florence and the machine have become very popular. their november show at the fox in oakland is already sold out. you've probably heard a song or two of florence's on the radio. so the question is: is florence real. the answer is yes, florence is real. her album 'lungs' makes possible certain emotional states reserved for euphoric mania, belonging in psychiatric wards, occasionally escaping into the street where it dances and mixes through osmosis and becomes something else. you can't really feel that good without rolling out of your pajamas laughing and pawing at the man in a suit walking down the street. I'm currently listening to "between two lungs" on repeat. this is not "kiss with a fist" or "the dog days are over" her two more popular songs. "between two lungs" reminds one that it is possible to live your life as if it were a cathedral. an enormous cathedral that you make alive with a deep breath, exhale and the oxygen in the temple is alive. a modern cathedral borrowing it's blueprint from gothic architects. florence's life breath cathedral is all windows and steel, but it is shaped like a cross and spread out over many city blocks or many green fields or wherever the fuck the cathedral is. bring to your mind a conception of the biggest gothic cathedral you can imagine, now replace all the spires with rectangles of glass ribbed with steel. breathe and oxygen and huge walls of glass. You can see them and they can see you. This cathedral is open and alive and breathing and florence has all her machinery working in brutal order, the harps, and all the influence of musicians and philosophers and poets and painters. is it any wonder that i just finished reading "the fountainhead." with all her machismo and modernity. let's break with the past and create that which is absolutely unique to our time. let us eschew the anxiety of influence and create that which is for only now. modern man's impotent brilliance. but florence looks at Ms. Rand and laughs a manic laugh and her machine starts and the music begins and Ms. Rand must sit down. all those wonderful musical influences already discussed in overwhelming detail, fiona apple, bjork, dylan, regina spector, arcade fire, but florence takes all the musicality and spreads it out over the glass walls of her modern cathedral so the music is pulsating and, not surprisingly, the walls of glass begin to breathe like lungs of a giant saber toothed tiger on the sprint, chasing down pre-historic prey. i saw the greatest minds of my generation stuck in some fucked up job. without the space to pursue what is pure. without the space to breathe their world view, their philosophy, their entrails, shit, sorrow, blood, fucking fluids, their ideas, their conflicts, their homosexuality "who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors," their bi-sexuality, i saw the greatest minds of my generation from a distance on wall street, cheating, i saw the greatest minds of my generation not creating art. what shame. what poverty. and like arcade fire's first release circa 2005, florence and the machine give out to the world a collection of songs (you can pick and choose) and one of these songs is literally called "cosmic love" and it literally is a beautiful song. cosmic love, as if the graduate had just been released in IMAX 3-D, as if the 1960s didn't come up with enough cosmic love to white out those two words for eternity. but florence pulls from eternity, "the stars, the moon," she's literally singing about these things blowing up. and it is a great song. what the fuck florence, have you no fear? you are an eccentric being with your labels and posters and string sections and your art school and your voice. a voice that is quiet in the right places and husky when the song calls for husky and brutal. arial and diaphanous and liquid and strength. and petering and pulsating and re-focused on the breath again.
but this is not about florence. it is about the modern cathedral in glass. and you are in the center. this is your life, your cathedral. what the fuck are you going to do? are you headed to the wall to wipe your fuck face on the street? are you headed to new york? are you headed to brooklyn or union square or the lower...east...side? the dog days are over. i never wanted anything from you except everything you have and what was left after that too. happiness.
you are in the cathedral and the glass walls are breathing and your soul is frenetic, finally the angst has become too much and you are quivering and shaking and the truth of your pure fluid is going to flow, and you are on the precipice. before chest pains pull you into the shadows and the blip, do what you love. for god's sake do what you love. do what you love, shaking and falling and sobbing, let it spill. we are all too young to die. do what you love!!!
"you hit me once
i hit you back
you gave a kick
i gave a slap
you smashed a plate over my head
then i set fire to our bed.
a kiss with a fist is better than none"
florence has many options open to her now. she passed the test, the implications of which may be felt for many years to come. of course, i can't predict the future. however, it is my birthday today. i am 33.
with love for your preservation and process.
Anthony
No comments:
Post a Comment