FOR BEST RESULTS, PLAY FUCKIN' LOUD!!!!
Something filled up
My heart with nothing.
Someone told me not to cry.
But, now that I'm older,
My heart is colder
And I can see that it's a lie.
Children, wake up!
Hold your mistake up
Before they turn the summer into dust.
If the children don't grow up,
Our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up.
We're just a million little gods causing rainstorms,
Turning every good thing to rust.
I guess we'll just have to adjust.
With my lightning bolts a-glowin',
I can see where I am going to be
When the reaper, he reaches and touches my hand.
With my lightning bolts a-glowin'
I can see where I am going...
With my lightning bolts a-glowin'
I can see where I am going...
You better look out below!
For me, this song embodies what is great about pop music. The melody is uplifting and simple enough that it can be sung in unison by 20,000 fans, evoking amazing, almost transcendental, power. The lyrics are deep enough to inspire, but not so heady as to obscure the message of empowerment and self-actualization that Win Butler was trying to convey. The guitar line is almost too simple, but is balanced by the strings modulating in and out of pitch, creating enough tension to keep the melody interesting in spite of this simplicity.
I was first introduced to the Arcade Fire by my friend, Carrie Walker, and fell in love with them immediately. My affection for them has only continued to grow with each progressive album and with the live shows I've been lucky enough to view (but, alas, never to experience first hand so far. I am Fortune's fool.). I don't care about their politics or their personal lives. This kind of thing is irrelevant and possibly distracting, but I love their music. I love their instrumentation, how they meld modern rock and classical instruments into their sound. I love that all of the members seemingly play multiple instruments and they trade around during and in-between songs. But, most of all, I love the joy they seem to feel each and every time they play. I think that is their true power and what captures their audience and transports the collective into something cathartic, into something more.
You may not like the Arcade Fire. But I hope that everyone who reads this can and does experience the ecstasy of music; its power to uplift and transform the listener, its power to reveal passages within one's self that may be seldom traveled or locked away. Music is a pathway to joy and I wish it upon everyone.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Monday, August 8, 2011
Ride the Lightning
Men and women who have survived lightning strikes have often been accorded a special place in history and myth. Dionysus, of course, is most notable, but, in many other tales, such people are often granted extra-normal powers or are fated to some great destiny. In most early cultures, these individuals are considered to be touched by the gods.
Tampa, where I grew up, is often called "the lightning capital of the world" because of the high number of lightning strikes that occur there. Many times in my youth, I would watch the storms come in and the resultant lightning bolts which seemed more numerous at times than fireworks on the Fourth of July. It could be quite impressive, and perhaps a little terrifying.
I recall a particular strike which caused a small fire in my parents house. A bolt struck a neighbor's metal carport, burning a hole through it, and bounced across our street, hitting the electric switch in the gas furnace at my parent's house, which then caught fire. Fortunately, I was not so ignorant as to try to extinguish it with water (which would have possibly electrocuted me). Despite this, my most intimate encounters came during my years living in Long Creek, South Carolina.
Those years, I was working as a raft guide on the Chattooga River, which was a free-flowing, (in this case) rain-fed stream. We guides always celebrated the rain and suffered during its absence. The rain made the river more dangerous and more exciting. High water pushed our skills and opened up parts of the river that we didn't often get to raft upon. Often, in the summer, we would go for long periods without rain and the river would become very low, difficult to navigate without getting stuck, and hazardous because of the many exposed rocks.
The thunderstorms in South Carolina had significantly less lightning that than those in Florida. Still, it was something we took care about when on the river as our trips were wilderness-like adventures with no shelter available once underway. Customers (many of which were from Florida themselves) would often ask about our safety procedures in case of lightning. We would give them our usual spiel about the river being the low point, with the trees and the ridges more likely to be struck, and the likelihood that our rubber rafts would keep us from being grounded and therefore at low risk; basically a bunch of bullshit intended to allay their fears. The truth was that there was no "right" way to deal with lightning and that trip leaders used their own discretion when it occurred. However, only on rare occasion, did I pull a trip over because of severe weather conditions.
