400hours

[400hours]

Secondhand Rapture by MS MR

Then: For a long time I thought Billie Piper and Piper Perabo were the same person. They both have Piper in their names, both have brown eyes with shoulder-length blonde hair, and both have wide smiles. Indeed, both even played the stage role of Carly in reasons to be pretty (Piper Perabo debuted the role in 2008, while Billie Piper took up the UK run in 2011.)

So when I started binge watching Doctor Who and saw the name Billie Piper, I thought, “Hang on, isn't that the woman from the film Imagine Me & You?” A quick trip to Wikipedia showed that nope, it was Piper Perabo...who adopted a British accent for the role.

Eventually I got it through my thick skull that these were two different actresses, and I started watching my way through the spy series Covert Affairs (starring Piper Perabo.) Lucky for me the first few seasons were already available, and I serendipitously finished the season three finale right before season four aired live. The season four premiere heavily featured the song “Bones” by MS MR, and I thought its tense and mysterious sound perfectly fit the episode.

Now: I shouldn't like this album. Synthesized sounds—generally don't enjoy them. Vocal filters? Don't like them either. Vocals that stay within one octave? Boring.

But those synthesized sounds are combined with more traditional instruments to create depth—ethereal electronic soundscapes that float in the clouds, grounded to the earth by the deep thrum of drums and piano keys. The vocal filters don't obscure as they would in other works; they multiply the singer and make her a bigger presence. And the limited vocal range? Not a reflection of poor skill, but a deliberate choice at simplicity, to balance the cacophony of instruments.

The result sounds very much like Florence and the Machine, and I'm sure I'm not the first person to say that. Nothing wrong with two similar sounding acts, much like there's nothing wrong with two Piper-named actresses. It's just more to enjoy!

[400hours]

Morning Parade by Morning Parade

Then: In late 2012 I watched a few episodes of The Vampire Diaries. I don't remember much about the tv show, but I came away adoring “Give Me Love” by Ed Sheeran and “Speechless (Acoustic)” by Morning Parade. Looking at my files, it now appears that I have 177 songs and 2.44 gigabytes from those two musical acts. For a show that I don't care about, The Vampire Diaries sure had a large impact on my music collection.

Now: As I listened to Morning Parade's self-titled album this time around, I realized I don't know much about rock. I can differentiate thrash, doom, and melodic death metal. I can talk about third wave ska, hardcore punk, pop punk, and even Christian hardcore if I have to. I know that I like baroque music from the 1600s, but am less enthusiastic about romantic music from the 1800s.

But rock? I know that if the music is heavy on the guitars, and isn't metal, punk, jazz, or blues, then it must be rock. I know that my beloved metal music is derived from rock. I know that The Beatles and U2 are types of rock bands. But I don't know the sub-genres of rock. I don't know what label to put on Morning Parade's dreamy rock that can wonderfully encapsulate a range of emotions in a single song—the thrill of love, the heartache of a breakup, the optimism of carefree summer nights. The same type of rock that was on the Twilight films and on teen dramas.

Wikipedia tells me that Morning Parade falls under alternative rock and indie rock. I guess I'll have to do more research on these two sub-genres.

[400hours]

The Sound Of White by Missy Higgins

Then: Sophomore year. The theatre department put on a night of student-written one-acts, and I went with a couple of friends. Why not? Theatre is fun, it was free, and I knew some of the actors in the show. One of the pieces was on the darker side, dealing with a suicidal person, and the work was beautifully bookended by “All For Believing.” My housemate really wanted the song, but alas, it wasn't identified in the program. Technology to the rescue! I emailed the writer-director and got the name of the track.

For whatever reason, my housemate thought my action was a rather bold move. I'm not sure why since I only emailed a fellow student at our small school, not Tom Stoppard. Personally, I was more nervous e-mailing my professors while my friend had no problem with it. Oh well, to each her own.

Now: For those that enjoy the dreamy piano pop of Sara Bareilles, I think you would also enjoy Missy Higgins. Indeed, there are a few tracks I would mistake for a Bareilles song, if it weren't for Higgins' Australian pronunciation of the letter “A,” distinct from Bareilles' American accent.

Higgins creates broadly beautiful sounds, like an abstract mural. But don't look (or in this case listen) too closely since you might start to notice the less-than-perfect details. Higgins isn't a master singer, and some of the lyrics mesh badly with the instrumentals. No, this isn't an album that is to be slowly savored with our full attention. But if you want something pretty as the background to your life, this is a good choice.

