Darkness On the Edge of Town

I'll be turning 18 on April 3rd, 2009. Bruce Springsteen will be at the Dodge Theatre that night. The Bruce Springsteen. The Bruce that taught me about high school and love and hope and helped me through more lonely nights than possibly any other person.

I'll be missing that show.

It would have been so perfect.

Ironically, I'll be performing in Hamilton's dinner-theatre performance that. Theatre has taught me so much as well--but no one comes close to The Boss when it comes to high school.

I like to think that I'll be there in spirit--but I won't. Mine will be out on the stage.

The Wrestler

So, apparently, if you play a homo or a retard--you win an Oscar.

No offense, but come on. Mickey Rourke had the best performance of the year in The Wrestler, and he's back on the rise from his recent rock bottom. I'll admit that Sean Penn had a great performance, but Rourke got screwed. He played a character that wasn't an Oscar-winning stereotype, and that should have counted for something.

Oh, and The Wrestler should have one Best Picture over Slumdog too. I'm so sick of people slobbering over Slumdog Millionaire. Yay--it's an average movie from the Middle East that just happens to have amazing cinematography, but there's no way it's better than The Wrestler, Milk, or Frost / Nixon. Hell, the kids in Slumdog all out-acted their adult counterparts.

And a big "Bravo!" to Heath Ledger and his family--who definitely had the best acceptance speech of the night. Kate Winslett was great, too.

All in all, it was a very good Oscar night--even though Curious Case of Benjamin Button shouldn't have been nominated for Best Picture. Especially because The Dark Knight was a thousand times better.

With a Little Help From My Friends

I have this strange feeling sometimes. Like I'm supposed to write a specific song. Usually, the song produces itself through normal methods--such as brainstorming or just flat-out inspiration. But, for the longest time, I've felt like there was a song in me that I could never get to come out.

In fourth grade, I had a close friend named Bobby Fisher. He was an unbelievable kid. He drew and painted like no one I'd ever seen. Granted--we were only nine years old, but I looked up to him as a best friend and confidant. We were practically polar opposites when it came to art. He could visualize and then create anything he wanted--and I was always the aural counterpart. We had a lot of great memories; my mom and his were even friends in college.

On a cold day in April, Bobby didn't come to school. At recess, we saw smoke rising from his neighborhood. At our baseball game that night, he wasn't there.

I returned home after a night of fun to a news report. An emotionless news anchor delivered the words like a stone--sinking deep into my heart.

Robert Fisher, Bobby's father, had waited until his family had fallen asleep. He then collected his hunting knife, lighter fluid, and camping supplies. He piled the supplies into his truck, lit the house on fire and then drove away--but not before waking each member of the household just long enough to slit their throats.

Bobby was awake when his own father killed him.

After reading a friend's entry on losing someone close, I felt that she and I had a lot of the same common feelings. So, I have to give her credit for this song. It doesn't have a title yet--she hasn't gotten back to me--but I'd like to think of this as Bobby's song.

Untitled

As the train rattled past the quiet house
Muffled by a heavy sigh
I read the letters that he wrote that night
Signed his name one last time

The walk by the River, the mass that night
Moon reflecting in his eyes
Watched my brother break down
Slipping back through endless life

[Chorus]
He would have been the one to end it all
Caught me right before the fall
We all knew where he was going
Just didn't know where he had gone

Clouds in your heart drew words of love
Silence choked the air
Rolling boulders to the top of Hell
Just to have them roll back down

[Chorus]

[Bridge]
Didn't deserve it, didn't even know
Still has the music buried in the snow
Didn't deserve it, didn't even know
Buried that music deep in my soul

We haven't seen or heard from him
Since he traveled on
Watched the smoke rise up again
Write another sad song and move on
Write another sad song and move on

[Chorus]
He would have been the one to end it all
Caught me right before the fall
We all knew where he was going
Just didn't know where he had gone

© Casey Reed, 2009

A big thank you to Lauren for finally dragging this song out of me.

Blue In Green

Picked up the 50th Anniversary Edition of Kind of Blue. The packaging is amazing, so I thought I would share.

BLUE vinyl! Amazing! It's almost opaque--but you can see right through it!


The packaging is a hardshell sleeve type with embossed "50s" along the outside

The commemorative book has two identical posters--one I plan to frame and the other to keep with the rest of the memoribilia. The book contains pictures and essays about the album equalling out to almost 10,000 words!


