the ghost story

it was 4:30 a.m. this morning and my attempts to stay up through the following hours were failing miserably. as i gave in to sleep and my limbs grew numb, the thought of inertia creeps suddenly popped up. and along with it, a hunger for massive attack i hadn't felt in years.

though i'm reluctant to put them in the hall of infamy for one record i couldn't get enough of at 18, it's time to reacknowledge it: "mezzanine" provided the oldest relevant brick in the foundation of what my songwriting is today. and by grace of liz fraser, i may have had my first glimpse into celtic coolness. the coolness. indeed, i owe these guys more than i'd have thought in my female-vocalists-and-seventies-prog bubble, had it not hit me unexpectedly. that something i call electro-spleen; that phlegmatic yet groovy, cynical yet mystical tone. while today i turn to the likes of radiohead or bjork for guidance in deliberating and fashioning said tone, massive attack made it feel natural - like it was in my blood and voice. that is, before i'd begun constructing my blood and voice. back when music to me was my parents' cassettes and cds from high school buddy tudor. back when music to me was a gift i didn't take for granted. back when music to me was sound, not trend awareness.

there's a feeling of being the younger kid who believes the ghost story and shudders under the covers, rather than the elder kid who makes it up and makes it believable. a feeling i laid in lavender once i started taking my songwriting as a battle plan. a feeling that waned as it started taking more and more to challenge me as a listener. to reach the high "mezzanine" used to give me, i now need the most insanely intricate havoc yezda urfa can wreak. the awe is gone. but there is gratitude still.