007
toadman's guitar trinity...
I love music, as you all know. Among the many many notable guitarists in the world, I've recently decided that there is a guitar trinity...at least my own personal guitar trinity. Each person must find their own path to guitar enlightenment, I believe.
Below, are YouTube clips of the three guitarists that are central in my own personal pantheon of guitar rock and roll.
Steve Howe
David Gilmour
Steve Hackett
You may notice that I don't go in for "shredders," but more for emotive and artsy players. I like guitarists that can make you feel, rather than scream. But hey, that's just me.
So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell, blue skies from pain. Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell?
Sometimes one will resonate more than the others, for longer, it seems. Some will linger in your mind better. With some, the flavor of the ear candy presented never becomes tiresome or old, but always fresh. It's not true with all, at least for me, but with some, it is very true.
And did they get you trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change? And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
Sometimes, though the meanings are vague, the images stir deeper. For me, this is what makes something timeless. This is what makes something last, endure. Over time, some images fade, some stanzas become over used and typical. But not this one. For me, this is one of the best, one of the classics, one of those that will remain. This is one of the ones during which, I do not mumble, but let fly from my vocal chords with confidence. This is one of the ones that I know by heart.
How I wish, how I wish you were here. We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year, running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears, wish you were here.
Off the wall and odd is how it is today. A bit knackered, if you get my meaning. Stark raving, standing on top of the table in the middle of the lunch room weird, that sort of thing. Someone once asked me if I thought Jethro Tull got off on being crass and vulgar. I'm not sure. There were, to be sure, some not so subtle vulgarities in certain songs.
Sitting on a park bench -- eyeing ittle girls with bad intent.
But those songs, overplayed, are but the edge of the full picture. One cannot judge a cover by the book, can one? Witness:
Wond'ring aloud -- will the years treat us well. As she floats in the kitchen, I'm tasting the smell of toast as the butter runs. Then she comes, spilling crumbs on the bed and I shake my head. And it's only the giving that makes you what you are.
Good lines, great song, same album. A fuller picture emerges of Tull. Rounded and elaborate. Blues and tears and rock and roll and a middle ages minstrel show, all wrapped up into a 1970s full frontal attack by Ian Anderson's flute.
It's not for everyone, that's to be admitted. Some people just don't "get" Tull. I do. It's cold wind, snow, winter darkness and a warm hearth to me. It's a dark ale, a hearty and woody full flavoured whiskey over rocks with a touch of water. Witness:
Once in Royal David's City stood a lonely cattle shed, where a mother held her baby. You'd do well to remember the things He later said. When you're stuffing yourselves at the Christmas parties, you'll just laugh when I tell you to take a running jump. You're missing the point I'm sure does not need making that Christmas spirit is not what you drink.
Sometimes Tull is summer sunshine on the new shoots of wheat or corn. Sometimes it's a pagan dance in the glowing evening of a cool spring English wood with Pan himself dancing the Beltane around moss covered standing stones that have lived for thousands of years in that one spot. Witness:
Have you ever stood in the April wood and called the new year in? While the phantoms of three thousand years fly as the dead leaves spin? There's a snap in the grass behind your feet and a tap upon your shoulder. And the thin wind crawls along your neck it's just the old gods getting older. And the kestral drops like a fall of shot and the red cloud hanging high come a Beltane.
I've got Tull on the mind today. Not sure why...oh, be honest, I know why. Cleaning out the closet over the weekend, I found an old t-shirt from years ago. A Tull shirt, one of my favorites. This one, as a matter of fact:
Call me a freak, call me what you will. Music is my inspiration most days. It makes me feel, makes me sing, makes me feel better about my nine to five life. You're never too old to rock and roll...Rock on Ian Anderson!