[400hours]

The Spirit Room by Michelle Branch

Then: 2001. Not everyone had cell phones, and in any case they didn't have enough memory to hold music. MP3 players were similarly rare and expensive, portable disc players were a smidgen unwieldy, and the CDs to go with them weren't particularly cheap. $15 for a standard 12-track album, or about $21.15 when adjusted for inflation in 2018. Slow internet speeds thwarted those who used P2P networks like Napster and Limewire, and of course Youtube and Spotify were still several years off.

Point is, discovering different genres and artists was difficult, and exposure to new music came via MTV and radio. And here's a little tidbit: nearly all the major radio stations were owned by Clear Channel Communications, now known as iHeartRadio. The Powers That Be chose girl-with-a-guitar Michelle Branch to be one of the chosen few, so Michelle Branch we all heard. And Michelle Branch I loved.

Now: Debut albums are funny little things. They carry the experiences and passions of a lifetime (unlike sophomore albums, which are the reflections of two years of an artist's life.) But they also reveal the weaknesses of an artist—their inexperience with composition, the still-developing music skills, the discomfort with a recording booth. We can hear that a little with The Spirit Room—Branch's lack of control over her melismas in “Everywhere,” the rhyming couplets and cliches of “Sweet Misery,” other songs about love that are generally nice, but not memorable.

But not with every song. There's the heartfelt emotional bite behind the vocals of “All You Wanted.” The bluesy feeling of “Something To Sleep To.” The dreamy quality of “Drop In The Ocean.” (At least until it horrifically turns into an upbeat electronica song.) Hit and miss, like many other albums. But overall a nice album.

[400hours]

Star Trek and Star Trek Into Darkness by Michael Giacchino

Then: There are a number of ways that people know me. To my cousins with whom I have little in common, I'm the antisocial one. To my neighbors, I'm the great gardener. To my high school friends, I'm the sci-fi geek. And to my college friends, I'm the cheerful baker.

For whatever reason my college friends never got it through their heads that I like sci-fi; they were always surprised when I tossed Star Wars, The Matrix, or a Battlestar Galactica episode on the tv. When I admired another person's Firefly DVDs, they were surprised that I knew the series. And when someone proposed a movie theater trip to see the new Star Trek reboot film, they were surprised at my excited squeals.

Maybe I should have worn a t-shirt saying “I Love Sci-Fi.”

Now: Bear McCreary's soundtracks are attention-grabbing and are of such import that they sometimes overshadow the actors. Graeme Revell's works are so subtle that they verge on the forgettable. Holding the middle ground is Michael Giacchino who knows how to play the pied piper with unforgettable pieces, but is also willing to play second fiddle to the actors in a film.

There are a number of pieces like “Run And Shoot Offense” and “The San Fran Hustle” that are staples of action movies—brass instruments and beating drums to heighten tension as the main characters go on chases. Somewhat forgettable and difficult to differentiate from other action film scores, but still important. Does anyone really want to see a ten-minute action sequence where all we hear is heavy breathing and the pounding of footsteps? No, which is why we have background music. Do those scenes require earth-shattering compositions worthy of heralding the messiah? No, which is why the music is fairly unobtrusive.

But of course Giacchino can demand the audience's attention whenever he wishes. The title theme for the new series encompasses the dignity of the Federation and the exciting promise of space. A recurring theme, it's often reworked in different instruments and speeds to convey other emotions like tenderness and fear. “Labor of Love” is capable of inducing tears even without the accompanying film scene. And “Buying The Space Farm” is a thoughtful piece that's surprisingly restrained for an over-the-top action franchise.

Loudness and quietude, extravagance and restraint. When given in balance, each element is enhanced. And Michael Giacchino strikes that balance very well.

[400hours]

S&M by Metallica

Then: As a child I never got to go exploring on my own. It's a dangerous world, someone might kidnap me, yadda yadda. If I wanted a book from the little-used third floor of the local library, my dad was right behind me. If I wandered one aisle over during a grocery trip, my mom got worried. I went out with friends of course—and my parents always knew ahead of time where we were going, and made sure my cell phone was charged. But I never got to wander around alone.

For university I moved a thousand miles away and no longer had to report every move to my parents. But I had never really learned to navigate areas on my own, and the lifelong warnings against kidnapping, robbery, and assault ensured that I stayed near friends throughout freshman orientation. One day shortly after classes began, I found myself with a few free hours while my friends were still in lecture. My homework was done, it was a sunny day, and I wanted to go off campus. “Yeah, it's safe to explore by myself,” I thought. “I'll just go up and down the local main street.”

