Dear No One in Particular,
I am one of those people who think in terms of "rounding" and averages. Ever since I first learned how to round up or down, I've looked at numbers according to their distance from the number 5. Greater than 5 qualifies as many; less than 5, few.
This way of thinking is indelibly tied to the way I view age. 0-5 is baby age, 6-10 budding adolescence. 13 is adorably young, while 19 is positively adult -- old, even. All of this is patently ridiculous, of course, but I can't help but look the number 5 as a turning point, the pivot upon which "a little" turns into "a lot".
I'm 24 now, which means that I still see myself as relatively young. But once I turn the corner from 25, I'll be 26 -- a grown-up age. A 26 year old has their life on track; a 26 year old has a 5 year plan, does not live in an apartment and definitely does not have kitchen appliances sitting on the dining room floor like a 24 year old. Despite the fact that 26 is still 2 years away -- so much can happen in 2 years! -- I'm already panicking at the thought that I will be Officially A Grown-Up in very soon.
Of course, being a grown-up is not a switch that turns on after you pass the quarter-life point. It's a process, as Kanye would say. I know in my heart of hearts that I'll be a fine grown-up, whenever that may be. But a part of me wants to be a Toys R Us kid forever.
A good deal of this -- perhaps all of it, if we're being totally honest here (which we should be able to be, right? If I can't be honest with a couple million strangers, then who can I be honest with?) -- has to do with the fact that 3 weeks ago, the Boy and I celebrated our 6 year anniversary. Of course, 3 years is a long time to be with someone, but 6? Six whole years of being in a relationship? That is definitely a long time. And because we've gone past that milestone, marriage is a topic that we've been discussing more and more.
I love that I say "we" and "discuss"; the Boy is a typical boy: the thought of marriage is something that is far, far down the line for him. Like, Bejing far. Really, the only man I've ever known to admit to fantasizing about his future wedding is, we all suspect, a very closeted gay man. Who also happens to be very out as a total douchebag, but I digress.
I, on the flipside, am a typical girl: I've been dreaming of weddings since I was 5, making Barbie and Ken (Ken and Prince Eric also went to the chapel to get married, but that's another story) tip-toe down the aisle in lace scraps and cloth napkins.
I've held many an imaginary wedding in my day; my most memorable took place in 5th grade. After magically managing to con one of the boys in our class into being the groom, my best friends and I spent an hour in the bathroom, dressing the "bride" in toilet paper and seat covers. We made a rather convincing veil and bouquet, and a not so convincing train to tuck into her Catholic-school-issue plaid kilt. I officiated the wedding, but unfortunately it dissolved a mere 24 hours later. Luckily for my bestie-bride, I was also a successful divorce attorney and managed to get her a Lunchables as alimony.
Now that I'm getting older and in a long-term, loving relationship, a wedding is becoming a very viable reality. It would stand to reason that my brain is positively sizzling with white lace and flowers; that every synapse is firing to the tune of the "Wedding March". But, oddly enough, it's not.
Somewhere down the line I decided sorry Billy Idol, but I don't want a white wedding. I'm not altogether convinced I want a wedding. Oh sure, I want to be married -- I very much would like to marry the Boy -- but I don't want a wedding.
My ideal situation would be to elope: to call up some close friends and head to Vegas. I would be married by an Elvis impersonator at some cheesy little chapel on the strip. I'm not kidding you guys -- I would wear turquoise blue with cheetah-print pumps and Elvis would officiate. It's my dream, and it's utterly unattainable because it would kill my mother. Kill her dead. And I can't have that on my hands.
So I keep putting together various scenarios for if and when we decide to get married. I have a specific chapel in mind if we must have it indoors, but ideally we'd just sign something at City Hall with as little pomp and circumstance as possible. We'd have dinner with close friends and family at somewhere iconically San Francisco, preferably with a gorgeous view. When dinner ends and all the olds go home, we invite everyone under the sun to a bonfire on the beach, where we dance all night in the firelight. Sparklers, cupcakes, and booze will be involved.
The details are still hazy, but driving home tonight I had a revelation. I've always agonised over the music: what to walk down the aisle to, what will play during our first dance? Tonight I decided.
This will be the first song we will dance to as a couple:
And half-way through, when everyone is getting bored with us watching us spin around the beach, deliriously in love, the needle will skip and this will cut in:
And everyone will dance, deliriously in love with love and life and the way that the flames reach up to tickle the stars.
