Oasis has been playing constantly on my iPod these past few days, along with the Arctic Monkeys and OK Go. I wasn’t exactly an Oasis fan back then, though I did find them okay (a travesty, I know), which is weird given how much I love Brit pop and, well, you really can’t get any more Brit pop than Oasis.
Anyway, there’s something about gloomy weather and Brit pop that I can’t quite explain. I have to admit it was fun crossing muddy streets, jacket hood pulled up and Oasis blaring in my ears. I’ve always prefered such dreary weather over sunshine, pretty much like some sort of fungus, I guess.
I’ve been thinking of moving to (see “work as blue collar worker in”) the United Kingdom, mainly because of the horribly gloomy weather. At least I’d have an excuse for traipsing around in leather boots and humongous jackets. Plus I’d get to stalk Mr. Bean, Simon Pegg and Hugh Laurie, whenever he’s not shooting House, that is.
I did get to do some productive things, like work and study (to a certain extent) and play the guitar. Most of the time, though, I leaned towards a vegetative state, which isn’t really very useful. Despite this laziness, I realized God still loved me because of two things that left me speechless: Sputnik Sweetheart by Haruki Murakami and the 1969 Apple Rooftop Concert of the Beatles.
To forcibly put the sensation into words would be futile. I’d still try, though, and I’ll do my best to be a bit coherent. Anything else would be an affront to Murakami and the Beatles.
Sputnik Sweetheart is classic Murakami. It’s heartbreaking, a bit like Norwegian Wood, in fact, in portraying the inability of people to really touch anyone else. To put it simply, we’re all just metal cylinders, floating around — alone. I don’t think anyone can portray loneliness better than Murakami can, his words evoking a sense of loss that is both painful and beautiful at the same time.
It’s a real wonder that Murakami writes in so straightforward a manner, yet still manages to create an ambiguous, nearly ethereal portrait of man. It’s like you understand his words, but can’t quite make sense of any of it. In the end you’re left scratching your head, like there’s this beautiful puzzle hanging before your eyes and you can’t tear yourself away from it, even if you can’t quite figure it out.
The Beatles concert — the final concert where all four were present, I think — is beautiful in a different way. In fact, it evokes a sense of loss in a different manner. It’s a bit bittersweet to see snatches of John smiling at Paul in between songs, the way Paul danced weirdly while singing “Get Back”. Seeing John alive and playing his heart out, for one, is reason enough to tinge the beautiful performance with a sense of loss.
It’s enough to make you wonder how things would have been had John survived the attack. Would we see these men at 64, still playing like there’s no one else but them in the world? Fleeting smiles, friendly banter: the world would never see John and Paul play together ever again. Whatever their issues were, it’s undeniable that everthing else is forgotten when they’re together, playing their hearts out.
And so it’s quite a potent combination, really. Heartbreak, loss, music and rainy days.
October 4th, 2007 at 8:02 pm
Norwegian Wood was the first Murakami book I ever read, and it’s still my favorite. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what exactly made it such a wonderful book, I just knew I loved it. Then I read Dance Dance Dance and The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle and sort of figured it out. There’s his ability to make the perfectly mundane seem extraordinary, or the extraordinary seem completely normal. And of course there’s his prose. You’re right; he writes in such a simple, straightforward manner, but there are layers and layers of meaning beneath. I remember reading this one passage in Norwegian Wood over and over again and raving about it to a friend. I think it was Toru describing this conversation with Naoko and the way she scratched a mole near her eyebrow–something perfectly ordinary like that–but it evoked such emotion that I had to put it down and I thought, How could he convey so much with so little?
And the Beatles: Watching that last concert on the rooftop always makes me a little sad. I always end up wondering whether some part of them knew it would be the last time they would play together. And what makes it even more special is that after playing sold-out stadium shows and touring all over the world, you get the feeling that they enjoyed that last show best of all–when it was just the four of them, playing to an audience they couldn’t really see.
October 4th, 2007 at 11:00 pm
We really have to talk.
Blogs can’t express everything I feel. I loved Hard Boiled Wonderland, and Norwegian Wood, of course. It’s so beautiful I can’t find words to explain it. I can’t listen to the song now without thinking of Naoko.
The Beatles’ concert is totally heartbreaking. I kept looking at John and Paul smiling at each other in between playing and its like a boyish sort of smile, like there’s something just between the two of them that we’re never going to find out. You’re right. After all those concerts and bright lights, it’s the impromptu concert that really means something.
We need to talk!
October 5th, 2007 at 12:03 pm
We do! Let’s stop talking about meeting up and actually meet up! I’ll PM you my mobile on Multiply.
October 5th, 2007 at 12:39 pm
Good! We need to get Jenny, too. And Mitch.