I wandered into a used record shop, one of those independent places owned by an old hippie that I thought only existed in the movies. I had no intention of actually buying anything—I downloaded all my music for free. But as I casually riffled through the rock section, I saw a copy of Metallica's S&M. I liked Metallica, I liked classical, I had some extra money, and I was feeling a little adventurous. Why not?

Thankfully I liked the album. A lovely way to mark the end of the day's adventure.

Now: I get nervous when an orchestra is used in pop or rock. The strings (for no one actually uses woodwinds and percussion in these things) are often stuck playing simple quarter note ascents and descents. It's the orchestral equivalent of adding “oohs” and “ahhs” to a song. It lacks subtlety, and the tracks are often completely fine without the strings.

Much to my pleasure, significant thought has gone into how the San Francisco Symphony could best enhance Metallica's music. There's the completely new melody to counter the guitar-led opening of “The Thing That Should Not Be.” There's the way the rock and classical instruments riff off each other in “Devil's Dance” in a nearly sexual manner. And in the shock of the century, the non-stringed instruments of the flute and chimes can be heard in “Nothing Else Matters.”

Unfortunately there seem to be major flaws in the recording methods and post-production. There was significant crowd participation in the concert, parts where James Hetfield stopped singing and had the audience take over. Unfortunately the crowd sounds like a distant, inarticulate mess and the words can't be heard. Did no one point a microphone in their direction? A good live album makes the listener feel as if she were there; the poor recording of the audience only serves to remind me that I am not at a concert. Additionally, Hetfield's vocals are often drowned out by the other instruments. I know it often sounds that way in real life, especially if one is standing in the far corner of a concert venue. But this is an edited CD, and Hetfield's voice could have been made louder.

What's so perplexing is that this concert was recorded at the Berkeley Community Theatre, an enclosed concert hall. There were none of the vagaries of open air venues, and there would have been time beforehand to properly mic and test the area.

In short: good musical composition, bad execution.

[400hours]

Metallica and St. Anger by Metallica

Then: In a reversal of the usual pattern, I became familiar with Apocalyptica before Metallica. In fact, it was a while before I listened to a full Metallica album, and not just a few songs here and there. But as I immersed myself in various bands like Avenged Sevenfold, System of a Down, and Trivium, I felt a little embarrassed that I hadn't given a good listen to one of the big granddaddies of the genre. So I sat myself down, listened to Metallica's studio albums, and kept two: the self-titled Metallica and St. Anger.

Now: This has not been the best time to listen to Metallica—Metallica is for angry days, and I've been cheerfully gardening and listening to upbeat pop punk. I don't need to let off steam with aggressive drums and angry vocals. So it was a bit difficult getting through these two albums and I had to spread out this listening over several days.

Listening to these two albums years later has been a surprising experience since my current thoughts don't exactly align with my memories. The self-titled Metallica is much more varied than I remember, delving into melodic metal, doom metal, thrash metal, power metal, and regular hard rock. There are syncopated drums, rhythm changed, and fun moments where the bass gets to shine.

In contrast, St. Anger is a bit more monotonous than I remember. Actually, I hate it—Hetfield dumped the melodic singing in favor of simple rhyming yells, the drums lack nuance, and I can't even hear the bass. Thankfully, guitarist Kirk Hammett throws in some interesting guitar lines—he doesn't limit himself to three chords like Hetfield limits himself to three sung notes. Overall I get the feeling of a teenage screamo band their first year at Warped Tour. Now I've enjoyed screamo, and have enjoyed novice bands on their first tour. But I also expect them to build up more skill and variety, and not slide back like Metallica has done. I'm not sure why St. Anger made it into my permanent collection over Metallica's other albums, but perhaps it was the in-your-face aggressive yelling that attracted me. After all, I was an angry, unhappy teenager who wasn't allowed to yell. Perhaps I needed Hetfield to yell on my behalf.

Perhaps I'll do another update post in a few years, and see if my feelings have changed again.