--amanda
(I know I'm not the only one who enjoys a good wedding fantasy. Dish in the comments, my darlings, and we will ooh and ahh over the romance together!)
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Friday, November 19, 2010
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Voices Soft as Thunder
Dear No One in Particular,
A week ago Susan Boyle was not a household name. Now the 47 year-old Glaswegian is all anyone can talk about.* Since I'm an only child, and therefore the centre of the universe, I feel the need to weigh in.
What troubles me about Boyle's newfound fame is this ridiculous obsession with her appearance and its apparent relationship to her ability to carry a tune. Shows like "Britain's Got Talent" and "American Idol" rub me the wrong way because, as much as it is a search for a genuinely gifted individual, it's also freak show: attention seekers and clueless individuals alike are humiliated on national (and now international) television, creating a sort of weeks-long Roman holiday for the tuned-in masses. Naturally, this always works out well.
People are lauding Boyle as this season's Paul Potts: a working class schlub who most unexpectedly turned out to be a hit. Articles on Potts and Boyle often have an oddly reverential tone, as though they triumphed over great adversity -- but, really, they didn't. They overcame grinding mediocrity to become national sweethearts. That's the rub -- they're almost aggressive in their total normality.
Contrary to what people are saying, Boyle is not ugly. Sure, her brows could use a quick pluck and she could benefit from a slightly more flattering frock, but she's not exactly the monstrosity the media is making her out to be. Granted, she won't have a She's All That transformation should she make a threading appointment and slip into a new dress, but she's not climbing down from the bell towers in her current state, either.
So why are her looks as important as her singing voice? When token lady-judge Amanda Holden bestows Boyle with the backhanded compliment "I am so thrilled because I know everybody was against you", you can be sure the audience wasn't rolling their eyes because Boyle lives with a cat named Pebbles**. Why was the state of her hair enough to set an entire nation against this sweet, unassuming Scottish spinster? What shift occurred in our thinking that makes us equate external beauty with talent? Katy Perry is conventionally attractive, yet she doesn't exactly have the voice of an angel. Why, then, are we so ready to dismiss Boyle based on her looks? What prompts Ant or Deck to point at her gleefully and squeal "didn't expect that did you? Did you?! NO!" as she sings?
When I first watched Boyle's audition, I was actually a bit scared that she would be the British version of William Hung. You remember William Hung, right? God, I felt terrible for that man. The optimist in me would like to think that he was in on the joke, yet the realist in me knows this not to be true. Watching so many people laughing at him made me feel like the entire world was back in high school, bullying the poor "weird kid". I hated what happened to Hung, and I really wish that on no one.
There is no doubt in my mind that if Boyle was not in possession of a good singing voice, she would have been laughed off that stage. Hell, she was laughed at the second she walked on.
And here's where I express my most unpopular opinion: I don't think she's that good of a singer. Don't get me wrong, she has a beautiful voice, but she's not exactly blowing my mindgrapes with her rendition of "I Dreamed A Dream". She hits the notes perfectly (though she struggles a bit with the low notes), but there's no oomph. The whole performance, frankly, is a bit reminiscent of karaoke; I don't get a sense of strong emotion driving the song and "I Dreamed A Dream" is all about emotion, you know? It should sound like her heart is breaking with every syllable. I'm sure the standing ovation from the people who, just seconds before, were laughing at her affected her performance, but ... ok, I'm really cynical, but I think that if she had just a so-so voice she would have had audience support, and I think this is because the audience had lowered their expectations of her due to, you guessed it, her appearance.
As it is, Boyle really does have an immense talent and deserves to be praised. But what really floors me is how delighted people are to be proven wrong. If the media is to be believed, Potts and Boyle save us from our shallowness. Just as that teenaged snot in the audience rolled her eyes at Boyle, I can't help but roll my eyes at society: if we are simply giddy over our false judgements, why don't we actually take the necessary steps to remove such misconceptions? Why don't we stop the painful, mortifying auditions for American Idol and its ill-gotten ilk?
Why don't we do as Boyle recommends and learn the big lesson to stop judging a book by its cover. Since that book has no interest in being made over, let's focus on her lovely voice for once.***
--amanda
[ETA:]
Apparently, whether or not Susan Boyle needs a makeover is the talk of the nation -- I just listened to an interview on NPR's Talk of the Nation discussing this very topic. The contributor, Robin Givhan, a fashion editor for the Washington Post (natch), was insisting that Boyle be "polished": pluck her brows, get her hair did, etc. What galls me about this nonsense was Givhan's insistence that this is simply the way the music industry works. Boyle is talented, and will no doubt get a recording contract and then go on tour; she is expected to pretty herself up for her performances and be "the whole package". End of story. Now get in that salon chair, woman, and shut up until you're asked to sing again.
