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Friday, October 01, 2004
Music Review
Heavenly Places (Un Lugar Celestial) is the debut album of one of today’s most popular contemporary Christian artist, Jaci Velasquez. This Mexican-born singer was then sixteen when this album came out in the market. Heavenly Places was released by Myrrh Records on May 1996. Produced by Mark Heimermann, this album includes the songwriting talents of Chris Eaton, Wayne Kirkpatrick, Dann Huff and Heimermann, among others.
This album is a total makeover of the Christian Music. It is totally different from most of the gospel songs that everyone knows, like “Alive, Alive” and “This is the Day”. Although the album mostly contains classic pop songs, Heavenly Places manages to display plenty of musical variation while still preserving its continuity. It is obviously influenced by (non-Christian) contemporary pop music. The conservative Christian denominations, especially the “solemn churches”, may not like the way Jaci’s kind of music. However, when one would just consider the message that each song brings, it would certainly make one feel the soul of the music.
Moreover, most songs are personal and intimate prayers for the Lord in pop beat. The songs “Baptize Me” and “We Can Make a Difference” reminded me of the kind of music that M2M and Mandy Moore sing. The title cut, ”Un Lugar Celestial “ (Heavenly Places), has a delightful Spanish/Latin beat which is almost same with J. Lo’s. The percussions-acoustic guitar ensemble would make one tap his/her foot with the beat. This song reveals Jaci’s regard for her Latin heritage.
The emotion of Jaci’s smooth, powerful voice gives her listener a different kind of meditation. One doesn’t have to be solemn when he/she listens the rhythm and message of her songs. The music itself would remind one of God’s unfading love to His people. The album seems to trend away from overtly Christian lyrics. One can’t find much direct quotations from the scriptures. The scripture or spiritual content is woven through every fiber of the songs.
Heavenly Places could have been better if it was a live-recorded concert like those produced by Integrity Music and Hillsong Australia. Christian music albums are bought mostly for Praise and Worship reference. The buyers listen to songs which they could teach and sing in church services. It would be an advantage for this album if the songs are appropriate to be sung in church services and not just for personal meditation.
Charisse Mae T. Ampo
Posted at 08:42 pm by iskolar
Permalink
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
DUHAYLUNGSOD, JC 4 BAE HUMOR DAW!
Usa ka hapon, samtang nag ukuy0ukoy ako sa kwarto sa akong lola, nadunggan ko siya na nag istorya mahitungod sa tulo ka bungtod na iyang nakita sa usa ka lihit ug layo na dapit sa Mindanao. Ana siya na ang pinaka dako sa tulo kay astang gamaya na mura kini ug gamay na totoy sa dalaga. Ang misunod na mas gamay kay sama sa kinagamyang totoy. Ug ang ika tulo, ang pinakagamay na mura na lang ug mibugdo sa yuta kay maalaan na hubag sa panit. Ana akong lola na ginganlan kani sa mga nagpuyo dapit sa bungtod sama sa unsa ang dagway sa mga bungtod. Ug kay mahilig man tang mga Pilipino ug shrt cut, ug kay Pilipino man pud tong nagpuyo diadto, ang mga pangalan sa mga bungtod kay nahimong Gatoy - gamay na totoy , Kitoy - kinagamyang totoy, ug Hunit - hubag sa panit.
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Pagkatao sa akong ig-agaw, tungod kay mahilig man ang iyang inahan ug mga Istayt Sayd na mga pangalan, ginganlan siya ug Nichol Bruce Calimbo, sama sa iyang ate na ginganlan ug Mary Catherine Calimbo. Hastang lipaya sa akong anti kay ang bata na si Nichol Bruce, gi-anggaan niya ug Bruce, kay mura man gyud ug Amerikano. Taas ang ilong, nipis ang ngabil ug medyo naay pagka puti.
¨Maalaan gyud ning bataa ni ug anak sa Amerikano kay Amerikano na ang nawong (kusi sa aping), Amerikano pa gyud ug pangalan!¨ pirminti nako madunggan ang akong anti mag istorya sa iyang kaugalingon samtang ginakugos ang bata na si Bruce.
Samtang naga dako si Bruce, ang among unkol na si Pol kay na-addict sa usa ka uso na timbura. Ambot unsay naa atong timburaha to na gilamian man gyud pagmaayo ang among unkol. Kining unkola pud ni kay pirminti na ginalaag ang bata na si Bruce. Uban sila muadto ug Plaza, sa palengke, sa tindahan, sa pagpanguyab sa akong unkol sa iyang mga krask.
Usa ka adlaw, kabalo na si Bruce mudagan ug magdula-dula, mibagting ang dalunggan ni anti ug nagdilaab ang iyang nawong sa kasuko atong nadunggan niya ang akong unkol na misampit sa pangalan sa timbura. Wala man untay problema sa pagsampit sa akong unkol apan nakita ni anti na dili ang timbura ang ginatawag sa akong unkol. And pinaka sakit kay milingi ang bata na si Bruce.
¨Inatay kang Apolloha ka! Bantog ra na mura na ug bungol tawagon nang bataa na ug Bruce! gi-angaan naman diay nimo ug Sisoy!¨
Basig unsa pa ang gibuhat ni anti, wala na siyay mabuhat kay nahimatngon na man si Sisoy sa iyang pangalan. Pagkadako ni Sisoy, nahimo man kini ug patulon. Mao, ang Sisoy, naapelyiduhan ug ang pangalan sa akong ig-agaw kay nahimong Sisoy Patulon ug wala na gyud nakaila kay Nichol Bruce Calimbp.
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Natural na sa tao na naay depekto sa kalawasan. Ingon pa nila sa Inggles, no one is perfect.
¨Uy! Bebe! Kumusta na man ka?¨ pagpangutana sa usa ka babaye na nakasugat namo sa dalan pa-ingon sa balay sa akong lola.
¨Maayo man,¨ tubag ni mama na ang ngisi halos gisi-on na ang iyang nawong.
¨Mao ning kinugos ni Marlon na akong bana?¨¨pagpangutana niya sabay susi sa akong nawong na mura bag naay mugawas na letra sa akong panagway na mutubag sa iyaha.
¨Dili uy! Ako man tong kamagulangan. Kadtong lalaki, ¨ tubag ni mama na nakasabot na naalaan na pud ko na laki tungod sa akong buhok ug pamisti.
¨Ay! Kay kinsa man diay ning kinugos?¨ sabay kun-ot sa iyahang nawong.
¨Inyo nila Inday¨
¨Kinsa bang Indaya? ug misamot mi kun-ot ang iyahang panagway.
