Oh, Tuners, I am on such a high. I ran the Nike Women’s half-marathon yesterday and I can’t believe I did. I honestly can’t. It’s going to be an experience that I’m going to lean on for years to come. This song came on my iPod just as I was getting into a sweet cruising zone, and so now whenever I hear this, I’m going to remember that feeling of, “holy crap, I can do this! I am doing this!” Every now and again, it feels really, really good to see what you can do when you really push it.
“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.” – R.W. Emerson
Let’s list the things I want and can’t have, because that’s fun and healthy:
longer legs
thousands of dollars in disposable income per month for clothes
a bi-monthly trip to Europe (Paris, Prague, Munich, London, Barcelona, and Rome – on rotation)
internal organs that regenerate every night so I can indulge my vices scot-free
feet that can handle four-inch heels without pain
a mint green Vespa (I can’t have this because I would absolutely get pasted onto the side of a bus)
be best friends with Stephen Fry, P.G. Wodehouse, Dorothy Parker, Fred Astaire, George Plimpton, and David Rakoff, and have them over for dinner weekly
lots of glamor and very little responsibility
a metabolism like a bullet train so I can finally have a fettucine alfredo-centric diet
fluency in the theories of particle physics and epistemology
a microwave that doesn’t sound like a Zamboni when it heats up my turkey meatballs (I could have this if I didn’t have a fundamental belief that home appliances should cost about $10)
a castle
be guest conductor of the Cleveland Symphony Orchestra
be able to play the shawm (my neighbors would kill me)
basically be the most interesting woman in the world. With really long legs and undead friends and absolutely incredible clothes.
I can’t have any of that. But I can listen to this song and daydream about it. That’s something.
This seemed to be an appropriate (if a bit delightfully sacrilegious) song for the day before Easter. Holy Week itself has always had a bit of a “final countdown” feel to it, but it wasn’t until last year while I was getting vested to sing the Palm Sunday service that a friend of mine commented that the run up to Easter always put her in the mind of “that Europe song – you know the one?” And I, being a total goober who can recall obscure Monteverdi motets on command but not, like, I don’t know, anything more recent and normal, was like, “the what song?” Upon hearing her sing the synth riff, the lyrics of the song came back to me, and I have to admit that I laughed so hard I started crying. This, mind you, comes from a baptized, confirmed, tithing, choir-singing Episcopalian. Never mind that the words really don’t make any sense in any sort of context, nor, for that matter, does the video (marshland? a church spire? trains? what?)
So, while you’re decorating the Easter eggs, glazing the ham, breaking out all of your festive pastels, and relishing the thought of diving back into whatever it was you gave up for Lent*, I encourage you to share the day with the bouffant boys of Europe.
*I gave up cursing. It has been excruciatingly difficult. And, yes, while it was meaningful and now I am more aware of cursing, which is great, oh man – I’m going to be cursing like a happy little sailor while I cook Easter dinner Sunday afternoon.
So, like everyone, I have a number of circles of friends. Some of them overlap, some of them don’t. Within each circle is a person or set of people that know me really well. And these people form their own special little subgroup – the sanctum sanctorum, if you will (or even if you won’t. This is my blog. Get you own, you crank). These are people I tell everything to, who let me be crass and laugh at my dumb jokes, and don’t wig out when it’s a Friday night and I all want to do is hang out with them in our PJ’s and enjoy some microwavable chicken pot stickers and crap $3 wine from Trader Joe’s and ask questions like, “how weird would it be if humans evolved to not need noses anymore?” People who would be down to join me if I said “I’d rather dance in ugly pants in the comfort of a lounge room in suburbia.” Parties are where your people are. So thank you, sanctum sanctorum. You know who you are, and man, “things don’t get no better – better like you and me.”
Certain songs make you want to dance. The smallest subset of those songs make you want to learn how to actually dance. Then there’s the rest of the set of songs that make you just want to jump up and down and flail your arms around like a spaz in a bouncy castle. This is such a song. (And I am such a dancer, no matter what’s playing, so I appreciate this song all the more.)
The Essex Green is a zippy little indie band from Brooklyn (from whence hail many other indie bands, and much of the “indie” scene in general, although according to most hipsters I know, Brooklyn is “over”) that I discovered back in 2005. They’ve been pretty consistently awesome since then, but this song always cheers me up. Note, however, that it’s really hard to not want to clap along with the song so you might not want to listen to it while taking public transit. Or, hey, do listen to it while taking public transit. The Tune-Up is a judgment-free zone.