I call bullshit on this. No one is going to buy a ticket to a Susan Boyle concert expecting something on the level of Celine Dion. She isn't going to put a show on the for the masses, she's going to open her mouth and sing -- which is what she should be doing. I still don't see how the thickness of her eyebrows relates to the quality of her singing voice.
Givhan kept pointing out that singers -- really, performers -- are expected to look a certain way, and Susan Boyle does not fit that mold. While Gihvan points out that Boyle is something of a Cinderella story (I don't believe she is, but no matter) for the normal person (a fairytale in which someone who dares to be average reaches above average heights), she seeks to penalise Boyle for that very normality. Boyle has a gift, and we have to pretty up that package in order for her to be anything of interest.
Disgusting, and I can't believe my beloved NPR allowed such ignorant drivel to be spouted on the airwaves. Instead of insisting that this is the way the music industry works and condescendingly patting Boyle on the head, saying oh, it's lovely that you're you, but now you have to change, we should be engaging with why we believe that Boyle needs to slip into some Spanx and have her hair frosted in order to be a worthwhile musician. Again: bullshit. She's a worthwhile musician because she can sing, not because her highlights look nice under the stage lights.
All I'm trying to say is: the question should not be "does Susan Boyle need a makeover?" but rather "why do we insist that she does?"
_________________________
*The weirdest part about Boyle-mania? My father, who watches only 24 and CNN, knows who she is. Listening to him talk about her is like like listening to Paris Hilton wax intellectual about Keynesian economics.
**For whatever reason, I think 'Pebbles' is the most hilarious cat name ever.
***I love her for refusing a makeover. LOVE her. Her sensibility is refreshing and hopefully contagious.
A week ago Susan Boyle was not a household name. Now the 47 year-old Glaswegian is all anyone can talk about.* Since I'm an only child, and therefore the centre of the universe, I feel the need to weigh in.
What troubles me about Boyle's newfound fame is this ridiculous obsession with her appearance and its apparent relationship to her ability to carry a tune. Shows like "Britain's Got Talent" and "American Idol" rub me the wrong way because, as much as it is a search for a genuinely gifted individual, it's also freak show: attention seekers and clueless individuals alike are humiliated on national (and now international) television, creating a sort of weeks-long Roman holiday for the tuned-in masses. Naturally, this always works out well.
People are lauding Boyle as this season's Paul Potts: a working class schlub who most unexpectedly turned out to be a hit. Articles on Potts and Boyle often have an oddly reverential tone, as though they triumphed over great adversity -- but, really, they didn't. They overcame grinding mediocrity to become national sweethearts. That's the rub -- they're almost aggressive in their total normality.
Contrary to what people are saying, Boyle is not ugly. Sure, her brows could use a quick pluck and she could benefit from a slightly more flattering frock, but she's not exactly the monstrosity the media is making her out to be. Granted, she won't have a She's All That transformation should she make a threading appointment and slip into a new dress, but she's not climbing down from the bell towers in her current state, either.
So why are her looks as important as her singing voice? When token lady-judge Amanda Holden bestows Boyle with the backhanded compliment "I am so thrilled because I know everybody was against you", you can be sure the audience wasn't rolling their eyes because Boyle lives with a cat named Pebbles**. Why was the state of her hair enough to set an entire nation against this sweet, unassuming Scottish spinster? What shift occurred in our thinking that makes us equate external beauty with talent? Katy Perry is conventionally attractive, yet she doesn't exactly have the voice of an angel. Why, then, are we so ready to dismiss Boyle based on her looks? What prompts Ant or Deck to point at her gleefully and squeal "didn't expect that did you? Did you?! NO!" as she sings?
When I first watched Boyle's audition, I was actually a bit scared that she would be the British version of William Hung. You remember William Hung, right? God, I felt terrible for that man. The optimist in me would like to think that he was in on the joke, yet the realist in me knows this not to be true. Watching so many people laughing at him made me feel like the entire world was back in high school, bullying the poor "weird kid". I hated what happened to Hung, and I really wish that on no one.
There is no doubt in my mind that if Boyle was not in possession of a good singing voice, she would have been laughed off that stage. Hell, she was laughed at the second she walked on.