¨Inday ba na pahak!¨
¨Asawa ni Dodong Kamagong?¨
¨Si Inday man to na Pangag ang asawa ni Kamagong! Inday ba na Tata Butod!¨
¨Ay tuod! Wala man diay to ka-intir si Inday Pahak kay didto man siya mi-adto sa kasal sa anak ni Noli Bungi.¨
¨O! Kamo man lang to nila Inday sali...
Ug mikunot na pud ang panagway sa babaye kay wala na pud siya ka-ila sa gisampit na ngalan ni mama.
¨Inday ba, anak ni Sali Buang! Na-unsa na man ka Sara uy!?¨ sulti ni mama na mura bag hapit na siya masuya sa pagka kalimtanon sa iyang ka storya.
¨Ay o, tuod, tuod. Karon nakahinumdom na ko. Kami to ni Inday Sali ug Dodong Muklo,¨ ug mitan-aw ang babaye sa ako. ¨Amin didi day kay Ninang man diay ko nimo,¨ ug miduol ko sa iyaha ug mi-amin.¨Pasensyahi na ni imong Ninang Sara day ha kay kalimtanon na gyud kaayo ko,¨ pagpangatarungan niya sa ako.
¨Kalisod ba diay tun-on ning balay ninyo Sara,¨ pagreklamo ni mama. ¨Wala may nakaila nimo diri.
¨Ay, uy, Bebe. Pag muadto ka diri, pangitaa ang balay ni Sara, asawa ni Marlon Bungoton.¨
Posted at 10:26 pm by iskolar
Permalink
HUMOR WRITING
One would always equate childhood with innocence but I realized that innocence doesn’t always mean positive. There could be “mean innocence”, mischievous innocence”, “yucky innocence” and other forms of childhood innocence that one could think of. A child doesn’t know what he/she is doing. He/she only cares about childish enjoyment.
I am surprised on how my personality evolved through time. I was a mean, mischievous and yucky child— totally different from what I am now. I learned about my mischief through my mother’s stories and from the significant events stored in my memory. It’s a good thing that I could no longer remember the things that I did in my infancy up to my second year. I bet they were more shameful. There was this incident that my mother kept on telling even to family friends and relatives. When I was ten months old, I ate my own shit. It was a greenish tubol which I picked from the floor after I excreted it. My father said that it seems that I enjoyed that “snack” because when he saw me, I was munching my tubol and just smiled at him when I saw him running towards me. It was my father who got all the greenish shit from my mouth and brushed my teeth thoroughly.
When I was older, I no longer played with my shit but instead played along the canal where the neighbor sewage exits. I and my friends used to play balay-balay under a friend’s house which was nearest to the canal. We pretended that the canal was the sea. After all, it was abundant with fish which I have not known its name until now. We caught fish from the canal and dried them on the cemented pathway. I was wondering where the fish were because when I looked on the pathway, they were gone. I was surprised when I saw my friend, who was younger than me, eating the fish. She even picked a stone and ate it too. She said she was pretending that the fish was her viand and the stone was a candy. This time, I was the one whom got the things which she stuffed in her mouth.
I never had problems with my playmates except when they do something bad to me. There was one time when I had a sambunot with a friend-turned-enemy. She called me “baboy” because I was a fat child (even until now). I called her ‘kwaknit” because it rhymed with her name, Ninit. That name-calling ended into a fight. She grabbed my hair and I grabbed hers too. We fought nearby the door. When we reached the door, I banged her head on it until she surrendered. I never thought that was bad because I was just defending myself. Of course, I was happy when I saw her cry in defeat.
There was also this guy friend whom I could never get even because he was stronger than me. What I did was, I got a kuto from my hair (I had many lice then) and placed it among his hair without him knowing about it. I pretended to scan his hair while we were watching a cartoon show to make sure that the kuto was there. When I saw it, I went to her mother and told her that Erwin has a kuto in his hair. I knew that his mother is meticulous when it comes to grooming. His mother went to Erwin and scanned his hair and indeed, she saw the kuto. Poor Erwin, hi mother scolded him for the sudden appearance of kuto among his hair.
What surprised me is that my father always knew about my mischief. I don’t who reported them to Papa. Perhaps, he knew about them through the parents of my victims. I was not spared of his ultimate punishment which I really feared-- the bitay-sako thing. This was how pilyo kids were punished during my time. There was one evening when he beat me with his belt. Perhaps, he was so angry with me then that he got a sack from our kitchen. I cried harder when I saw him bring the sack. What I did was I keep on jumping in order to make noise and distract the landlady living in the ground floor (our family was renting the upper part of the house). I was actually blackmailing my father in my most subtle way. Luckily, my technique succeeded. My father told me to stop jumping because I might disturb the landlady. My crying and jumping ceased and my Papa returned the sack at the kitchen.
I am a different person now and my mind works in a different way. I could never bring back those memories but they would always remain in me. Sometimes I envy the freedom that children the children have. There are times that I wanted to be a child again. I’m always pressures to act my age and be mature. I have never done any of my mischief nowadays but I’m planning to, one of these days. It would be a different mischief this time.
Charisse Mae Ampo
s equate childhood with innocence but I realized that innocence doesn’t always mean positive. There could be “mean innocence”, mischievous innocence”, “yucky innocence” and other forms of childhood innocence that one could think of. A child doesn’t know what he/she is doing. He/she only cares about childish enjoyment.
I am surprised on how my personality evolved through time. I was a mean, mischievous and yucky child— totally different from what I am now. I learned about my mischief through my mother’s stories and from the significant events stored in my memory. It’s a good thing that I could no longer remember the things that I did in my infancy up to my second year. I bet they were more shameful. There was this incident that my mother kept on telling even to family friends and relatives. When I was ten months old, I ate my own shit. It was a greenish tubol which I picked from the floor after I excreted it. My father said that it seems that I enjoyed that “snack” because when he saw me, I was munching my tubol and just smiled at him when I saw him running towards me. It was my father who got all the greenish shit from my mouth and brushed my teeth thoroughly.
When I was older, I no longer played with my shit but instead played along the canal where the neighbor sewage exits. I and my friends used to play balay-balay under a friend’s house which was nearest to the canal. We pretended that the canal was the sea. After all, it was abundant with fish which I have not known its name until now. We caught fish from the canal and dried them on the cemented pathway. I was wondering where the fish were because when I looked on the pathway, they were gone. I was surprised when I saw my friend, who was younger than me, eating the fish. She even picked a stone and ate it too. She said she was pretending that the fish was her viand and the stone was a candy. This time, I was the one whom got the things which she stuffed in her mouth.