Lyrics below:
I was born today, a northern constellation A minor where a major wants to be I stacked my words, manufactured legend And walked along the water in my sleep Till the news spun circles and there I saw you Wrapped up in a New York magazine Was that the page that tells how I was fallen? Well maybe that part is not worth mentioning Now…what will they say? Now…what can they do anyway, anyway? So let me down slow, let me down real easy Even giants have to watch how they decline I’d wheelie in the sky or anything else, I promise I will until the day that I die I will until the day that I die What will they say? What’s the world, gonna do anyway, anyway?
You probably know the Lumineers from their “Ho-Hey” song used in a commercial a few years ago. That’s a great song. This one is better. The lyrics are excellent (“It’s a long road to wisdom, but it’s a short one to being ignored”). The energy is so happy. And it’s short! Incredible! The shortest things always take the longest to perfect and a lot of modern music is appallingly self-indulgent. (Actually I might extend that critique to movies but I’d rather not start a comment war.) This is just a little amuse-bouche of a song, and I just love it. I highly recommend going out and grabbing everything else they’ve ever done.
Clearly my soul is wandering around the planet without permission because, while I started the week being homesick for New England, now I find myself longing to be back in Prague. Fortunately, the wonderful female group BraAgas has me covered. This saucy little minx of a song is from their 2009 album, “Tapas,” which won the Anděl Award, the Czech version of a Grammy. In addition to world music, BraAgas is also proficient in medieval music – one of their members plays the shawm, which, I mean, if there is a more direct way to my heart, I haven’t found it yet.
Lyrics (which I’m pretty sure are in Romani) below.
—
Adjatok egy szalmaszálat,
Égessem el a világot!
Adjatok egy szalmaszálat,
Hadd fújjam fel ezt a házat!
Lábam termett a táncra,
Szemem a kacsintásra.
Ha táncolok, szikrát szórok,
A világra fittyet hányok!
Aj Csiki-Csiki, aj ke te merav,
Aj Csiki-Csiki, aj ke te merav,
Aj Csiki-Csiki, aj ke te merav,
Me zhanav me ka zhivav
Vesz ő nékem selyemruhát,
Gyöngyöt, láncot, piros szoknyát,
Reám költi a vagyonát,
Lopja-lopja édesanyját,
Bolondítom, hevítem,
Kiáltozza a nevem,
Csiki-Csiki, így hív engem.
Megöllek én, szép szerelmem!
Aj Csiki-Csiki, aj ke te merav,
Aj Csiki-Csiki, aj ke te merav,
Aj Csiki-Csiki, aj ke te merav,
Me zhanav me ka zhivav
Lábam termett a táncra,
Szemem a kacsintásra.
Ha táncolok, szikrát szórok,
A világra fittyet hányok!
Bolondítom, hevítem,
Kiáltozza a nevem,
Csiki-Csiki, így hív engem,
Megöllek én szép szerelmem!
Aj Chiki-Chiki, aj ke te merav,
Aj Chiki-Chiki-Chiki, aj ke te merav,
Aj Chiki-Chiki, aj ke te merav,
Me zhanav me ka zhivav
Give me a piece of straw to set the world on fire give me a piece of straw to blow up this house
My feet were made for dancing my eyes were made for winking when i dance I spread sparkles all around and don’t give a damn about the world
Ai,Tchiki-Tchiki, i should die Ai,Tchiki-Tchiki, i should die Ai,Tchiki-Tchiki, i should die I know I’m going to live
Ai,Tchiki-Tchiki, he dies for me Ai,Tchiki-Tchiki, this is how he calls me Ai,Tchiki-Tchiki, this is how he calls me, With me, he go where I want
He will buy me a dress of silk, necklace of pearls, red skirt, he’ll spend his fortune on me he will steal his mother again and again and I make him crazy, I set him on fire
He only shouts my name tchiki tchiki – that’s what he calls me I will kill you my beautiful love !
Funk Friday in spring? With the funkiest band this side of California? Yes please.
I’m sending this groove-tastic track to all of you Tune-Up fans from around the world. Did you know you represent five continents? You all tune in from 18 different countries – from Brazil to Germany to Singapore and back again. That’s amazing. I am so happy, grateful, and excited to share music with you all. So crank it up! Let’s have ourselves an international dance party! Make a joyful noise and groove on, Tune-Up fans. Groove on.
The Daily Tune-Up 