They have this way, this way of writing and preforming music. It is their own music they wrap themselves around like wings, like a shroud-a sense of the departed love, the untouchable grace, the never-was. This is what removed, never-can-be-again noise sounds like. The Rosebuds make this drama come alive, making a drama of hiding and escape, material defeat and spiritual conquest, investing that drama with the passion of their voices and the physical presence of the bodies that hold it. They seem to guide you towards a crack in the invisible wall around their love. All they are doing is telling the story we all know, that of loss, but in a manner that makes the story new-making the familiar unstable, and the comforts of familiarity unsure. The secret of the crowd isn't that we have all hurt the same way, it is that we all begin to think it all over once the first chord is strummed. They take away the identities of their listeners, each one of us falls into their wound.
-Rosebuds 'Loud Planes Fly Low'
Monday, June 20, 2011
Sunday, June 19, 2011
JSB,SNW
Good nights, they had a few solo, but they knew very well that they did better together than they had done in the past. They set off something warm and good in each other. Loneliness dissolved, their nights became warm comfortable meeting of the people, it radiated, it was great, it was grand, you just could not describe it.
Like everyone whose life is conditioned by luck, he had some brilliant streaks of it and some that were dismal. It was that luck that was operating that first night. The combination of those two seemed to make for a wildness in the air, the atmosphere of their city was excited, like New Year's Eve. Yes, maybe it was a lucky combination of circumstances, but the first months they were together was brilliant. At that time, before they had titles or complications, it was pure seduction.
That night, the night they first had sex together, it happened casually, it was not important nor too satisfactory. Maybe they were too anxious to please one another, each a little too afraid of disappointing. Sex is made to be a little selfish to have any true excitement. The first time between strangers can feel like a blaze of light, euphoric even. The first time between people who know each other well and have an established affection, it tends to be self-conscious, even a bit embarrassing. Of course those drunken nights, those blind drunken nights, those are the nights that come alive.
Sometimes they had serious conversations, though most of the time he tried to keep the talk on a frivolous plane. She could tell it troubled him to talk about serious matters probably because some topics were too serious to be talked about in comfort. For the first month or so both pretended not to have a mind anyone could talk to. Gradually they discovered in each other the others things, the mutual pursuit of all things endless and indefatigable. This became the mainstay of their relationship, they slyly began to respect each other, not merely to like and enjoy, but respect as neither had ever respected another person.
It was through this blossomed respect that they found something honest, something raw, something heartfelt. He was her only close friend, and she was his. She was deeply drawn to the boy, he was not quite sure, watching her all the time with unabated interest.
It was later that spring in the small southern city that the ill health of their relationship became apparent. He did not speak of his suffering, but he would sometimes check on her, see if the pain had subsided. She behaved as if she was suffering from some disgraceful secret. She would snarl, she would yell. She made elaborate effort to conceal nothing.
It was the later days, he would stand as sure in the sun and powerful as the sun itself; but then a little shadow of uncertainty would touch him again. She would think him a boy again at moments like those, about seventeen.
Like everyone whose life is conditioned by luck, he had some brilliant streaks of it and some that were dismal. It was that luck that was operating that first night. The combination of those two seemed to make for a wildness in the air, the atmosphere of their city was excited, like New Year's Eve. Yes, maybe it was a lucky combination of circumstances, but the first months they were together was brilliant. At that time, before they had titles or complications, it was pure seduction.
That night, the night they first had sex together, it happened casually, it was not important nor too satisfactory. Maybe they were too anxious to please one another, each a little too afraid of disappointing. Sex is made to be a little selfish to have any true excitement. The first time between strangers can feel like a blaze of light, euphoric even. The first time between people who know each other well and have an established affection, it tends to be self-conscious, even a bit embarrassing. Of course those drunken nights, those blind drunken nights, those are the nights that come alive.
Sometimes they had serious conversations, though most of the time he tried to keep the talk on a frivolous plane. She could tell it troubled him to talk about serious matters probably because some topics were too serious to be talked about in comfort. For the first month or so both pretended not to have a mind anyone could talk to. Gradually they discovered in each other the others things, the mutual pursuit of all things endless and indefatigable. This became the mainstay of their relationship, they slyly began to respect each other, not merely to like and enjoy, but respect as neither had ever respected another person.
It was through this blossomed respect that they found something honest, something raw, something heartfelt. He was her only close friend, and she was his. She was deeply drawn to the boy, he was not quite sure, watching her all the time with unabated interest.
It was later that spring in the small southern city that the ill health of their relationship became apparent. He did not speak of his suffering, but he would sometimes check on her, see if the pain had subsided. She behaved as if she was suffering from some disgraceful secret. She would snarl, she would yell. She made elaborate effort to conceal nothing.
It was the later days, he would stand as sure in the sun and powerful as the sun itself; but then a little shadow of uncertainty would touch him again. She would think him a boy again at moments like those, about seventeen.
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