I remember one particular storm that hit while I was at the rafting company offices. It seemed an unremarkable storm as it came in, bringing our much-beloved rain and the usual peals of thunder. A group of us had gathered on the porch after the storm interrupted our afternoon game of footbag (hacky-sack is another name for it). Suddenly a bolt ripped the atmosphere, temporarily blinding me and obliterating an old tree in the middle of the parking lot. One of the photographers' car was at the base of the tree and all four tires were melted. Also melted was the stray dog that had been sleeping beneath her car. Despite the fact that her windows were up, charred splinters of the tree were all over the inside of the vehicle. It was a very impressive event.
A much more personal experience came later that summer. The dry season was upon us and the river was getting quite low. Despite this, some of my fellow first-year guides were still experiencing accidentally flipping over in their rafts with customers in them, informally a no-no among our community regardless of its common occurrence. The penalty for such an infraction, in that community, was a bottle of Drambuie for a first offense. Second offenses involved a cash contribution toward a keg for the next Drambuie Club meeting. It was during one of these club meetings that a storm occurred.
This caused no small amount of excitement among the thirty or so guides present, so much so that we all stripped off our clothes and ran out into the rain to dance naked in the glow of our cars' emergency flashers. It was quite fun and I was exhilarated by the pouring rain and the plentiful alcohol in my system. There was a flash of lightning and it was accompanied by a rather intense ground shock that stiffened my whole body and burned my feet. I immediately went back inside and put my clothes on, my mood somewhat dampened by this brush with nature. Others also felt this shock, but none as intensely as I had.
A couple of years went by and I suffered no more experiences with electricity of note, at least not until the occasion of Ted's birthday. This had been a gloomy, rainy day from the start, but Ted still really wanted to go kayaking down Section IV of the river. Grudgingly, I conceded; after all, everyone should get something for their birthday. So, despite the poor weather, we set our shuttle and then hit the water.
It was actually quite nice on the river for the first part of the paddle. I have always loved the river in the rain. We were having a pretty good time and were down around Shoulderbone rapid when the storm really intensified. The wind picked up and the rain began pelting us hard enough to sting my skin where unprotected by my helmet and PFD. Tree limbs were being broken off and were helicoptering out into the river, and the noise of the storm forced us to shout as we agreed to pull over and wait out this cell.
Ted caught a small eddy on the upstream side of a large boulder, sheltering him from the brunt of the wind and rain. There wasn't enough room for my boat, too, so I eddied out below the boulder and walked up to join him in its lee. We were talking about the storm when, mid-sentence, I saw white and then nothing. I came to and found that I was laying on my back on the bank with a very worried looking Ted above me shouting my name.
"I think I was just struck by lightning," I said.
Open-mouthed, he merely nodded.
I immediately scrambled up the bank to shelter under the trees and between two large rocks away from the water. After a few minutes, as the storm began to abate, he came and found me. Having no other choice (Section IV of the Chattooga is very remote, with no road access except at its beginning and on the lake below its end), we continued on downstream. For the rest of the trip, however, and for several days afterward, my muscles seemed not to respond well to my commands. I swam several times, a rare occurrence for me when kayaking, and I was certainly shaken and not my usual self. It was one of the last times I kayaked actually.
They say that those who have been shocked by lightning are more likely to experience it again, provided they survive. As a consequence, I recommend you avoid me during storms, unless you want to join me when I ride the lightning.
Tampa, where I grew up, is often called "the lightning capital of the world" because of the high number of lightning strikes that occur there. Many times in my youth, I would watch the storms come in and the resultant lightning bolts which seemed more numerous at times than fireworks on the Fourth of July. It could be quite impressive, and perhaps a little terrifying.
I recall a particular strike which caused a small fire in my parents house. A bolt struck a neighbor's metal carport, burning a hole through it, and bounced across our street, hitting the electric switch in the gas furnace at my parent's house, which then caught fire. Fortunately, I was not so ignorant as to try to extinguish it with water (which would have possibly electrocuted me). Despite this, my most intimate encounters came during my years living in Long Creek, South Carolina.
Those years, I was working as a raft guide on the Chattooga River, which was a free-flowing, (in this case) rain-fed stream. We guides always celebrated the rain and suffered during its absence. The rain made the river more dangerous and more exciting. High water pushed our skills and opened up parts of the river that we didn't often get to raft upon. Often, in the summer, we would go for long periods without rain and the river would become very low, difficult to navigate without getting stuck, and hazardous because of the many exposed rocks.
