Summer 39: insignia

Matthew ELeave a comment

Dearest Zann,

Wryth led me back inside the palace. “If you would like a sword, to replace your guard sword,” she said, indicating my empty scabbard, “we have some very good ones in our suites. One does not like to boast. But Amaydyan weapons are far superior to whatever garden implements the greenkind allow you.”

“That’s very generous of you,” I told her. “But, no, thank you. I don’t use weapons.”

She thought about this. “Why is that?”

“Because I don’t want to hurt anybody.”

Wryth paused again. Generous of her to assume that my stances were well-thought-out enough to be worth contemplation by a second person. “How can one fulfill the duties of a palace guard if one is not willing to hurt another? For that matter, how can one save the city against its many problems if one is not willing to hurt another?”

“Maybe one can’t. Maybe I can’t.”

“And so?”

“And so I’m not going to release a weary sigh and resolve to pick up the sword again. Because that isn’t in me anymore. Because if we could solve this problem that way, someone would have done it already. Because I don’t believe in it.”

“Well. One must admire your bravery.”

“Not if you don’t want to. This city is full of brave people. May I make a speech?”

She laughed. “Please do!”

“Thank you. I’ve had many adventures recently and met so many brave people. Citizens and guards, humans and greenkind, wizards and children and revolutionaries and criminals and eccentrics and fools and one giant anteater. They’re all willing to take their chances against the world and everything that the world can throw at them. The worse things get, the braver they become. But things have kept getting worse. Maybe bravery isn’t what we need.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know. But if there’s a solution, I’ll find it.”

We were silent, climbing tower steps. Eventually, Wryth said, “Presumably the objection to swords would also apply to strong magic.”

“That’s embarrassing,” I said. “I had actually been hoping for some kind of magical solution. But you’re right. It’s just another kind of sword.”

“Or, that’s what it seems like to two guards, at least.” And that also was true.

“Are the Amaydyan roosts much farther? I’ve never been there before,” I said.

“No reason one should have, if one is a palace guard. The embassies bring their own guards with them. Our rooms are somewhat higher, I fear. In better days there are magical chambers to move us up and down the towers, but now that the palace is sequestered from the outside world, those conveniences are unavailable.”

“Oh well.”

“Just so.”

We were both used to exerting ourselves all day, but still, we were panting when we finally reached the Amaydyan rooms of this high tower. The four guards there waited alertly for us. Wryth indicated me and said, “This fellow is Ybel. He’s an important Rosolla Guard. One should know him, if one meets him elsewhere.” They saluted, that weird Amaydyan salute where you spin your hand around. “Anything to report?”

“No, ensign,” one said.

“Good. Continue.”

We entered a large round room in which clerks and guards were suddenly trying to look busy. Wryth surveyed them briefly and led me to a spiral staircase in the centre of the room. We descended.

Down here was a small bureau, very well appointed, where an elderly woman at a table was painting a small object. She looked up. “Ah, Wryth. And a new person.”

“Yes, Lord Ambassador,” she said. “This is Ybel of the Rosolla Guard. I’ve been conferring with him on the current conditions.”

“Good, good. Have my new figures been delivered? One observes that the last ones were very unsatisfactory.”

“No, Lord Ambassador. The artisan has fled the city. We’re trying to find a substitute.”

“Oh dear. Well, do keep me informed about that. I’m just finishing up the Parthage officers today.” She held up the thing she had been painting: a little figure of a soldier in a yellow uniform, brandishing a poleax. “The insignia isn’t molded properly at all, but I can paint it so that one cannot notice.”

“Very skillful, Lord Ambassador. Do you have more orders for me?”

“No, no. You always know what to do. Thank you, Wryth. Honoured to have met you, Ybus.” Wryth saluted and we withdrew. She took me up two staircases to her own small bureau.

“So,” I said.

“Yes.”

“What you’re telling me is that we’re working alone here.”

“One suspects that this is the case.”

“Then it’s a good thing that we’re both so wise and clever.”

Wryth nodded gravely, and got out a slate and some chalk, and we began to plot.

Love,

Ybel

Summer 38: clamped

Matthew ELeave a comment

Dearest Zann,

A strong pair of hands clamped my shoulders and pulled me backwards. Ambe’s foyer furnishings clung on as hard as they could, which lost me a lot of skin from my arms, but whoever was pulling me away was stronger. I fell back against them and we tumbled back onto the grass.

I twisted around to see who had saved me. It was Wryth, the Amaydyan guard officer. “Are you hurt?” she said.

“Not badly,” I said. “Thank you very much.”

“I am pleased to be of use. Does one encounter such hazards often in this palace? I confess your peril was one I had no knowledge of.”

She helped me to my feet. “I think it’s a spell that Ambe uses to guard her lair when she’s not in it. Which I should have thought of before pushing my face in there. Foolish of me.”

“I see. A magical spell that is also your colleague, then. And mine,” she said, grinning.

“Ay, I guess so.”

“I saw you crossing the courtyard. I caught you up because I wished to speak with you.” She pointed to a canopied greenfolk thing where people could sit.

“Oh. Well. What would you like to talk about?” We sat down on the thing.

She made a squaring-up gesture. “Our delegation to Crideon is in a difficult position. This court is cut off from the rest of the world, and is doing nothing to address the catastrophe outside. Some of the rebels are demanding that we be turned over to them as prisoners.”

“They are?” Not the ones at Cas Crid, I thought, Acea would never stand for that.

“They are. Many of your countrymen have no love for mine. One struggles to imagine a resolution to this conflict. So I am spending a lot of time thinking what to do. And when I see you, I think, perhaps he would be good to talk to.”