And here's where I express my most unpopular opinion: I don't think she's that good of a singer. Don't get me wrong, she has a beautiful voice, but she's not exactly blowing my mindgrapes with her rendition of "I Dreamed A Dream". She hits the notes perfectly (though she struggles a bit with the low notes), but there's no oomph. The whole performance, frankly, is a bit reminiscent of karaoke; I don't get a sense of strong emotion driving the song and "I Dreamed A Dream" is all about emotion, you know? It should sound like her heart is breaking with every syllable. I'm sure the standing ovation from the people who, just seconds before, were laughing at her affected her performance, but ... ok, I'm really cynical, but I think that if she had just a so-so voice she would have had audience support, and I think this is because the audience had lowered their expectations of her due to, you guessed it, her appearance.
As it is, Boyle really does have an immense talent and deserves to be praised. But what really floors me is how delighted people are to be proven wrong. If the media is to be believed, Potts and Boyle save us from our shallowness. Just as that teenaged snot in the audience rolled her eyes at Boyle, I can't help but roll my eyes at society: if we are simply giddy over our false judgements, why don't we actually take the necessary steps to remove such misconceptions? Why don't we stop the painful, mortifying auditions for American Idol and its ill-gotten ilk?
Why don't we do as Boyle recommends and learn the big lesson to stop judging a book by its cover. Since that book has no interest in being made over, let's focus on her lovely voice for once.***
--amanda
[ETA:]
Apparently, whether or not Susan Boyle needs a makeover is the talk of the nation -- I just listened to an interview on NPR's Talk of the Nation discussing this very topic. The contributor, Robin Givhan, a fashion editor for the Washington Post (natch), was insisting that Boyle be "polished": pluck her brows, get her hair did, etc. What galls me about this nonsense was Givhan's insistence that this is simply the way the music industry works. Boyle is talented, and will no doubt get a recording contract and then go on tour; she is expected to pretty herself up for her performances and be "the whole package". End of story. Now get in that salon chair, woman, and shut up until you're asked to sing again.
I call bullshit on this. No one is going to buy a ticket to a Susan Boyle concert expecting something on the level of Celine Dion. She isn't going to put a show on the for the masses, she's going to open her mouth and sing -- which is what she should be doing. I still don't see how the thickness of her eyebrows relates to the quality of her singing voice.
Givhan kept pointing out that singers -- really, performers -- are expected to look a certain way, and Susan Boyle does not fit that mold. While Gihvan points out that Boyle is something of a Cinderella story (I don't believe she is, but no matter) for the normal person (a fairytale in which someone who dares to be average reaches above average heights), she seeks to penalise Boyle for that very normality. Boyle has a gift, and we have to pretty up that package in order for her to be anything of interest.
Disgusting, and I can't believe my beloved NPR allowed such ignorant drivel to be spouted on the airwaves. Instead of insisting that this is the way the music industry works and condescendingly patting Boyle on the head, saying oh, it's lovely that you're you, but now you have to change, we should be engaging with why we believe that Boyle needs to slip into some Spanx and have her hair frosted in order to be a worthwhile musician. Again: bullshit. She's a worthwhile musician because she can sing, not because her highlights look nice under the stage lights.
All I'm trying to say is: the question should not be "does Susan Boyle need a makeover?" but rather "why do we insist that she does?"
_________________________
*The weirdest part about Boyle-mania? My father, who watches only 24 and CNN, knows who she is. Listening to him talk about her is like like listening to Paris Hilton wax intellectual about Keynesian economics.
**For whatever reason, I think 'Pebbles' is the most hilarious cat name ever.
***I love her for refusing a makeover. LOVE her. Her sensibility is refreshing and hopefully contagious.
Monday, December 15, 2008
And now for something completely different ...
Dear No One in Particular,
I love covers and mashups, especially when the resulting song is wildly different from the original. It's so easy to copy what you hear, like singing along to the radio; it takes so much more to make it your own. Which is why I absolutely love Lily Allen's take on "Womanizer"*. I really didn't like the original, and Lily's spin feels so much more organic, sans synth beats and auto-tuning (at least to a lesser degree than Britney's version).
The website I've linked to has a ton of covers available for listening. I know I'll be spending a couple of hours there!
Also: I know this isn't much of an update. I'm smack in the middle of my final exams, so I won't be posting ... well, probably at all. Alack, alas, much rending of garments, I'm sure. But! My holiday break is coming soon, and with it an inordinate amount of free time, so there'll be a flood of long-winded posts to make up for these short updates that are probably better regulated to a Tumblr than an actual blog.**
Regardless, enjoy and lovely listening!