[400hours]

Photographs by Mest

Then: Before learning about Good Charlotte, I was strictly a fun pop girl. Hanson, Britney Spears, and *NSYNC (but not the Backstreet Boys, because they were *NSYNC's rivals). The adults around me may have frowned a little at the racier songs, but it was mostly harmless fun. Good Charlotte was my first foray into rebellious music, and through them I learned about other bands in the punk and punk-adjacent genres. Rancid, Social Distortion, Goldfinger. The Used, Simple Plan, Mest. I didn't become a fan of all of those bands, but I at least listened to a few of their songs.

Such was the case with Mest—I knew the ridiculously fun “Hotel Room,” their collaborations with Good Charlotte, and not much else. But when I came across an article announcing Mest's breakup, I felt prompted to listen to their final album Photographs. Why not?

It was a surprise to hear such an introspective, mid-paced album; I was expecting more fun summer songs along the lines of “Hotel Room.” But it was a good match to the brooding person I was at the time, and I loved it.

Now: There is a fine line to be balanced in pop-punk. The music needs a certain amount of polish and sophistication, or the band will be called bad musicians incapable of holding a tune or playing more than three chords. Repetition gets boring, so they have to come up with new sounds and melodies to hold everyone's attention. But if the music is too slick, too perfect, then they'll be called inauthentic. The Holden Caulfields of the world don't want to buy music made by phonies.

Photographs adeptly walks this line, juxtaposing solemn lyrics with catchy, well-crafted instrumentals. There's the judicious addition and subtraction of instruments in “Take Me Away.” There's the convincing dejection in Jeremiah's voice as he sings an extended metaphor in “Kiss Me, Kill Me.” (At least I hope it's a metaphor for heartbreak and not a murder fantasy.) There are the tempo changes on “Graveyard” that adroitly take the listener on an emotional rollercoaster. Overall, an excellent collection of songs.

Best time to listen to this album: the night after a bad breakup, when you want you wallow in your misery yet still scream in defiance. Singing along to this album allows you to do both.

Postscript: Hello John Feldmann! I see you produced and co-wrote this album. Good Charlotte, The Veronicas, 5SOS, The Used, Story of the Year...when I check my music collection, your name comes up almost as much as Max Martin. Keep up the good work!

[400hours]

Safe & Sound by Maya Isacowitz

Then: Trendy clothing boutiques play upbeat music. It might be bubblegum pop or it might be electronica, but it has to fast and happy. Yet somehow, a store that catered to Asian women, located in a Chinese enclave, where Mandarin is the default, was not playing C-pop. It was playing a languid folk song sung in English—Maya Isacowitz's track “Safe & Sound.” When I found out later she was Israeli and never had a hit in the US, I was even more confused. How did the store owner find that music and what type of shopper was she trying to attract?

I never got the answers to those questions, but I did get a nice addition to my music collection.

Now: Ah, my schedule has finally calmed down a bit, and I'm able to leisurely enjoy some good food—bread, cheese, a glass of Malbec, and lemon cake topped with chocolate icing. It's not from elBulli or Alinea, with scores of ingredients, hours of preparation, and complicated plating, but the relative simplicity is quite pleasing.

Maya Isacowitz seems to be a fairly good pairing to my meal—similarly few elements, and similarly enjoyed at an unhurried pace. Isacowitz's music may be spare, eschewing a full band in favor of the acoustic guitar, piano, and a few other instruments here and there, but that means each component is allowed to shine. There's the reverberation of every plucked string in “Sweet Delusion.” There's the silkily smooth transition between chest voice and head voice in “Roses.” The melancholic harmonica and dragging vocal rhythm in the unexpected blues track “Free Yourself.”

Take it slowly, and let the music linger in your ears.

[400hours]

Letters Don’t Talk by Mary Lambert

Then: I had certainly heard “Same Love” since many of my friends posted it on social media and it was the subject of many newspaper articles. But it never stuck around in my head—I'm not really drawn to rap in general, and Macklemore's flow in particular didn't sit right with me.

Despite my disinterest, I felt obliged to watch “Same Love” at the 2014 Grammys—my cousin was one of the people getting married during the performance. Mackemore still didn't interest me, but Mary Lambert's sweet simplicity above all the bombastic brass and cheers was lovely. Her music was worth a listen.

Now: Slow down. Don't rush. Feel the inhale and exhale of your breath.

I grew up in Southern California, shaped by Hollywood. For the people here, every facial expression is intensely sharp and sparkling, showing that we're alert and ready for entertaining encounters. When I moved to the Pacific Northwest for college, I noticed the locals were a bit more serene and relaxed. Must have been the fresh air and abundant foliage.