I never had problems with my playmates except when they do something bad to me. There was one time when I had a sambunot with a friend-turned-enemy. She called me “baboy” because I was a fat child (even until now). I called her ‘kwaknit” because it rhymed with her name, Ninit. That name-calling ended into a fight. She grabbed my hair and I grabbed hers too. We fought nearby the door. When we reached the door, I banged her head on it until she surrendered. I never thought that was bad because I was just defending myself. Of course, I was happy when I saw her cry in defeat.
There was also this guy friend whom I could never get even because he was stronger than me. What I did was, I got a kuto from my hair (I had many lice then) and placed it among his hair without him knowing about it. I pretended to scan his hair while we were watching a cartoon show to make sure that the kuto was there. When I saw it, I went to her mother and told her that Erwin has a kuto in his hair. I knew that his mother is meticulous when it comes to grooming. His mother went to Erwin and scanned his hair and indeed, she saw the kuto. Poor Erwin, hi mother scolded him for the sudden appearance of kuto among his hair.
What surprised me is that my father always knew about my mischief. I don’t who reported them to Papa. Perhaps, he knew about them through the parents of my victims. I was not spared of his ultimate punishment which I really feared-- the bitay-sako thing. This was how pilyo kids were punished during my time. There was one evening when he beat me with his belt. Perhaps, he was so angry with me then that he got a sack from our kitchen. I cried harder when I saw him bring the sack. What I did was I keep on jumping in order to make noise and distract the landlady living in the ground floor (our family was renting the upper part of the house). I was actually blackmailing my father in my most subtle way. Luckily, my technique succeeded. My father told me to stop jumping because I might disturb the landlady. My crying and jumping ceased and my Papa returned the sack at the kitchen.
I am a different person now and my mind works in a different way. I could never bring back those memories but they would always remain in me. Sometimes I envy the freedom that children the children have. There are times that I wanted to be a child again. I’m always pressures to act my age and be mature. I have never done any of my mischief nowadays but I’m planning to, one of these days. It would be a different mischief this time.
Charisse Mae Ampo
Posted at 06:57 pm by iskolar
Permalink
Ever since as a little child, Quintina Calderon already wished of becoming a teacher. Having a little hope of finishing even her high school studies, of her coming from a humble family of a farmer, Quintina tried out almost all she could do in order to pursue her dreams. And now, at the age of 51, she’s now attending her work in the University of the Philippines in Mindanao. Yes, rightly heard, she’s now working in a university, but not as a teacher, but as a university dormitory janitress. But every time this stout woman smiles showing her lost teeth in front, no pint of frustration could be seen in her, instead, a completely cheerful satisfaction in life.
Manang Tinay as the student dormers commonly know her, has become the second mother of the dormer’s staying away from their original nurturers. Not one of the student dormers missed of knowing her, even by face only, since she’s the most controversial woman in the dorm especially when the Wing B hygiene is concerned. Most of the dormers who even knew her for years already may not have known her real name yet.
“Tinay na kay tigulang na man. Kadtong bata pa Qunitina. Kung datu, Tintin.” She jokingly answered about her real name while in chuckles.
“Ay te maayo kay naa ka. Gibilin na nako ang akong mga sinina sa gawas, pakilaba na lang. Salamat daan. Sige te, bye !” (“Ay Te, good that you’re here. You can already pick my dirty clothes I placed just outside our room. Kindly wash them te. Thank you. Good bye!”) The usual sound of business in the ears of the chubby middle-aged janitress of the dormitory, who aside from being a janitress, also sidelines on washing the clothes of the dormers.
On her usual t-shirt and denim pants folded up to her knees together with the pair of blue boots, Manang Tinay is now ready on her way to the upper Wing B section of the Elias B. Lopez dormitory. Armored by a mop, a broom, a pail and a ‘tabo’, together with a huge, yellow Orocan pail, where she places all the garbage she collects, Manang Tinay could already start her daily routine of keeping the whole wing tidy most especially the Comfort Room Area.
“Hi, Manang Tinay! Kamusta man?” (“…How are you?”) One lady dormer approached Manang Tinay who was mopping the tile floor of the upper wing A aisle.
“Okey lang. Buhi gihapon.” (“Just fine. Still breathing.”) Answered Manang Tinay as she paused to let the lady pass by.
Since the age of thirty-one Manang Tinay already worked as a dormitory aide first at the Philippine Coconut Authority (PCA) when there would be seminars held at the said dormitory. She transferred to U.P. dormitory on the year the said building was established (on the year 1996).
“Pipila na sab o ka tuig ,diri oy. Halos nakaila na nako tanan estudyante diri especially ang first batch pa gyud diri nga 80 lang ka buok. Mura na man nako ni ug pamilya ang mga tawo diri.” (“I have been working here for how many years already. And I was able to know almost all o f the students here especially those of the first batch which just consisted of 8o students all in all. I consider the people in here as part of my family already.) Manang Tinay proudly recounted her experiences, smiling once in a while, showing her toothless gums in front.
“Hay, kadaghan na nako ug kaila diri. Ang uban mga teacher nga wala na diri kay gipatalsik. Kahibalo mo ato kadtong nasakpan sa ginikanan nga gipagawas ang ilang anak? Naa pa gyud mga estudyante nga nasakpan sa may sagbutan. Na kuyaw lagi.” (“ I already knew a lot in here. There were teachers who weren’t already working in here. You know that one teacher who was caught of going out with a student? And there were also students caught in the bushes. It was really terrifying,,,”) Manang Tinay recounted in whispers some information she got from her previous acquaintances and friends while throwing out the garbage from every little trashcans outside every room into her big Orocan pail.
“Hi Manang Tinay. Kuhaon na nako ang akong mga nilabhan.” (“ Can I get my shirts now Manang Tinay?” ) One student dormer, who, just went out from one of the rooms, approached Manang Tinay.
“ Aw. Sige uban na lang ta sa ubos human na man ko.” (“Yes, Since I’m through already, you can go with me downstairs.”) Manang Tinay answered in smiles as prepared up her things.
“Oy, Tinay hindi pa ba tapos ‘yung mga pinapalabhan ko sa’yung basahan?” (“Tinay, do you already finished washing those rags I ordered you to wash?”) A middle-aged woman, looking younger than Manang Tinay, with short and curly hair, of a slender body with pimples on her bony face, in a plain white shirt and denim pants. Both her hands were on her waist while trying to soften her voice in a real Filipino accent as she talked to Manang Tinay who was checking on the clothes he hung at the back of the dormitory.