Inside the gate-fold sleeve are the two CDs, one DVD, and the LP is in its normal spot in the front half of the sleeve. The track listings are next to each CD, and pianist Bill Evan's essay for the album is printed on the inside fold.


Inside this packet, there are five 8x10 photos, a copy of the handwritten essay by Bill Evans, and a reproduction of the original 1959 liner notes and book--which were both included with the original.


All of the contents

Obviously, I'm sort of having a miniature music-nerd freak out. Who else would photograph themselves opening a record?

You know how some people put their arms in front of their kids when the child is riding in the front seat?

I did that with this album.

The Way Young Lovers Do

I've noticed something not too recently--mostly about my own relationships and dorky crushes.

Most of the girls I've been attracted to, either for a brief moment or a long period of time, have all been very faithful to some higher power. This pattern stretches all the way back to my Freshmen year, but I'm just now seeing it.

I've never been particularly religious, which has been a struggle for me since around 7th grade. I did go to church as a kid--but I never acknowledged those nights as actual spiritual events. The Christian activities we would go through were always just minor inconveniences in the path toward playing around with my friends. These experiences have obviously spilled over into my high school years--but my lack of faith has affected me more than I'll let myself believe.

Is it wrong of me to not want to go to church? My sister is afraid that I'll go to Hell--but even that doesn't convince me to try to change my ways. In all honesty, I don't think I can change my ways. Flipping through channels with preacher after preacher just totally disgusts me--but I can never pinpoint the reason why that is.

But I think I'm starting to realize my reasoning.

During the time of night when most people are praying--I'm listening. When most people are praising--I'm writing. When most people are worshiping--I'm too busy thinking.

I've now learned that I have a negative view towards religion because I've replaced these normal religious activities with my own sense of introspection and thought. I'm not one of these "God Hates Fags" people and I don't protest outside churches, but I feel that my own way of worship is better for myself--so I don't plan on changing anytime soon.

So now I'm trying to fill that spiritual void in myself, with ever-degrading results. Fortunately, this leads me to listen to more music--which brings me to new heights during every listen.

Our Lives Will Have Once Crossed By Then

I'm writing about it spontaneously. This is not good.

Not good at all...

Crescendo / Decrescendo

Jeff Buckley died at just 31 years of age. He will be defined by one piece of art--and one piece only. I realize the argument. "But we aren't defined by just what we do!"--but part of me still sees that as his only true definition. Grace was what he brought into the world, and it was almost as if he was put on Earth to record that single album before his passing.

After writing my Senior Project song back in November, I was terrified that this will be my final definition for myself. Even during my countless rewrites--it still never felt completely whole. It really only took one line to make me change my mind on the piece.

First off, I had mentally stumbled upon the titled "Crescendo / Decrescendo," which I am extremely happy with. Secondly, I brought out my harmonica to add touches to the beginning and end. I'll post the lyrics here, but expect a recorded audio version to arrive shortly as well.

Crescendo / Decrescendo

We woke up this morning
Different people than we were
Walked back down those side streets alone

But each night I see your face
In every corner shop window
I have to pass as I walk home

But that's okay
What's done is done
And I can't hold you here like that
It's time that I just let you go

Just keep on walkin'
Don't turn around
'Cause I might see that look upon your face
That I know so well
Just keep on breathin'
That midnight air
Right now I feel colder than
Dante's Hell

The Devil weeps upon his throne
Broken heart in hand
Even Lucifer can't please everyone he meets

And sometimes I like to think
I'm not as crazy as I sound
Empty souls carry no memories around

But that's okay
What's done is done
And I can't hold you here like that
Trapped inside these four walls

Just keep on walkin'
Don't turn around
'Cause I might see that look upon your face
That I know so well
Just keep on breathin'
That midnight air
Right now I feel colder than
Dante's Hell

Meetin' with the Man himself
Across the River wide
Hoping judgment comes down on me tonight
And I'm praying for the first time
But probably not my last
Being lowered into the chilly depths of life

But that's okay
What's done is done
And I can't hold you here like that
I'll turn around if you turn first

Just keep on walkin'
Don't turn around
'Cause I might see that look upon your face
That I know so well
Just keep on breathin'
That midnight air
Right now I feel colder than
Dante's Hell
Right now I feel colder than
Dante's Hell