PNW native Mary Lambert exemplifies that relaxed attitude, creating quiet ballads unafraid of pauses and imperfections. Here, the indrawn breath in the middle of a phrase, there, a plucked guitar and a tapering whisper. It's music for a quiet rainy day, when a person is lost in her thoughts and nursing a mug of tea.

Happy music? No, (and some of the lyrics get quite dark). But it has its place.

[400hours]

The London Sessions by Mary J. Blige

Then: I know the exact date I first heard Mary J. Blige's song “Therapy.” November 13, 2014. But I suppose that's cheating; I only remember it was the debut performance of the song, and it was at some televised awards show. A quick internet search informs me it was the American Music Awards. Why I had the television turned on, I don't know, as I hate the commercials on live broadcasts. But I heard an arresting voice and I stopped my puttering to give full attention to the screen.

Mary J. Blige? How could it be? In the past she had always performed with a cadre of flashy dancers, and even when she sang ballads she still wore trendy clothing to give a visual spectacle. Yet years later there she was at the AMAs, without flashy clothing or eye-catching backup dancers. Simply standing in black clothing, mesmerizing the audience with only her confident posture and expressive voice.

Now that's a star.

Now: Oh dear, I've been falling behind. Though I've been busy, there were still enough hours where I could have listened to music and posted on schedule.

I blame Charlie Hunnam.

You see, I finally decided to watch Pacific Rim and thought he was cute. To see more of that handsome devil, I decided to watch Sons of Anarchy while doing household chores. Then my mom saw that Sons of Anarchy featured a cute baby, and now a lot of my free time is spent watching the show with her. The rest of the free time is spent daydreaming about Hunnam's naked torso.

Back to Mary J. Blige.

I'll admit, I'm not particularly fond of the radio-friendly tracks with the club beats; they sound like dated 90s songs. But that's more of a personal preference. The ones without any synth or electric instruments however, are incredible gems. The unhurried (but not plodding) “Not Loving You” is a reminder that not every song has to be a roller coaster of speed and vocal tricks, that a well-sung, simple melody with good breath control can be sublime. Especially impressive is “When You're Gone,” with its complex lyrical phrasing that doesn't sound clunky with the instrumentals. As I previously noted, it's easy to fit a simple phrase like “Ooh love tra la la” into any type of rhythm. Putting the line “appreciate your advice but sometimes I have trouble managing” to music is a bit more difficult. Yet Blige pulls it off with aplomb.

Now if you'll excuse me, my mom wants to watch more of little Abel Teller in Sons of Anarchy.

[400hours]

Overexposed by Maroon 5

Then: I've never been one to ruminate on the past; what's done is done and I should move forward. Unfortunately memories of my past romances tend to haunt me, no matter my desire to leave them behind. When I heard Maroon 5's “Payphone,” a song about a failed romance, I was thrown back to my own unfortunate experiences. Over and over the song played on a loop; over and over those memories played in my head. Damn that song.

Now: The release order goes It Wont Be Soon Before Long, Hands All Over, and then Overexposed. If only heard the albums and didn't have the Wikipedia page in front of me, I would have thought Overexposed came before Hands All Over. Earlier I noted that It Won't Be Soon Before Long was an 80s throwback with lots of falsetto, while Hands All Over was more of a pop/rock album that was sung in a lower key. Overexposed is the middle ground, the perfect transition between those two albums—except Overexposed came after. Some 80s instrumentation...and some pop. Some falsetto...and some not.

For those that want a darkened nightclub feel, whether that means frantically dancing at a fast pace or slowly swaying with a handsome stranger you just met, this album would be a fine choice. I wouldn't say it's the most memorable—there's nothing revolutionary here—but it is quite serviceable. There are worse ways to spend an evening.

[400hours]

It Won’t Be Soon Before Long and Hands All Over by Maroon 5

Then: The historic district was charming with its wrought iron lampposts, brick buildings, and evenly spaced sidewalk trees. At night during the holiday season, it was downright magical with strings of fairly lights illuminating the way. I wandered from store to store, head bopping as I listened to Maroon 5's “Stutter,” and I was content.

Now: I hate rhyming couplets. Sure, they have their place—in children's books and introduction to poetry classes. They have no place in the album of a Grammy-winning band. Yet in the album It Won't Be Soon Before Long, they appear in abundance. Add in the fact that Adam frequently sings in an unmastered falsetto, and the album becomes quite unpleasant. But listeners that like 80s throwbacks and can easily filter out vocals from the instrumentals should have some fun.