“Hindi pa po Mam.” (“Not yet ma’am.”) Manang Tinay answered in a soft voice.
And both of them laughed voraciously as their voices echoed at the open area at the back of the dormitory building.
“Kuha gyud kaayo Elma.!” (“You really get it Elma.”) In grin and giggles, Manang Tinay cheered on the way Manang Elma, the janitress on the other wing of the dormitory, who nearly perfected the soft the voice and acts of the Vice Chancellor for Academic Affairs of the university who was staying at the same dormitory.
“Sige oy, mulakaw sa ko kay ilabay sa nako ang mga basura. “ (Ok, I’ll be going now. I still have to throw the garbage I’ve collected.”) The slender woman of curly hair told Manang Tinay after they laughing at each other.
“Manang Tinay! Naa ko ipangutana sa imoha unya ha.” (Manang Tinay, I need to talk to you later.) One male student dormer approached Manang Tinay as they met at the aisle on the side of the Wing A part of the dormitory.
“Ay, mga problems ug tsismis.” Manang Tinay answered in titter when ased about the possible reason of her talk with the dormers.
“Naanad na man ko ana. Sukad pa sa una, daghan na musolti sa mga problema sa akoa. Maghinilakay pa.” (“I have been used to it. Ever since in my work in her, some students would open up with me. Some would even cry.”) The stout motherly looking woman nodded as she recounted some of her side duties as a dormitory janitress.
“Ana man gyud na. Labaw pa gani ko sa teacher kay dili lang academic problems ang ginasulti sa ako pati emotional ug problema sa pamilya. Tanan.” (I think life is just like that. Me? I think I’m far better than the teachers since I entertain not just academic problems, but also emotional and family problems. The chubby face of Manang Tinay widened as she proudly explained her work, following a big laugh from her.
The lost teeth of Manang Tinay, an apparent distinction of her, every time she smiles or laughs, was already painted on my mind. Truly enough, she may not have been able to achieve her dream as a teacher, she wasn’t able to finish even her high school studies, but she had somehow achieved her dream of working in a university. In addition, she may not been able to work as a teacher, but the sacrifices, advises and experiences she imparted and learned to and from the students and other people she was working with, brought the same and even better satisfaction to her.
“ Nalingaw na man sab ko sa akong trabaho. Dili gyud nako ni ipagpalit sa uban. Mingawon man gani ko sa ako trabaho kung maka-absent ko maski’g usa ra ka adlaw.” ( “I already enjoyed my job. I would not trade this even for anything more. I even miss my work when I couldn’t make it to work even for just a day.) Manang Tinay answered earlier, smiling as she continued mopping the aisle of the dormitory, which she considered her second home already.
Armela Gertos: Profile Article
Posted at 02:31 am by iskolar
Permalink
Brecil M. Kempis
4 BAEnglish
Column Writing
Every after taking a bath, it is already my ritual to apply whitening products on my body such as lotion for my arms and legs, cream for my face and neck, and deodorant for my armpits. And my soap, by the way, is a whitening soap and of course, my toothpaste is a whitening product as well. The only non-whitening product that I have is my shampoo, of course.
For almost ten years of using these whitening products nothing has change. I still have this brown skin, yellowish teeth, and dark armpits. But, I still buy these products because I still believe that there is still hope for my dark skin and teeth to whiten. I made Michael Jackson as my example. I can’t afford for bleaching treatment yet so I will use these products first. That is why every time a new whitening product is introduced, I immediately run to the stores to buy it. Take whitening soaps for example, I already tried different variety of them. From avocadoes to orange papaya to the green papaya soaps and take note, I tried different brands such as Hiyas, Likas, Silka, Kissa and my latest is Biolink. I bought the Kissa papaya soap because Kris Aquino’s line that was “Mas maputi, mas kissable” struck me. When I heard that line, I really felt insulted because I am not “maputi” therefore I am not kissable. So, I used the product but still I am not kissable, if I’m going to use Kris Aquino’s punch line.Then here comes Biolink but still nothing changes. The same with my lotions, I tried different brands from Skin White to Silka then to Block and White to Vaseline to Nivea then to Biolink again but still I have a dark skin. At first, I thought that the reason why those whitening products had no effects on my skin because I didn’t follow the instructions so to make it sure, I diligently followed the instructions but sad to say there was no effect. Then I told myself, “it’s in the genes” but when I saw the Biolink commercial, I felt that there’s still hope but again nothing has changed. I just wasted my money. Maybe if I’m going to count the money that I wasted in the name of whitening, maybe I can already afford to undergo bleaching treatment (not sure of the term).
But until now, I still buy these products and I am sure that I will be going to buy more in the future. This vanity of mine will just stop, maybe, if it is already my hair that will turn white.
Sometimes I blame myself for being so vain but I can’t help it. I tried myself ones to stop using these products but every time I look at the magazines, and watch television, I felt so ugly so I continued buying those products. I don’t know why I am not satisfied on the color of my skin, that whatever I do, nothing will happen because it’s in the genes pare. But still I want to have a fair white skin.
I know that many people share the same sentiment with me. There are people, in fact, whom I know who tried everything just to acquire fair white skin but sad to say, nothing happen. But still they buy these things.
Posted at 12:21 am by iskolar
Permalink
Saturday night, Entry "A", animal courtship rituals and the Theory of Human Interaction
It’s a Saturday night and I’m alone with everybody. The place was hazy with cigarette smoke and glasses full of ice cold beer had been passed from person to person; people I barely knew. And a punk-ska band was doing a cover of early No Doubt.
Saturday nights the world over (then again, everyday of the week), people style their hair, spray on deodorant and rinse their mouths with mouthwash. They would fumble through their clothes and then check themselves in the mirror over and over again. Species of all kinds exhibit some kind of social behavior—they interact with each other in a wide variety of courtship rituals. Animals and humans who “fall in love” share more traits in common than ever believed.
If you check the articles listed in the “A” section of your encyclopedia (whether Compton’s, Book of Knowledge or the Encyclopedia Americana) you would read about Mark Anthony, how he fell in love with Cleopatra, got defeated in the naval battle at Actium in 31 B.C. and took his own life (Cleopatra also took hers), or Aphrodite, about how a sea foam raised by The Hours became a goddess who punishes those who resisted the call of love and how she helped Paris of Troy win the beautiful Helen of Greece, or Astronomy, and read about revolving chunks of rock and hot balls of gases and how their gravitational pull affects everything in the universe.
