Between my iPod and my iTunes at work, it appears that I have about 14 days worth of music: conceivably, between these two devices, I could listen to music nonstop for 14 days and never hear the same song twice. Realistically, with overlap of content on my iTunes and my iPod, it would probably be 10 days of continuous music. Last night I was sitting in my living room in the near dark listening intently to one of the 4 CDs in my fabulous new Motown Box set. I put it on repeat for a few times. It's been a long time since I listened to music this way. I remember losing whole afternoons and evenings listening to one side of a LP over and over again or putting a tape on my walkman on a repeat loop until the batteries wore out. Perhaps I listened to music this way because "repeat" was the path of least resistance. Or, perhaps, because I realized then that there is something incredible to be gained by listening carefully to every note, every tiny drop of sound, and every word of an album. I remember approaching music studiously and working systematically through whole discographies of various bands the way I would eventually work my way through the Heath Anthology of American Literature as I prepared for my PhD candidacy exams. Last night, I found myself summoning that studious frame of mind as I listened to my box set. I began thinking about the Four Tops and remembering the first time I'd ever heard about Levi Stubbs. It was Christmas and my entire family was in a fairly small house in the middle of a wintery prairie expanse. I was in a small room in the basement with family members (who shalll remain nameless) snoring up a storm. In fact, every room in the house was fillled with snoring sleeping people and I was wide awake with nowhere to go and nothing to do. All I could do was lie in my droopy bed and listen to the one tape I'd brought in my walkman: Billy Bragg's 3 song EP with Levi Stubbs's Tears. Perhaps my career in literary scholarship was forged right there as I attempted to figure out exactly what Levi Stubbs' tears had to do with the sad tale Bragg describes. Several decades of literary training later, I have to admit I'm still not sure about the connections. I'd all but forgotten about Levi Stubbs and his tears until last night, when sitting in my living room listening to the Four Tops, I found myself transported back to that little bed in a basement in a house on a frozen prairie thinking about Levi Stubbs and his tears. At the time, I did not know who Levi Stubbs was but it made a sufficient enough impression on me that I looked it up in an actual book when I got back to Edmonton. At the time, I could not have found Detroit on a map unassisted. Nor could I have guessed that one day I would see the Detroit skyline every single day or that I'd cross into Detroit so many times in a month that some US Border Guards would start to say "ballgame?" instead of "citizenships?" the second we pulled up to the US Customs window or that one day I'd not only adore the Four Tops, but I'd stand in Studio A, where Levi Stubbs also stood or that I'd be able to peer into that echo chamber that created that magical Motown sound. I think though that I'd probably be comforted to know that one night 20 years later, I'd also be sitting in the dark, sleepless, listening to music and thinking about Christmas and frozen prairies and Levi Stubbs and his tears.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Levi Stubbs in Maple Creek, Saskatchewan
Between my iPod and my iTunes at work, it appears that I have about 14 days worth of music: conceivably, between these two devices, I could listen to music nonstop for 14 days and never hear the same song twice. Realistically, with overlap of content on my iTunes and my iPod, it would probably be 10 days of continuous music. Last night I was sitting in my living room in the near dark listening intently to one of the 4 CDs in my fabulous new Motown Box set. I put it on repeat for a few times. It's been a long time since I listened to music this way. I remember losing whole afternoons and evenings listening to one side of a LP over and over again or putting a tape on my walkman on a repeat loop until the batteries wore out. Perhaps I listened to music this way because "repeat" was the path of least resistance. Or, perhaps, because I realized then that there is something incredible to be gained by listening carefully to every note, every tiny drop of sound, and every word of an album. I remember approaching music studiously and working systematically through whole discographies of various bands the way I would eventually work my way through the Heath Anthology of American Literature as I prepared for my PhD candidacy exams. Last night, I found myself summoning that studious frame of mind as I listened to my box set. I began thinking about the Four Tops and remembering the first time I'd ever heard about Levi Stubbs. It was Christmas and my entire family was in a fairly small house in the middle of a wintery prairie expanse. I was in a small room in the basement with family members (who shalll remain nameless) snoring up a storm. In fact, every room in the house was fillled with snoring sleeping people and I was wide awake with nowhere to go and nothing to do. All I could do was lie in my droopy bed and listen to the one tape I'd brought in my walkman: Billy Bragg's 3 song EP with Levi Stubbs's Tears. Perhaps my career in literary scholarship was forged right there as I attempted to figure out exactly what Levi Stubbs' tears had to do with the sad tale Bragg describes. Several decades of literary training later, I have to admit I'm still not sure about the connections. I'd all but forgotten about Levi Stubbs and his tears until last night, when sitting in my living room listening to the Four Tops, I found myself transported back to that little bed in a basement in a house on a frozen prairie thinking about Levi Stubbs and his tears. At the time, I did not know who Levi Stubbs was but it made a sufficient enough impression on me that I looked it up in an actual book when I got back to Edmonton. At the time, I could not have found Detroit on a map unassisted. Nor could I have guessed that one day I would see the Detroit skyline every single day or that I'd cross into Detroit so many times in a month that some US Border Guards would start to say "ballgame?" instead of "citizenships?" the second we pulled up to the US Customs window or that one day I'd not only adore the Four Tops, but I'd stand in Studio A, where Levi Stubbs also stood or that I'd be able to peer into that echo chamber that created that magical Motown sound. I think though that I'd probably be comforted to know that one night 20 years later, I'd also be sitting in the dark, sleepless, listening to music and thinking about Christmas and frozen prairies and Levi Stubbs and his tears.
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What a lovely, lovely post Heidi! I was thinking about the importance of music in my life recently too. I was rushing somewhere in my minivan, but my heart was filled with joy - yes, that is really the only way to put it - listening to the new New Pornographers' CD. If asked to review the disc all I would be able to say would be: "This music makes me happy." I mean, one is never too sure what Neko and Carl and Dan are singing about exactly, but the melodic majesty of songs off their last two discs really hit me in the chest and the throat.
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