Thankfully the rhyming couplets are mostly tossed out in Hands All Over, and Adam takes his singing down a few keys. Whereas It Won't Be Soon Before Long is more of an 80s pop album, Hands All Over goes a little bit more towards contemporary pop/rock, similar to the debut album Songs About Jane. The band plays around with some fun rhythms (“Stutter,” “Don't Know Nothing,”) and Adam gives an emotionally convincing performance. While the former has been fairly constant for the band throughout the years, the latter has been somewhat of a rare thing, usually smothered by straining falsettos or slick overproduction. Not this time!

For those that liked the tenderness and vulnerability of “She Will Be Loved,” in Songs About Jane, have a listen at “Never Gonna Leave This Bed.” Pop is great, and fun for dancing, but sometimes simplicity is better.

[400hours]

1.22.03.Acoustic by Maroon 5

Then: I've always liked live acoustic versions of songs, deliberately seeking them out and downloading them. What is the song like at its core, stripped of its bells and whistles? What is the artist like when deprived of the luxury of autotune and multiple takes?

I don't remember exactly when I got 1.22.03.Acoustic, only that it was several years after its release. Perhaps I learned about it when browsing Wikipedia, or perhaps I found it on Youtube. Perhaps I was inspired to plumb Maroon 5's discography after watching a well-choreographed dance to “Secret.” Who knows?

Now: In my last post I expressed a preference for Maroon 5's demos rather than the full production releases. Too much instrumentation and slick effects covered up the cores of the songs. Quite pleasingly, the nature of 1.22.03.Acoustic strips the songs back to their cores again, even if it also reveals some flaws.

Adam Levine isn't the most skilled singer in the world; he loses control during a vocal descent in “This Love” and somehow manages to quietly screech flat notes during a cover of “If I Fell.” (If it hadn't been so painful to my ears, I would have been quite impressed at the improbable feat.) But the display of Adam's weaknesses also tells me the strengths are real as well, and are not the product of production. There's the simmering anger of “Harder To Breathe” that he's able to convey without yelling, and the intimacy of “She Will Be Loved” that makes the audience feel included rather than excluded.

Kudos to Ryan Dusick as well, who sings on the cover of “Highway to Hell.” He's quite a passable vocalist and should come out from behind the drums more often.

[400hours]

Songs About Jane (2002 and 10th anniversary editions) by Maroon 5

Then: Everyone liked Barney when they were little. A few years later everyone liked *NSYNC. And a little bit after that, everyone liked Maroon 5. But for my friend Daphne, Maroon 5 was the greatest music group, and she always had Songs About Jane playing during her free time.

She wasn't devastatingly beautiful, wielding sharp beauty like a weapon. No; she was sweet and soft, and she was always cast as the ingénue in school plays. Of course the costume department dressed her in floaty dresses and she traipsed around looking like a Pre-Raphaelite painting brought to life. Outside of school plays she was the manic pixie dream girl with her worn converse, perfectly tousled hair, and bright eyes that invited people closer.

She had a bit of a hipster phase in college, rocking the thick-rimmed glasses and ugly sweaters. Following the natural progression of these stereotypes, one might assume she would go into art, or perhaps take to the streets as a high profile social activist, which also contains a performance aspect.

Ah, but the stereotype is always upended. Today she blends in with everyone else, wearing nondescript pants and sweaters, quietly helping people navigate the hospital system. Not so glamorous anymore, not the type of person that inspires fluffy drama and rom-com movies. But she's very helpful to others, and that's quite a nice thing.

Now: At classical concerts I don't clap between movements. It's not just to prove my cultural snobbery; it's also an acknowledgment that the composer deliberately inserted silent moments just as surely as he inserted sequences of played notes. A silence might build tension, or gently bring people down from an emotional high—either way, it's there for a reason and I allow myself to enjoy it.

I don't think the members of Maroon 5 clap between movements either. The tenth anniversary edition of Songs About Jane, composed of demos, is filled with silence. Minimal guitars on “This Love” allow the simple piano melody to convey the sleaziness of a toxic relationship. The keyboards of “She Will Be Loved,” later replaced with a reverberating electric guitar, make for a sadder and more intimate song. And “Shiver,” which contains full stops between lines? Perfectly reflects the stop-and-go nature of a relationship.