There’s also an entry about Animals--if you peruse further, you would find an interesting read--animal courtship rituals. You would be able to read how male Bowerbirds make bowers and decorate them with shiny objects (tin foils, coins etc.), feathers and other things and if a female Bowerbird likes the interior design, they would frolic and fornicate inside, or the Peacock who would try to make all those tail feathers vibrate so as to catch the attention of the Peahen. There’s also the female gypsy moth which manufactures her own kind of “perfume” to attract males and could waft as far as seven miles. The dating game could also get nasty. Female mantises are known to bite the head off of male mantises while in the act of copulation and female black widow spiders must be serenaded by males by strumming the web as not to be mistaken as a prey caught on the sticky snare.
Research shows that some animals release hormones (a string of hydrocarbons that directs body functions) like those of humans “falling in –love”. In the encyclopedia entries, we learned that most species flirt like teens overflowing with hormones: they dance, sing, offer gifts and spray perfume. Sometimes they fight (male elephant seals fight other males to claim a harem of 50 females), and die in search of a mate. Humans and animals have something in common; it’s the fact that both go on great strides to look for a mate—either for an evening or for a lifetime.
Now, what is romance then? Why does love transcend all other possible experiences and a curse to those seized by its clutches?
It was a heartbreaking moment, I wonder where she is now, and if she remembers. She waved a hand and I smiled. She smiles back (then again, it was more of a smirk). Romance is something that goes by; a fleeting moment, someone waving a hand, smiling, singing “I’m just a Girl” and “Sunday Morning” and leaves after the fifth song, someone whom you would never meet again.
--Romel Villaflor
Posted at 12:10 am by iskolar
Permalink
Monday, September 27, 2004
SAJS: what is supposed to be humor writing
The Roll Call
by Sahara Alia Jauhali Silongan
More than willing to participate at the local elections last summer, Koo-koo, my 15-year-old boyish cousin, gathered her strength and went to the nearest voting precinct. Standing outside the window of what happened to be an unfinished construction of an elementary school, Koo-koo observed the voting process as a group of men and women of all ages gathered around the area. A tall soldier in his camouflage uniform blocked the people from passing through the doorway. In his hand was a sheet of paper he held tightly as he read each name out loud.
“Datu Ali Sarip!” the soldier called out.
At once, a middle-aged man in his worn out shirt and faded jeans raised his hand and walked toward the soldier. “That’s me,” he said.
The soldier let him in and called out the next name. From the wooden window, Koo-koo observed Datu Ali as he approached the table where another soldier handed him a ballot sheet. He took a seat in one of the chairs available, along with the other voters, and then filled up the sheet of paper. As soon as he finished, he submitted the ballot to the soldier in charged who had him sign the sheet of paper with his thumb mark.
It was that easy, Koo-koo thought. Now all she needed was the perfect timing.
“Norhainie Utto,” the soldier by the doorway summoned as he read the next name on the list. When nobody walked forward, the soldier called once again. “Isn’t there any Norhainie Utto here?” he asked out loud, scanning the queue.
Sensing that there is no Norhainie Utto in the crowd, Koo-koo took her chance. She raised her hand. “I am Norhainie Utto,” she voiced out. The soldier nodded toward her direction and let her into the small room. In her boy-cut hair, loose shirt and baggy pants, Koo-koo pushed her way through the crowd and approached the soldier by the table.
“Name,” the soldier demanded.
“Norhainie Utto,” Koo-koo proudly announced. Her hands in her pockets, she patiently waited as the soldier scanned for the name in the information sheet.
“Did you say you’re Norhainie Utto?” asked the soldier, throwing her a suspicious look.
“Yes, I am Norhainie Utto,” said Koo-koo, her head held high.
“I see,” said the soldier, turning the information sheet over for Koo-koo to see. “You sure don’t look like the woman in the picture.”
Before Koo-koo could protest, a colored image of an old woman frowned before her.
“I didn’t realize you’re that old,” said the soldier, crossing his arms on his chest.
Koo-koo couldn’t look into the soldier’s eyes. How she wished she would just disappear.
“Did you dye your hair black?” asked the soldier, sensing her agitation.
Koo-koo cleared her throat and faced the soldier with a smile. “I’m sorry,” she said, letting out a laugh, “For a moment there, I thought I was Norhainie Utto.”
Before the man could speak, Koo-koo tiptoed her way out of the room with her head bowed and her hands cold inside her pockets. She hurriedly ran outside as soon as she reached the doorway that people followed her with strange looks on their faces.
“Try your luck in the other precincts, young man,” called out the soldier.
Posted at 11:10 pm by iskolar
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Ayoko ng Pork
by Sahara Alia Jauhali Silongan
It was a sunny afternoon probably two or three summers ago. Back then, my parents and I would usually hang out by the garden under the mango tree and have our little chitchat. I stretched my legs and rested them on the round table as I leaned comfortably against the rubber chair. Father sat next to me while Mother was busy spraying her orchids.
“What if,” began my father, “you were starving to death and you only had two choices for your meal: a stewed beef from a stolen cow or a cooked pork that is ‘legally’ yours, perhaps given by a neighbor. Now, which meal would you eat?”
I smiled at my father as I thought hard for an answer. I love it when he posts questions that require a lot of thinking on my part. It makes me feel as if we were both lawyers working for the same law firm and that I was his partner. “Well,” I said, “I’d rather eat the stewed beef.”
Father must have expected my answer. But of course, he and Mother raised me as a Muslim though I don’t exactly remember them lecturing me not to eat pork or anything that contains swine’s meat or blood. It must have been a common knowledge in the family as if each child was born with the restriction already instilled in his innocent brain. I was surprised to hear my father’s answer though.
“I would, possibly, eat the pork,” he said, flashing a knowing smile at me. “Eating a stolen food might cause me stomach aches. Now I wouldn’t want that to happen.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Yuck,” I said, “I can’t imagine myself eating pork. I’d rather starve.”
Some people, particularly Christians, think it’s hard to restrict oneself from eating pork. “Tubuan ka na ng pakpak niyan,” my friends would say whenever I have to eat chicken meat for an entire week at the school canteen. But I have no complaints. Like what I said to my father, I would rather starve than eat pork even if it is the last choice I have.
