Celestial Pop
Scholar and I got into a very interesting discussion while on a long drive yesterday. Fleetwood Mac's Sarah came on the radio, and we got to talking about Celestial Pop. We coined this term long ago; it's a song that seems to have come directly from heaven, straight to one's ears. The kind of song that gives you goose bumps when it gets to that certain part -- you know the one -- where the drums kick in or the guitar wails or the bass sounds just so. Surreal. Fantastic. Like the band is channeling the angels.
There are absolute categories of pop (in our humble opinion). Some of it's crap. In fact, most of it's crap. But then there are good pop or rock songs, unlikely to win any awards and yet so easy on the ears. The vast majority of what's out there falls into these two categories.
And then...there's the Celestial.
Naturally it's a matter of taste. Scholar, for example, hates Tori Amos. He calls her the Shrieker. I can't say that Stevie Ray Vaughn does much for me (although there's one song that does a lot for me, if you know what I mean). But on Celestial cuts, we usually agree. For example, we feel that the Beatles are in the all-time Celestial hall of fame for having the most songs which possess that transcendency, that Otherness. When we listen to The Long and Winding Road, or A Day in the Life, or Penny Lane, or a host of others, we know that some divinity was singing to the boys from Liverpool. They were just writing 'em down.
Scholar and I also agree on Celestials from Fleetwood Mac, the Police, U2, and Prince. Gypsy, for instance, is a dead-on Celestial song. As are Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic, With or Without You, and One. Every Breath You Take, though creepy, is celestial. So is Where The Streets Have No Name.
We part company in a few places. I rate Who's Gonna Ride Your White Horses as Celestial; it leaves Scholar cold. He loves Led Zep; I have yet to embrace their mystery. For him, Pink Floyd's Learning to Fly raises the arm-hairs. For me, it's Wish You Were Here. We both rank Elvis Costello's Every Day I Write The Book as a Celestial, but Scholar doesn't agree with me that Duran Duran deserves some kudos. I might be biased.
But nothing makes a car trip go faster than when we get on this kick. We both love our music so much; it's one strong ingredient in our marriage glue. I get a kick out of Scholar when he's jammin' out to some tune. He gets this goofy smile, and he'll tap my arm when a good part comes up. "Ready?" He'll ask. "Ready?" And then the drums will kick in or the guitar will wail or the bass will sound just so, and his eyes will close. He's lost in this blissful place, and it is so damn cute and sexy.
I must confess... there are definitely moments when I think my Scholar has a little touch of the Celestial, too.
There are absolute categories of pop (in our humble opinion). Some of it's crap. In fact, most of it's crap. But then there are good pop or rock songs, unlikely to win any awards and yet so easy on the ears. The vast majority of what's out there falls into these two categories.
And then...there's the Celestial.
Naturally it's a matter of taste. Scholar, for example, hates Tori Amos. He calls her the Shrieker. I can't say that Stevie Ray Vaughn does much for me (although there's one song that does a lot for me, if you know what I mean). But on Celestial cuts, we usually agree. For example, we feel that the Beatles are in the all-time Celestial hall of fame for having the most songs which possess that transcendency, that Otherness. When we listen to The Long and Winding Road, or A Day in the Life, or Penny Lane, or a host of others, we know that some divinity was singing to the boys from Liverpool. They were just writing 'em down.
Scholar and I also agree on Celestials from Fleetwood Mac, the Police, U2, and Prince. Gypsy, for instance, is a dead-on Celestial song. As are Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic, With or Without You, and One. Every Breath You Take, though creepy, is celestial. So is Where The Streets Have No Name.
We part company in a few places. I rate Who's Gonna Ride Your White Horses as Celestial; it leaves Scholar cold. He loves Led Zep; I have yet to embrace their mystery. For him, Pink Floyd's Learning to Fly raises the arm-hairs. For me, it's Wish You Were Here. We both rank Elvis Costello's Every Day I Write The Book as a Celestial, but Scholar doesn't agree with me that Duran Duran deserves some kudos. I might be biased.
But nothing makes a car trip go faster than when we get on this kick. We both love our music so much; it's one strong ingredient in our marriage glue. I get a kick out of Scholar when he's jammin' out to some tune. He gets this goofy smile, and he'll tap my arm when a good part comes up. "Ready?" He'll ask. "Ready?" And then the drums will kick in or the guitar will wail or the bass will sound just so, and his eyes will close. He's lost in this blissful place, and it is so damn cute and sexy.
I must confess... there are definitely moments when I think my Scholar has a little touch of the Celestial, too.
posted by Tierant at Tuesday, January 04, 2005
1 Comments:
Off topic, but I linked to you over at EE. Let the traffic begin!
The Celestial scholar...it has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? You should write a short story about a mathmatical robot who suddenly discovers music and breaks springs or some such thing...
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