--amanda
--------------------------------
*I can't embed the file directly, so a link will have to suffice. [via: 24 Free Dinners]
**True story: I created a Tumblr for myself a little while ago and managed to post exactly twice before I became so intimidated I never looked back.
I love covers and mashups, especially when the resulting song is wildly different from the original. It's so easy to copy what you hear, like singing along to the radio; it takes so much more to make it your own. Which is why I absolutely love Lily Allen's take on "Womanizer"*. I really didn't like the original, and Lily's spin feels so much more organic, sans synth beats and auto-tuning (at least to a lesser degree than Britney's version).
The website I've linked to has a ton of covers available for listening. I know I'll be spending a couple of hours there!
Also: I know this isn't much of an update. I'm smack in the middle of my final exams, so I won't be posting ... well, probably at all. Alack, alas, much rending of garments, I'm sure. But! My holiday break is coming soon, and with it an inordinate amount of free time, so there'll be a flood of long-winded posts to make up for these short updates that are probably better regulated to a Tumblr than an actual blog.**
Regardless, enjoy and lovely listening!
--amanda
--------------------------------
*I can't embed the file directly, so a link will have to suffice. [via: 24 Free Dinners]
**True story: I created a Tumblr for myself a little while ago and managed to post exactly twice before I became so intimidated I never looked back.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Keep on Dancin' to the Rock & Roll
Dear No One in Particular,
I finally finished my epic research paper, meaning I am that much closer to never needing to write an academic paper ever. again.
To celebrate, I've been cozying up to this fantastic post on Jezebel with a giant glass of red. The commenters have great taste in music, and I've been downloading like a mad woman, inspired by the videos they've posted.
Celebrate with me! Share some amazing music.
Here are my selections:
Squeeze -- "Tempted" (the greatest song EVER. It won't embed, sadly.)
Jamiroquai -- "Virtual Insanity" (much better than "Canned Heat", IMO. Another disabled embed-video.)
(I HAD TO.)
(I can't explain why I love this song with passion that burns like the clap. I just do.)
(Also: a great video or THE GREATEST VIDEO?)
What gets your booty groovin'?
--amanda
I finally finished my epic research paper, meaning I am that much closer to never needing to write an academic paper ever. again.
To celebrate, I've been cozying up to this fantastic post on Jezebel with a giant glass of red. The commenters have great taste in music, and I've been downloading like a mad woman, inspired by the videos they've posted.
Celebrate with me! Share some amazing music.
Here are my selections:
Squeeze -- "Tempted" (the greatest song EVER. It won't embed, sadly.)
Jamiroquai -- "Virtual Insanity" (much better than "Canned Heat", IMO. Another disabled embed-video.)
(I HAD TO.)
(I can't explain why I love this song with passion that burns like the clap. I just do.)
(Also: a great video or THE GREATEST VIDEO?)
What gets your booty groovin'?
--amanda
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Ho'omaika'i 'Ana
Some more Obama lovin' to spread around:
Stephen Colbert reminds us of the historical importance of a Hawaiian President. (Close on the pronunciation of Queen Lili'uokalani and ukulele, Colbert, but no cigar.)
And a wicked awesome mix tape dedicated to President-elect Obama.
Stephen Colbert reminds us of the historical importance of a Hawaiian President. (Close on the pronunciation of Queen Lili'uokalani and ukulele, Colbert, but no cigar.)
And a wicked awesome mix tape dedicated to President-elect Obama.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Darlin', oh no (OH YEAH)
I forgot to add to my previous post (and the post-scripts were getting a little nutso), but have you heard of Chester French? Um, probably. They're the newest viral hit, what with Pharell calling them 'geniuses' and signing them to his label.
I have to admit that I'm a bit of a sucker for hipster-pop. I know it's pretentious, blah blah blah, but it tends to be pretty catchy. I feel like a dancer on American Bandstand -- "It's got a great beat, and I can dance to it!" But sometime, all you want to listen to is good pop: infectious, sing-a-long, dance-a-long, insidious pop tunes that play in a loop in your brain until you crave a lobotomy.
Chester French isn't quite that, and I'm not so sure that I'd go so far to call them geniuses. (And no, genius isn't relegated to the above factors. I like other things, too. I just have very specific standards for pop.) They remind me quite a bit of Rooney, but with more doo-wop sensabilities.