Back in Cotabato, mealtime has never become an issue to me because restaurant owners as well as staff at the school canteen know which food to serve their customers. They clearly specify which food contains pork and which one doesn’t as a way of respect to those who don’t eat the meat. But things are different in Davao. Almost every canteen or cheap restaurant I go to have 80% pork in its menu. These people do serve chicken and beef but I fear that they might be using the same utensils or oil when cooking each meal. Even in well-known food chains, I have to do my inquiries. For instance, my friends and I happened to be hanging out in Matina Town Square and we could only afford to eat dinner at Taps. While my peers had already taken their orders, I, on the other hand, had my hesitations. I had to ask the waiter.
“Excuse me,” I said while the waiter in yellow uniform positioned his pad and pen, ready to take my order. “I have to ask. Do you use the same utensils in cooking your meals?”
“No, ma’am,” he said. His face was serious as he answered that I had to believe him.
“What about the oil? Do you use the same oil?”
“No, ma’am. We use them separately.”
“Are you willing to bet your soul on it?” I said lightheartedly, sending chuckles to a friend who sat beside me. I didn’t mean to give the waiter a hard time but I had to make sure. I feel that eating a chicken that is cooked with the same oil as used in cooking a pork meal is almost the same as eating pork per se.
The waiter just smiled and patiently took my order.
I came back two weeks later and did the same inquiry on another waitress. This time, I received a positive answer. The waitress confirmed that they use the same utensils in cooking every meal. Upon hearing this, I turned away and let out a curse. Then I had to contain myself. I was innocent, I thought. Allah will understand.
It’s a wonder to various individuals why Muslims don’t eat pork. I know a lot of people who respect my food restrictions but I doubt it if they knew the reasons behind this diet. I, for one, believe in two reasons behind this Islamic regulation. First, it is said so in Sura 16, Verse115 of the Holy Qur’an:
He has only forbidden you dead meat, and blood, and the flesh of swine, and any (food) over which the name of other than Allah has been invoked. But if one is forced by necessity, without willful disobedience, nor transgressing due limits, then Allah is Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful.
I believe that Allah wouldn’t forbid Muslims from eating pork if it were not for their own benefit. I personally believe that eating pork is unhealthy to the body. Even when I was young, I witnessed how our neighbor’s pigs eat from dirt and I couldn’t imagine eating something that once fed from filth. My non-Muslim friends would defend that pigs are boiled and cleaned before they are cooked so it really is safe to eat them. Others would also point out that chickens and cows often eat from dirt as well. I wouldn’t argue on those points but the thing is, my abstention from eating pork is not just something out of religious belief for it has become something psychological.
I have never been tempted into eating pork no matter how juicy a pork barbeque would look like or how my companions would devour pork chops and lechon baboy while their lips become too glossy from eating. As long as I know that a food contains anything haraam, I will never be tempted to eat it regardless of the hunger I feel. It is as if my mind automatically rejects the idea.
It is only later when I learned the deeper reasons behind this Islamic regulation. Medical reports state how consumption of pork cause a number of diseases such as risks of high blood pressure, heart attacks and stroke due to the high cholesterol contained in the pig’s meat, and other ailments carried by harmful germs like tapeworm diseases. Furthermore, Muslim scholars explain that consumption of pork affects an individual not just physically but also in moral and spiritual ways. As Rashid Shamsi puts it in his article, “Why Islam Forbids Pork,”
Anything, which is harmful for the body, hurts the soul as well. Consumption of swine-flesh reduces the feeling of shame and as such the standard of modesty. It creates lowliness in character and destroys moral and spiritual faculties in a man.
Backed up by physicians and medical experts, Shamsi explains that the process of eating doesn’t just end with the digestive system. What one eats is absorbed by the body system including the brain and this, according to Shamsi, “in no small way affects man’s nature.” He further explains that pigs are naturally lazy, indulgent in sex, dirty, greedy and gluttonous and these traits could be attained by pork-eaters. Shamsi proves this as he states the plight he witnessed among those who eat pork. According to him, “Those nations, which consume pork habitually, have a low standard of morality with the result that virginity, chastity and bashfulness are becoming a thing of the past in Europe today.” This statement may turn out to be disputable to some people for reasons that consumption of pork could not have been the primary cause of moral degradation in some countries. There’s no point on arguing with that because the point here is that aside from a person’s upbringing, education and environment, consumption of pork is a small factor that generally affects a person’s behavior.
As Resil B. Mojares’ writes in his article, “We are what we eat.” I definitely don’t want to be as lazy, sex indulgent, dirty, greedy and gluttonous as pigs. I most certainly wouldn’t want to get a risk of heart attack or catch a tapeworm disease. But then I see that my father has a point when he would rather eat pork than suffer from stomach pains or hunger. Indeed, Allah is Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful if eating pork is the only way to save one’s life from starvation. But until then, ayoko pa rin ng pork.
Reference:
Shamsi, Rashid. “Why Islam Forbids Pork.” The Muslim World League Journal. Internet.
Online. WWW. Address. http://www.islam.tc/ask-imam/view.php?q=6031.
October 1999.
Posted at 11:05 pm by iskolar
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music review: Grease Soundtrack
Lost in the Grease World
by Sahara Alia Jauhali Silongan
Grease
The Original Soundtrack from the Motion Picture
Robert Stigwood Organization label, 1978.
Re-released by Polygram International, 1998.
After watching Grease on HBO three years ago, I can’t help but fall in love once again with the 70s (although the movie was actually set in the 50s). I love the oldies and I find no better ways of spending a worry-free day than staying at home and listening to Oldies Radio play hits from the 50s to 70s. I confess that listening to songs older than me brings a nostalgic feeling -- as if I long for something that has long been gone. Upon hearing this confession, my father teased that perhaps I am reincarnated from the 50s or 60s. One of my professors even said that I might be lost in a time warp. Indeed, listening to the Grease Original Soundtrack, takes me to a different world some time in the 50s as the music provides me with both wistful as well as fun moments while it plays sentimental music along with the hip and groove of the golden years.
The soundtrack comprises of 23 different tracks that are arranged not in the same order as they were played in the movie. Instead, what the producers did was to put the more popular songs on the first part of the list then arranged the rest in such a way that provides no dull moment for the listeners by playing the blues alternately with the groovy ones.
The album opens with the movie’s official theme song “Grease” sang by Frankie Vallie and is written especially for the film by former member of the Bee Gees, Barry Gibb. As I listen to the track, I can’t avoid but relive the movie in my head. Undeniably, it’s hard for me to listen to the soundtrack without the T-Birds and the Pink Ladies popping in my mind. When John Travolta starts singing, “Summer lovin’ had me a blast,” in the next track, “Summer Nights,” I become completely lost in the Grease world. I suddenly turn into one of the Pink Ladies singing “Tell me more, tell me more” alongside Olivia Newton John who goes “Summer days drifted away.” This track has become one of my personal favorites and that I often find myself humming to its tune of shoo bop bop and doo bee doop even as I finish listening to the album.
