a time to every purpose

According to a popular aesthetic classification, painting, sculpting and architecture are “spatial arts”, whereas poetry and music are “temporal arts”. Artworks of the former type are concretely and uniquely realised in a certain portion of space, whereas those of the latter are virtual in nature and need to be materialised in the dimension of time. The dependency of music on time might be a reason why reflections on time are such a common subject in pop lyrics. A quick search through my digital music library reveals 153 tracks with the word “time” in their name (compare: “space” -18 hits, “banana” - 1, “Alejandro” - 0).

From a listener's point of view, I am amazed how time starts to fly by as soon as I sit down by my stereo to pick random tracks from my CD collection.

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If time will tell I’m listening.
(Izzy Stradlin, “How Will It Go”)

It's not about you, it's not about sunshine, it's about time.
(The Lemonheads, “It's About Time”)

I’m perfecting the finest art of wasting hours.
(The Jayhawks, “Big Star”)

So sorry for all the days that came only to go away – always.
(Tommy 16, “Griefless Days”)

Time exists, but just on your wrists.
(Travis, “Indefinitely”)

The past is gone, but something might be found to take its place.
(The Gin Blossoms, “Hey Jealousy”)

Time wasted is time well-spent.
(The View, “One-Off Pretender”)

My past, my future, my disease.
(K's Choice, “Now Is Mine”)

Is yesterday tomorrow today?
(The Stereophonics, “Is Yesterday Tomorrow Today”)

The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time. Any fool can do it.
(James Taylor, “The Secret Of Life”)

déjà entendu

Every once in a while it happens to me that I listen to a song for the first time but get the instant feeling that I must have heard it before sometime in my life. Putting aside the less interesting cases of cover versions and rip-offs, I find this an intriguing experience. It's a feeling as if the song fits somewhere in my mind like a piece of a puzzle into its surrounding pieces, or as if the sound comes out of myself rather than from outside even. I relish these moments, because they almost always presage true favourites, songs that I get attached to. I would really like to have a psychologist / neurologist / musicologist enlighten me to this phenomenon. What I read about déjà-vus so far doesn't seem appropriate to it.

In other cases, it is a line rather than the whole song that triggers a déjà entendu in me. For instance the following:

Das Beste an mir sind wir.
(Bernd Begemann, “Ich hab nichts erreicht außer dir”)

which is German for “The best thing about me is us”, plus it rhymes. I simply cannot belief that the German language had to wait for this line until 2004, when the above record came out. It is so obvious and ingenious at the same time, it must have been there all along. Another case in point is

Of all the stars I've ever seen, you're the sun.
(Teenage Fanclub, “Hang On”)

- I mean, come on... Is there any other way to convey your feelings to the one you love at all? I've been wondering since 1995, when I first heard this song.

Perhaps, then, lines such as these are expressions of the “collective unconscious” à la C.G. Jung? Just a guess...

enough is enough

Linguists assume that underlying the organization of our language behaviour is a principle called "the principle of least effort". It states that speakers seek to maximize communicative effects at minimal cost. Put bluntly: "Don't say more than is necessary to get your point across." And note what a great vindication of this principle aphorisms are. Aphorisms need to be sharp and short lest they cease to be aphorisms. Trying to unfurl the meaning of an aphorism in a longer piece of prose is an unrewarding undertaking anyway.

- I like to think that pop musicians are subject to similar rules of expressive economy. I for one am unsettled by otherwise conclusive songs that fray into boring instrumental passages after the final chorus. And even a good chorus can be damaged by repeating it too damn often. Knowing when a song must end is a paramount skill in pop music. Its importance derives from the potentially endless repetitiveness of the song structure.

Today's list starts with a band that never had an issue with knowing when it's enough: The Beach Boys have a remarkable way of fading out their songs at their peak, just when the falsettos are aiming highest, and the swirl of the melody is starting to make you dizzy. "No, don't stop now, keep singing!", I want to shout while listening through my headphones. But then to my relief, there is always the repeat button to push.

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Wouldn't it be nice if we were older, then we wouldn't have to wait so long.
(The Beach Boys, “Wouldn't It Be Nice”)


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I died so I could haunt you.
(Stars, “I Died So I Could Haunt You”)


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If I was in the fridge, would you open the door?
(The Lemonheads, “Being Around”)


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If I ever get the nerve to say hello in this café – marry me.
(Train, “Marry Me”)


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What I really see in you is nothing like the things you do
as you are doing them right now.
(K’s Choice, “Cocoon Crash”)


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Here is a sunrise – ain’t that enough.
(Teenage Fanclub, “Ain’t That Enough”)


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She doesn’t know it, but really she loves you.
(Blues Traveler, “Most Precarious”)


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I want to die in the summertime.
(Manic Street Preachers, “Die In The Summertime”)


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You talk about the world like it’s someplace that you’ve been.
(Goo Goo Dolls, “Broadway”)


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I’ll be the rain on your fire escape.
(Fastball, “Fire Escape”)


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California sunsets don't mean shit when you're upset inside.
(Hobotalk, “Letter From A Friend”)