Monday, February 23, 2009

Fleet Foxes

Here in Philly I have, in addition ro my duffel bag, some belongings in storage. (Including much of my own writing over the years, and the mass of documents related to the founding history of the Underground Literary Alliance.)

I retrieved among these items a dusty cd player. At my last job in Detroit a goth co-worker gave me a cd she'd burned, but until now I was unable to play it. "Fleet Foxes." I've been listening to it nightly. It's given me great sustenance-- which, after all, is the purpose of art.

The music's simplicity gives it emotion-- for much of it, harmonious voices accompanied by simple guitar. The voices carry echoes of the Renaissance, but also American roots music, with maybe a reminder of the Fleetwoods, and a dash of stripped-down Moody Blues tossed in. For me it's a reminder of the mystery and simplicity of art, something I'd love to happily echo in my own work.

1 comment:

King said...

p.s. While going through my stuff at the storage place, I came across my original draft and notes for a novella I was going to write called "Rock Star." I can see why I abandoned it-- the writing didn't click.
I later reworked the theme and ideas for another story, "Bluebird," which might be found posted on a blog someplace. But I've also been musing in my head another version of it.
Therefore, inspired by the 50th anniversary of the February '59 Buddy Holly place crash, I'm going to write yet another version, and see what happens.
What I know: I can write stories more complex thematically and in plot structure than can the bozos of the mainstream. What I haven't been yet able to do is blend all elements together in a wholly satisfying way. When I do--?