The thunderstorms in South Carolina had significantly less lightning that than those in Florida. Still, it was something we took care about when on the river as our trips were wilderness-like adventures with no shelter available once underway. Customers (many of which were from Florida themselves) would often ask about our safety procedures in case of lightning. We would give them our usual spiel about the river being the low point, with the trees and the ridges more likely to be struck, and the likelihood that our rubber rafts would keep us from being grounded and therefore at low risk; basically a bunch of bullshit intended to allay their fears. The truth was that there was no "right" way to deal with lightning and that trip leaders used their own discretion when it occurred. However, only on rare occasion, did I pull a trip over because of severe weather conditions.
I remember one particular storm that hit while I was at the rafting company offices. It seemed an unremarkable storm as it came in, bringing our much-beloved rain and the usual peals of thunder. A group of us had gathered on the porch after the storm interrupted our afternoon game of footbag (hacky-sack is another name for it). Suddenly a bolt ripped the atmosphere, temporarily blinding me and obliterating an old tree in the middle of the parking lot. One of the photographers' car was at the base of the tree and all four tires were melted. Also melted was the stray dog that had been sleeping beneath her car. Despite the fact that her windows were up, charred splinters of the tree were all over the inside of the vehicle. It was a very impressive event.
A much more personal experience came later that summer. The dry season was upon us and the river was getting quite low. Despite this, some of my fellow first-year guides were still experiencing accidentally flipping over in their rafts with customers in them, informally a no-no among our community regardless of its common occurrence. The penalty for such an infraction, in that community, was a bottle of Drambuie for a first offense. Second offenses involved a cash contribution toward a keg for the next Drambuie Club meeting. It was during one of these club meetings that a storm occurred.
This caused no small amount of excitement among the thirty or so guides present, so much so that we all stripped off our clothes and ran out into the rain to dance naked in the glow of our cars' emergency flashers. It was quite fun and I was exhilarated by the pouring rain and the plentiful alcohol in my system. There was a flash of lightning and it was accompanied by a rather intense ground shock that stiffened my whole body and burned my feet. I immediately went back inside and put my clothes on, my mood somewhat dampened by this brush with nature. Others also felt this shock, but none as intensely as I had.
A couple of years went by and I suffered no more experiences with electricity of note, at least not until the occasion of Ted's birthday. This had been a gloomy, rainy day from the start, but Ted still really wanted to go kayaking down Section IV of the river. Grudgingly, I conceded; after all, everyone should get something for their birthday. So, despite the poor weather, we set our shuttle and then hit the water.
It was actually quite nice on the river for the first part of the paddle. I have always loved the river in the rain. We were having a pretty good time and were down around Shoulderbone rapid when the storm really intensified. The wind picked up and the rain began pelting us hard enough to sting my skin where unprotected by my helmet and PFD. Tree limbs were being broken off and were helicoptering out into the river, and the noise of the storm forced us to shout as we agreed to pull over and wait out this cell.
Ted caught a small eddy on the upstream side of a large boulder, sheltering him from the brunt of the wind and rain. There wasn't enough room for my boat, too, so I eddied out below the boulder and walked up to join him in its lee. We were talking about the storm when, mid-sentence, I saw white and then nothing. I came to and found that I was laying on my back on the bank with a very worried looking Ted above me shouting my name.
"I think I was just struck by lightning," I said.
Open-mouthed, he merely nodded.
I immediately scrambled up the bank to shelter under the trees and between two large rocks away from the water. After a few minutes, as the storm began to abate, he came and found me. Having no other choice (Section IV of the Chattooga is very remote, with no road access except at its beginning and on the lake below its end), we continued on downstream. For the rest of the trip, however, and for several days afterward, my muscles seemed not to respond well to my commands. I swam several times, a rare occurrence for me when kayaking, and I was certainly shaken and not my usual self. It was one of the last times I kayaked actually.
They say that those who have been shocked by lightning are more likely to experience it again, provided they survive. As a consequence, I recommend you avoid me during storms, unless you want to join me when I ride the lightning.
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