If Rooney, Buddy Holly, and the Beach Boys had a musical love child, the resulting abomination would be Chester French. And what a lovely abomination they are.
--amanda
I have to admit that I'm a bit of a sucker for hipster-pop. I know it's pretentious, blah blah blah, but it tends to be pretty catchy. I feel like a dancer on American Bandstand -- "It's got a great beat, and I can dance to it!" But sometime, all you want to listen to is good pop: infectious, sing-a-long, dance-a-long, insidious pop tunes that play in a loop in your brain until you crave a lobotomy.
Chester French isn't quite that, and I'm not so sure that I'd go so far to call them geniuses. (And no, genius isn't relegated to the above factors. I like other things, too. I just have very specific standards for pop.) They remind me quite a bit of Rooney, but with more doo-wop sensabilities.
If Rooney, Buddy Holly, and the Beach Boys had a musical love child, the resulting abomination would be Chester French. And what a lovely abomination they are.
--amanda
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Trio Esperança: Pop Geniuses
Dear No On in Particular,
I would like to introduce you to Trio Esperança: a group of 3 sisters from Brasil who made a name for themselves singing catchy pop tunes.
Apparently, they were quite good a capella singers, but I learned of them through the beauty of iTunes.
iTunes and/or Apple only have one of their albums, a dual-CD from the "Serie Bis" called Jovem Guarda. It's pretty damn amazing. I somehow stumbled across their cover of "My Boy Lollipop" ("Meu Bem Lollipop" in Portuguese), and fell totally in love. I have a ridiculous love of cheesy 60's pop -- the bouncier and more ludicrous, the better -- so Trio Esperança was right up my alley. I find that already farcical songs like The Seekers' "Georgy Girl" and Petula Clark's "Downtown" become insanely irresistible in Trio Esperança's hands: impossibly energetic beats, combined with their peppy soprano voices is pop music heaven.
I listened to samples of all the songs on "Jovem Guarda", and cherry picked my favourites, but if this CD becomes a staple in my "frequently played" list, then I might have to pick up the rest of the CDs.
I really, really wanted to upload the songs via Muxtape and post them here, but apparently iTunes songs aren't MP3s? Whatever, Muxtape and iTunes hate each other or something, so I can't show you, blogosphere, the beauty of Trio Esperança. It's something you're going to have to seek out on your own, and trust me.
You won't be disappointed.
--amanda
ETA: The Boy has just informed me that he HATES this type of music. First, I thought he was referring to the type of music that has singing in it, but no. To him, the trio's Betty Boop-esque voices are like nails on a chalkboard to his ears. I would be annoyed by this, but then again, this is the same Boy who didn't know about The Dark Side of Oz phenomenon . Pitiful.
I would like to introduce you to Trio Esperança: a group of 3 sisters from Brasil who made a name for themselves singing catchy pop tunes.
Apparently, they were quite good a capella singers, but I learned of them through the beauty of iTunes.
iTunes and/or Apple only have one of their albums, a dual-CD from the "Serie Bis" called Jovem Guarda. It's pretty damn amazing. I somehow stumbled across their cover of "My Boy Lollipop" ("Meu Bem Lollipop" in Portuguese), and fell totally in love. I have a ridiculous love of cheesy 60's pop -- the bouncier and more ludicrous, the better -- so Trio Esperança was right up my alley. I find that already farcical songs like The Seekers' "Georgy Girl" and Petula Clark's "Downtown" become insanely irresistible in Trio Esperança's hands: impossibly energetic beats, combined with their peppy soprano voices is pop music heaven.
I listened to samples of all the songs on "Jovem Guarda", and cherry picked my favourites, but if this CD becomes a staple in my "frequently played" list, then I might have to pick up the rest of the CDs.
I really, really wanted to upload the songs via Muxtape and post them here, but apparently iTunes songs aren't MP3s? Whatever, Muxtape and iTunes hate each other or something, so I can't show you, blogosphere, the beauty of Trio Esperança. It's something you're going to have to seek out on your own, and trust me.
You won't be disappointed.
--amanda
ETA: The Boy has just informed me that he HATES this type of music. First, I thought he was referring to the type of music that has singing in it, but no. To him, the trio's Betty Boop-esque voices are like nails on a chalkboard to his ears. I would be annoyed by this, but then again, this is the same Boy who didn't know about The Dark Side of Oz phenomenon . Pitiful.
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