What a shame then, that more noise was added to the commercial 2002 debut of Songs About Jane. The extra instrumentation makes for fun music and keeps the party going, but it erases a lot of nuance from the lyrics and covers much of the emotion in Adam's vocals.

Oh well; at least we have the demos now!

[400hours]

Po'okela Chants by Mark Keali'i Ho'omalu

Then: As a child, I took hula lessons. Well, the class said “hula,” but it was really a mix of Polynesian dances—some Hawaiian hula, some Maori poi balls, and some Tahitian 'ote'a. I enjoyed it for a few years until a new teacher came along and put a heavy emphasis on 'ote'a—I hated that dance. The movements tired me out! Bits of straw and feathers floated everywhere! And though I wasn't fully aware of sex at the age of eight, I knew there was something weird about the way the audience stared at us.

My mom threw a fit when I refused to re-enroll in the class, but it was one of the few times I held firm and didn't cave into parental pressure. Eventually I found my way back to the Polynesian dances in college; a friend dared me to enroll in the Maori dance class when he learned I could do poi, and I later learned there was also a hula kahiko class.

I was nervous walking into the kahiko class; it had a reputation for being tough and was mostly filled with seasoned dancers. In contrast, I had only done a little bit of kahiko years ago, and I was sure I had forgotten everything.

But as the teacher played Mark Keali'i Ho'omalu's music during our warm up, everything rushed back to me and I fell into the familiar rhythms alongside everybody else.

Now: The past week has been incredibly stressful for me, and in the chaos of everything, there's something soothing about about Mark Keali'i Ho'omalu's structured, repetitive ipu playing. Now Ho'omalu isn't famous for his instrumental playing; he's famous for his distinctive vocal tone, the swinging rhythm of his chanting, and vigorous choreography. In short, he's famous for being very different. But beneath it all are the same percussive rhythms played by every other hula teacher across the globe, present and past.

Now that I realize this, perhaps it's not so surprising that the lyrics on this album tend to be from oral tradition—and for the lyrics written by Ho'omalu himself, they're about myths and historical figures. It's an interesting contrast to Keali'i Reichel, whose music is also in my collection. Though Reichel's chanting and kahiko choreography are more traditional than Ho'omalu's, Reichel chose to go contemporary with his commercial recordings. Releasing music for the modern hula 'auana style, Reichel's lyrics are inspired by his personal life, and he liberally uses newfangled instruments like the ukulele, keyboard, and violin.

I guess we all have a little bit of the traditional and the modern in us, no matter what our reputations say.

[400hours]

Mechanical Animals and Holy Wood by Marilyn Manson

Then: My housemate and I were mad. Over a guy, but we had enough sense to be mad at him and not each other. Out came the dark, angst-ridden music to which we could scream along—culled from my own collection since my friend tended more towards pop.

My Chemical Romance? A smidgen too upbeat. HIM? My housemate wasn't familiar with them, so she couldn't sing along. Ditto with most of my metal and hard rock collection, actually. Linkin Park and System of a Down? Getting closer, but not quite perfect for our purposes.

Marilyn Manson? Rebellious and dark, check. And sexy, with slow, thumping beats—perfect for two hurt women trying to get their mojo back.

Now: I can't write anything cohesive right now; my mind is cluttered with looming work deadlines, personal errands, and the infernal sound of construction going on outside. I suppose I could delay writing this entry, but I'm still going to have the same distracting problems tomorrow. Please forgive my haphazard thoughts.

Practically every band with a pale-skinned, dark haired lead singer eventually gets compared to Marilyn Manson. I always considered it a stupid exercise, like how every pretty female singer is compared to Whitney Houston and every guy with an acoustic guitar compared to Bob Dylan. Yet listening to Mechanical Animals and Holy Wood, I can hear how others have drawn inspiration from the band. The dragging rhythms of early My Chemical Romance? I hear the same things in Marilyn Manson's “Dissociative.” And HIM? In a blind listen I would have sworn “Valentine's Day” had come from them; that's how similar they sound to Marilyn Manson at certain points.

But Marilyn Manson wasn't created in a vacuum; I can also hear the inspirations they took from others. There's the James Brown funk in “I Don't Like The Drugs,” Blur's guitars in “The Fight Song,” something of Depeche Mode in “Disposable Teens,” and the sounds of 80s sci-fi movie scores scattered throughout. An interesting thought exercise, though it sometimes prevents me from simply relaxing and enjoying the music.

Wait, has the construction outside stopped? Hallelujah!