From an upbeat all-cast track that got me swaying to and fro, the next single, on the other hand, is a sentimental love song that had me sit back and relax as I listen to Olivia Newton-John sing “Hopelessly Devoted to You.” The track might be considered a certified oldies hit as it is among our mothers’ favorite songs of all time but listening to the song’s lyrics as sang by Newton-John’s sweet voice makes me feel how it is to be young and in love. I can imagine the shy and charming Sandy Dombrowski (Newton-John) falling for Danny Zuko (Travolta), the leader of the coolest male group in Rydell High, the T-Birds.
Once again, Travolta and Newton-John exhibit their chemistry as they perform a duet in “You’re The One That I Want.” The part of the film on which the single was performed has become the most popular moment in the movie that even twenty years later, the concept of the scene is experienced again in music videos like Jordan Knight’s “Give It To You” and JA Rule’s “Mesmerized” to name a few.
Still hanging on to the bubbly tune of “You’re The One That I Want,” I find myself transported to one of Rydell High’s benches, listening to Danny Zuko express his sentiments as Sandra Dee leaves him. Travolta’s solo performance in “Sandy” proves that aside from being a good actor and dancer, he is not that bad at all when it comes to singing. Meanwhile, from a teen-idol singing voice in “Sandy,” Travolta transforms into an Elvis clone as he deepens his voice in “Greased Lightnin,” a song that clearly illustrates boys’ obsession with cars.
What’s good about the soundtrack is that no matter how old it gets, it would still appeal to the young generation with the songs’ theme encircling on high school experiences. “Beauty School Dropout” sang by Frankie Avalon, for instance, sends a message to high school girls who look forward to shopping and parlor visits rather than going to school. “Look At Me, I’m Sandra Dee” by Stockard Canning, on the other hand, mocks Sandy’s character as she refuses to drink or swear or cut out her hair. Newton-John performs a single with the same title as her character, Sandy reflects on being “wholesome and pure, so scared and unsure” and that she wants to change. Meanwhile, “There Are Worse Things I Could Do,” again by Canning, turns out to be a confession of a mean girl.
“It’s Raining On Prom Night” by Cindy Bullens, however, is the single that I consider would best remind one of high school days no matter which decade the listener belongs to. From here, the music takes me to Rydell High’s gymnasium where I find myself joining the class of 1958 in their Senior Prom.
In my yellow dress and a flower pinned on my chest, I take a seat with the Pink Ladies and we will have a little chitchat as the performing band, the Sha-Na-Na plays “Those Magic Changes.” A blue-eyed T-Bird suddenly grabs me by the hand and takes me to the dance floor as the bands starts playing “Rock N’ Roll Is Here To Stay” and later on we boogie to the band’s rendition of Elvis’ “Hound Dog.”
Exhausted from swinging and swaying on the dance floor, my partner and I decide to grab a seat and watch as Danny and Sandy, with their dance partners, join the dance showdown to the tune of “Born To Hand Jive.” No less than ten minutes, I find myself back on the dance floor as my partner and I slow dance to the tune of “Blue Moon” and “Tears On My Pillow.” With his arms around my waist, I rest my head on his shoulders and close my eyes in order to feel the moment.
As I open my eyes, I realize that I am back in my own room, one with pink flowered wallpaper. The prom has ended but I haven’t got the chance to ask my partner’s name that out of regret, I start to spend my days alone in my room. Still trap in the 50s, I wonder about my mysterious dance partner’s identity and I comfort myself by listening to “Mooning” by Louis St. Louis and Cindy Bullens followed by “Freedy My Love.” Then I begin to cheer up when Louis and Bullens start singing “Rock N’ Roll Party Queen.”
Some time later, I begin to hear cheers and shouts from outside my room. I look out the window to find the Senior Class out in Rydell High’s field celebrating their upcoming graduation. A sudden urge to join them well up inside me that I run outside. Alongside the leaders of the pack, Danny Zuko and Sandy Dombrowski, together with the T-Birds in their leather jackets and the Pink Ladies in their pink sweaters, I join the class of 1958 as they sing the rama lama lama kiding kiding kidong and shoo bop shoo ba wee bop tunes from “We Go Together.”
My fantasy ends with the movie’s opening themes: the instrumental version of “Love Is A Many Splendored Thing,” and Frankie Valli’s “Grease” which is also the closing theme of the movie.
Its potential to make the listeners sway and harmonize with its music no matter which generation they belong to makes the Grease Original Soundtrack the second biggest-selling in pop history (after the Saturday Night Fever Soundtrack, to which the film also starred John Travolta). There is certainly no dull moment in the soundtrack that a running length of an hour and four minutes is definitely more than satisfactory. All 24 tracks are worth listening to that there is no need to push the Forward and Rewind or the Previous and Next buttons of one’s music player. The album is packed with songs that would comfort listener of any age who is in the mood to relax or to simply have some fun and perhaps anyone who is interested to take a trip back to 1958 and witness the excitement happening in Ol’ Rydell High.
Posted at 10:58 pm by iskolar
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music review: Letters to Iceland
A Nostalgia Trip/Review of Björk’s Post
John Bengan
01-62083
It was in Cagayan de Oro where I found her again, displayed on a lonely shelf in a record store facing the street, a gem of a cassette tape among the rest. Later on, I braved a perfectly sad, air-conditioned bus ride back to Davao, armed with a little travel pillow, walkman, and my latest prized purchase, Björk’s 1995 sophomore album Post. On the window throughout the trip, I watched the hills, the trenches, meadows, dark woods and the glacial sky imagining myself holding a giant diamond and chased by a gorilla, a lover on the edge of a cliff, an insomniac whirring into the bustling city, a cartoon heroine lost in a tropical dreamscape. Back in high school, a friend once lent me Post after I raved to her about a ridiculously beautiful music video on MTV with this crazy girl in a yellow dress dancing and doing cartwheels in the street—"It’s Oh So Quiet" directed by filmmaking oddball Spike Jonze—Appreciating Björk on a visual medium is an entirely different pleasure. But that’s another review.
A musical prodigy, Björk Gudmundsdóttir was born on the 21st of November 1965, in Reykjavik, Iceland. At age eleven, she released her first album that included Beatles covers. Later on she almost became a child superstar, but the future deconstructivist diva turned the offers down; after a few side projects, Björk waited until she was in her early twenties and formed Sugarcubes.
