Monthly Archives: April 2007

Keeping it loose

I was doing some spring cleaning in my hard drive, spurred by the sudden realization that I no longer had space in my second 160gb drive to save the latest House, MD episode. Great. Time to finally clean house (no pun intended).

I know where most of the duplicate files are, for the most part. They’re in the mp3 folder that has files that also reside in my iTunes folder. It’s just a matter of getting to the business of deleting things, that’s all. Except, of course, since the recent uptick in my internet music downloads, I’m trying to be careful not to lose any gems I might not be able to recover online in the future. Which makes for a very slow process.

In the course of reconciling my iTunes library with my other mp3Amos Lee storage bin, I discovered that I have a few Amos Lee tracks that I always assumed were in his commercially-released self-titled album. But when I went to compare the tracks side-by-side, I saw that I had a handful of tracks that had no home. A few of them were in an even earlier release (which also included songs in his Amos Lee album), or a movie soundtrack, or from his live performance at KCRW. There’s one there that had me stumped, though. I couldn’t figure out where it belonged.

So maybe for now, it, along with the other tracks, will belong on this post. I know a few Amos Lee fans, and in case you haven’t heard these yet, enjoy. If you have, then enjoy them again. And if you haven’t even heard of him yet, go check him out. Really. As in, right now. Go.

Just keeping it loose, friends.

I’m Not Myself

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Jails and Bombs

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Morning

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Makin’ Love

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Colors (piano)

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Brand New (live)

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Beyond words

In his book A Way To Be Free, Ben Okri writes:

…the highest things are beyond words. This is probably why all art aspires to the condition of wordlessness. When literature works on you, it does so in silence, in your dreams, in your wordless moments. Good words enter you and become moods, become the quiet fabric of your being. Like music, like painting, literature too wants to transcend its primary condition and become something higher. Art wants to move into silence, into the emotional and spiritual conditions of the world. Statues become melodies, melodies become yearnings, yearnings become actions.

It made me think of my process of writing, which has always been mostly mood-driven. When I was much younger (and a more prolific writer), I had a seemingly endless well of new emotions and realizations that made for a great roller coaster ride and fed the writing frenzy. I used to always say that when the mood struck, I would grab my pen and start writing. But when the feeling was too strong, or too complex for words, I would head instead to the piano and write music. Instrumental music, mostly. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of songs I’ve written with lyrics. It used to frustrate me endlessly how I could only craft a song with lyrics if the words and the music came together. I could never set my poetry to music, or write lyrics for my melodies.

Later on, I realized it was because the feelings weren’t the same. It took a certain depth of emotion for me to write music, and if that was my sanctuary when the words wouldn’t come, then how can I hope to force lyrics into something that was beyond words to begin with? In the same way, writing poetry or prose meant I was able to come to terms with whatever the impetus was. The story would have finished itself on paper. I had no idea nor motivation to add more to it.

Which brings me to this post, because I’ve listening to some neglected tracks on my computer. They have lyrics, yes, but because they are either in Spanish or Portuguese and I speak neither, then these songs have the same effect on me as instrumental music. I am able to appreciate the voice purely as a musical instrument, and inject any meaning into the song.

So allow me to introduce you to Rosana Arbelo, known simply as Rosana. She is a Rosanasinger-songwriter from Spain, and quite an accomplished guitarist as well. I love the texture of her voice, and when she sings, I get the sense that I’m listening to some secret poem that is as simple as it is profound. It makes me wonder about what hidden truths I may be concealing from myself, as if they will only reveal themselves under the cloak of another language.

I’m not sure if I want to know what the lyrics mean or not. When I let my imagination work out the meaning on its own, it’s like hearing a different message every time the song plays. I like the magic in that. And, as Ben Okri wrote (hey, we’re back full circle), “Magic becomes art when it has nothing to hide.”

As a matter of strange and unplanned case of coincidence, Rosana’s latest album is called Magia. Oh, and NO, this has nothing to do with the recent Latin night at American Idol. Just sayin’.

Carta Urgente

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Llueve

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Si Tu No Estas

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Donde Ya No Te Tengo (acustico)

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Descubriendote

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Tormenta De Arena

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Bajo Charcos

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And to speed things up a bit, lest you think I’ve never known a funky mood, here’s a song that’s one of my favorite morning wake up tunes. I don’t care if it’s a typical and predictable chord progression. This song makes me get up and move!

Pa’calor

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about me

I write, cook, play music, and make pictures. Not necessarily in that order. I was born and raised in the Philippines, and it shows. That means I eat rice with every meal, love my cousins like my own siblings, and firmly believe that avocados are best eaten with cream and sugar.

If you want to learn more about me, here are 43 things I'd like to do. Here's a little something about my name, in case you were wondering. Here are some other places you'll find me:

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LOST AND FOUND

One summer night in 2010, our house burned to the ground and we lost everything we had. This is the story of what happened and how life and hope can always rise from ashes.



I'm proud to belong to an amazing community of Filipino food lovers. Together, we celebrate this often-neglected Asian cuisine, sharing our family's treasured recipes and discovering new ones along the way. This is our club.
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