Skip to main content

Music for Many: Gentlemen of the Road

Last weekend, I (along with 30,000 others) went to Simcoe for a music festival. Yes, thirty thousand.

It was fantastic. I have a lot of thoughts that are not-quite-music-related, and I will likely (possibly) write another post about those.

But first, I'd like to talk music! The Gentlemen of the Road tour headliners were, of course, fantastic. Edwarde Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros put on a trippy hobo show. I can't help but think their lead singer would have been an itinerant back-country revival preacher in the 1920's. Mumford and Sons brought the proverbial house down. I assume you've all seen or heard some of their songs, so there's no need to post any here.

I would, however, like to introduce you to a couple of bands you may not know.

First, it is important to note that there is a difference between country music and bluegrass music. If you've got a hate-on for country, I would plead with you to give bluegrass a chance. Maybe start by watching O Brother, Where Art Thou.


And then you should take a listen to Old Crow Medicine Show, who put on a lively romp of a show:


If you're still uninterested in these fast-singing, quick-fingered souls, then my other recommendation is Bear's Den.

One of two British bands I discovered late last year and am a bit smitten with (the other is Bastille*), Bear's Den is just the right combination of intensely poignant lyrics and fantastic musicianship. This was the only performance I voluntarily stood for, and even moved forward in the crowd. This was their first ever gig in Canada, and I'm not even sure if they have a full-length album yet! So get on board while they're still relatively obscure ;)

Take a listen:


I just. can't.

My heart breaks a little every time, in that aching way that also makes me feel more alive.



*I also need to link to this video - this song + the British Museum + bodily percussion = amazing.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Simone Weil: On "Forms of the Implicit Love of God"

Simone Weil time again! One of the essays in Waiting for God  is entitled "Forms of the Implicit Love of God." Her main argument is that before a soul has "direct contact" with God, there are three types of love that are implicitly  the love of God, though they seem to have a different explicit  object. That is, in loving X, you are really loving Y. (in this case, Y = God). As for the X of the equation, she lists: Love of neighbor  Love of the beauty of the world  Love of religious practices  and a special sidebar to Friendship “Each has the virtue of a sacrament,” she writes. Each of these loves is something to be respected, honoured, and understood both symbolically and concretely. On each page of this essay, I found myself underlining profound, challenging, and thought-provoking words. There's so much to consider that I've gone back several times, mulling it over and wondering how my life would look if I truly believed even half of these thin

I Like to Keep My Issues Drawn

It's Sunday night and I am multi-tasking. Paid some bills, catching up on free musical downloads from the past month, thinking about the mix-tape I need to make and planning my last assignment for writing class. Shortly, I will abandon the laptop to write my first draft by hand. But until then, I am thinking about music. This song played for me earlier this afternoon, as I attempted to nap. I woke up somewhere between 5 and 5:30 this morning, then lay in bed until 8 o'clock flipping sides and thinking about every part of my life that exists. It wasn't stressful, but it wasn't quite restful either...This past month, I have spent a lot of time rebuffing lies and refusing to believe that the inside of my heart and mind can never change. I feel like Florence + The Machine 's song "Shake it Out" captures many of these feelings & thoughts. (addendum: is the line "I like to keep my issues strong or drawn ?" Lyrics sites have it as "stro

Esse - Czeslaw Milosz

I'm on a bit of a poetry binge this week, and Monday afternoon found me lying on the luxurious shag rug of a friend's tiny apartment, re-reading some of my favourite poets (ee cummings, William Carlos Williams, Czeslaw Milosz). It is an adventure to re-open a collection and wonder what will pop out, knowing something you've read before will strike you afresh, or you will be reminded of a particularly moving line that you had somehow forgotten. Like this piece from Milosz, which floors me. Every. damn.* time. The first time I read it, I lay in a park with a friend (this same friend who offered me her rug as my reading burrow) and demanded that I share it with her. I spoke it carefully, and then, into the post-reading silence, I slammed the book shut, and dropped it as loudly as I could onto the grass. "I'm never reading anything again," I declared, "What else is there to say?" Esse I looked at that face, dumbfounded. The lights of métro st