Post was released in 1995, following her 1993 debut fittingly titled Debut. Sugarcubes disbanded in 1992 after six inventive years of guitar rock. When Björk’s solo effort came out, it became a hit in the UK and the States—critics, listeners, and audiences were gearing themselves for one bizarre music trip. The galactic potential that Björk showed in Debut was fully realized in Post—called as such because the songs were her letters to Iceland, after having moved to England pursuing her musical goals. After this album, Björk established herself as one of pop music’s most eccentric, innovative, and musically gifted artists. Hiring the help of electronica, club, and trip-hop mavericks (namely: Graham Massey, Nellee Hopper, Howie Bernstein, and Tricky among others), Björk created tracks driven by a mild industrial sound, laced with glittery electronic fusions, and propelled by her sonic voice. Traditional and weird instruments were elegantly combined; her vocal arsenal included soothing cadences, forcible shouting, and emotional singing; letting some tracks explode with dynamism, orchestral breadth, danceable in the impulsive, peculiar sense; while others she drenched in the hypnosis of slow pulsing trip-hop.
The opening track "Army of Me" is menacing and thunderous, "And if you complain once more, you’ll meet and army of me," Björk sings, the subdued raunchy beats following her lead. "Army of Me" offers a compact and heavy element to the album, a song that is somewhat distant from the animated playfulness and ethereal synthesis of the others. Stunningly, Björk follows with a more emotional arrangement and well written narrative—"Hyperballad" lets you inside the life of a love-struck female lead who throws objects over a cliff to unravel her perception of a relationship. The Björkian lyricism becomes so vivid and ultra-modern, one can imagine the landscape on which the song traverses: a violet sky over a high mountain, a cliff topped with pines and gothic trees, at the edge a pixie girl is looking over the "car parts, bottles, and cutlery" she has thrown, and right below her, an ocean hisses to the shore. "I go through all these before you wake up, so I can feel happier to be safe up here with you." While listening to her, one senses a deep emotional center amidst layers of resonant grooves and electronic pop. "And when [my body] lands, will my eyes be close or open?"
"All the Modern Things" opens with a languid measure that later on develops into a sparkling symphonic invention. It begins with Björk singing the curious lines: "All the modern things like cars and such have always existed. They have just been waiting in a mountain for the right moment." Also a danceable track, you can glide and swirl on the floor, think of a little tornado lifting you to the sky. An homage to cheesy Broadway musicals, "It’s Oh So Quiet" is filled with smacking trumpets, music box pauses, and Björk in her shrieking best. It is loud, frisky, and infuriating. The most familiar track in Post among the non-Björk listeners, it renders a brand of self-reflexivity and the burlesque. The artist knows how not to take her self seriously and stay sincere about it. "Enjoy" then follows, bringing back the turbulence and bravado of "Army of Me." Tricky’s virtuosity collaborates with Bjork’s equally uncanny allure: "Look at the speed out there, it magnetizes me to it. And I have no fear, I’m only into this to enjoy." In this track, the spectral quality of the album is developed, wherein Björk and her collaborators work fluidly through frantic dance beats and glossy pop inflections. "You’ve Been Flirting Again" slows things down, a calming reflection with the singer chanting the lines.
The next track elevates Post into mythic heights. An evocative epic, "Isobel" is similar to the narrative energy of "Hyperballad." After the lull of the previous track, Björk unleashes once more her facility to construct an ingenious song. The sound is reminiscent of some tribal-infused tracks from Debut, the songwriting is nonetheless exceptional: "In a heart full of dust, lives a creature called lust. It surprises and scares, like me, like me." I once unintentionally recited these lines in front of an accomplished poet and he responded with no less than wonder: "Uy, sino sumulat nyan? Magaling yan, a!" I remember Anthony Tan asking me. I told him it was Björk’s and his face lit up with curiosity.
After being enchanted by "Isobel," the next track is a real crusher. It is the one that totally captures the listener, transports him into a realm only Björk can design. "Possibly Maybe" starts with the murmuring hum of a phone dialer, proceeds with lazy techno keys, and then Björk opens her mouth. "Your flesh find me out, teases the cracks in me, smittens me with hope." Listening to this tune, one realizes another dimension of Post being opened: a dreamy, highly emotional room full of silent textures and shapes. "As much as I definitely enjoy solitude, I wouldn’t mind perhaps spending little time with you. Sometimes, sometimes… Possibly maybe, probably love." The listener is seduced into a confession; you can feel Björk charmingly gesturing with her hands, come in, come in, down into her most sensitive core. "Uncertainly excites me, baby. Who knows what going to happen. Lottery or car crash, or you’ll join a cult." This is an honest and precise description of spiraling into love without the baby-blah-blahs of boy groups or the pitiful ramblings of an emo band. Take this last lines that bear a peculiar candor not found in Mr. Carrabba’s: "Since we broke up, I’m wearing lipstick again. I suck my tongue in remembrance of you."
The next song is "I Miss You," an energetic, techno-tribal dance tune carrying lyrics with a philosophical bent—something to give those who dismiss dance music as brainless pastiche. "I miss you, but I haven’t met you yet. So special, but it hasn’t happened yet. You are gorgeous, but I haven’t met you yet. I remember, but it hasn’t happened yet." More suitably, John Kricfalusi, of the Ren & Stimpy cartoon show, directed the music video. The song is hysterical and enjoyable. When you get to the middle, you’ll feel the energy flowing through your limbs, the next thing you know you’re jumping and screaming in your kitchen banging on objects and utensils.
"Cover Me", on the other hand, is like a gossamer blanket made of semiprecious stones and moonlight. You listen to it and feel like dissolving, your eyes covered with the velvet skin of night, Björk’s haunting voice as if skimming on watery surfaces. The last track is a lullaby dreamed up by Björk and Tricky, "Headphones." A fresh and weightless sound, this one closes the album with an ether-coated, trip-hop meditation, the weirdest devices and most surreal effects already dished out. The result is precious, avant, and fantastically Björk.
Whenever I listen to her music, I become a shape shifter, entranced with the electronic musings of this Icelandic Diva of rare caliber. For so many blue nights I have listened to Post—I listen and continue to listen the cassette almost warps, Björk’s iridescent voice melting in my heart, these lyrics of despairs and joys, these songs that make you want to curl up in bed and vanish into one of her esoteric universes.
Posted at 04:33 am by iskolar
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A good essay must have this permanent quality about it; it must draw its curtain round us, but it must be a curtain that shuts us in not out. ~Virginia Woolf~
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