I nodded slowly. “I want to stop it all,” I said. “I don’t know how, or who can help, or what to do next. But I’m going to do something, because I don’t know who else is. Will you help? If you can?”

Wryth considered. “I remember you pushing a bench, at a wedding, to save your guards from being killed. I thought to myself, that is a clever man, not just to push a bench, but to know that the bench must be pushed. It is why I thought I should talk to you. Yes, I will help, if I can.”

I hadn’t expected to feel such relief. “Thank you,” I said. “Again.”

“How does one begin such a conspiracy?”

I reached out my hand and she shook it.

“Perhaps you’d like to speak to the Amaydyan ambassador?” she suggested.

That sounded like a good idea.

All my love,

Ybel

Mr. Brightside (the Killers, 2003)

Matthew ELeave a comment

Mr. Brightside – the Killers (2003). #10 in the U.S. and U.K., #5 on a couple of Canadian charts. Diamond in the U.S. and Canada, 12 x Platinum in the U.K. An anthem of the Millennial generation, I guess, sort of, maybe. Billboard best song of 2005. Most successful single never to top the British charts.

I don’t like this goddamn song. I don’t really want to not like it–it’s got a very promising title, sounds like it could be a superhero name, always a good sign–but I don’t. There’s just something about rock music of the 21st century that tends to sound draggy and dreary. I don’t know what it is. But it’s exacerbated here by the way the singer holds a monotone on some of the prominent lyrics. Maybe it gets the effect they were going for but it makes it particularly unpleasant for me.

I don’t like the song so much that I thought I just didn’t like the Killers at all. This was reinforced by some of their Christmas music that I simply couldn’t make friends with for any reason. But since then I’ve heard some more Killers music, both Christmas (“Christmas in L.A.”) and regular (“Human”), that I do like, so, fine. The Killers can stay. But they have to leave this number outside.

Probably the reason why so many people like it so much is the same reason I don’t like it so much: the radio played it to death. I remember hearing it of a morning on our clock radio and thinking, “Every morning?” It was too much. Why couldn’t they pick something pretty? And another thing: the little rhyme trick they pull where it makes you expect the singer to say “and she’s touching his dick” is only clever the first ten thousand times you hear it. Do you realize how serious this is? This song has got me speaking out against cheap tricks. I’m ashamed of myself, I really am.

I Still Have Faith in You (ABBA, 2021)

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I Still Have Faith in You – ABBA (2021) written by Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus. Nominated for Record of the Year; #9 on the Canadian digital music sales chart, #2 on the Swedish charts. Platinum in Sweden.

This was the lead song from ABBA’s big comeback album, Voyage. It’s not the best ABBA, but it’s pretty good ABBA. It showed that, after forty years, they can still make it work like they used to. If you missed them, they’re really back.

“I Still Have Faith In You” seems to be about the singer of ABBA wondering if she can still make music with the band like she used to. She thinks so, there’s definitely some of the old magic around, but she isn’t sure of her own ability to rise up to the necessary level. Whether she can or not, though, she’s taking heart that she knows the rest of the group can.

But it doesn’t have to be about that. It could be sung from the point of view of a woman unsure about restarting an old relationship. That’s possible. Look at the lyrics and tell me it isn’t possible. Why aren’t we interpreting it like that?

This is what these music types do, sometimes, with their charisma and their razzmatazz. They get us to like them, to identify with them. To invest in their story. ABBA are four Swedish people who sang several dozen catchy songs forty to fifty years ago. No reason why they shouldn’t try to make a comeback, but how can they presume that a song about whether they can manage that comeback, whether they’ve got the internal resources to live up to how special the group used to be, would be something that would engage our empathy?

Except, of course, that they’re right. We do care about all that; we are glad that they’re back, and that they still have faith in each other, and in us, and we in them, and that the group was and is special. Parasocial relationships gonna parasocial. It’s a great trick. All the more so because the joke isn’t on us: it’s on all the people that it didn’t work on.

Summer 37: Amb?

Matthew ELeave a comment

Dear Zann,

The portal, or gate, or whatever it was that I had jumped into, looked dangerous, but jumping into it wasn’t quite as reckless as it seemed. What I figured was, where would a couple of resistance wizards want to open a door to? Either back into the real world or, maybe, into the palace. Either of those would be fine with me. And the harp music did suggest the palace to me. They certainly wouldn’t be opening a door to any demonic realms, not with Acea in charge.

So I wasn’t surprised when I tumbled onto a stone floor in some kind of large dim space. It smelled like the palace. It was quiet, though, and there was nobody around, and I didn’t quite recognize the room I was in. It was too big to be anything but a ballroom, but it didn’t look like a ballroom. I got up and wandered to the far end, and found a little corridor leading away, with a staircase leading up. Up was good; I ascended.

I could hear some sounds in the distance, now. Nothing alarming. Just normal noises that meant there were people around the place. That was reassuring, because the last time I had come to the palace, there had been nobody there. Of course, that time, I had come here by a regular road, and this time I came by magic. The greenkind, I wondered, might be able to live in the magic palace without having to live in the physical palace.

I tried some more corridors, and found a door that looked like it ought to lead to another staircase. I opened it. No staircase. It was a small bower with a greenkind man drowsing in a chair. He had a poetry book on his lap. He opened his eyes, and said, “What is it?” I know this fellow, I said to myself.

“Oh. Nothing, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you; I took a wrong turn. But… I think I know you from somewhere.”

“It’s possible,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I have been somewhere.”

I searched my memory. “You’re… I think I helped load some boxes onto your boat. Swings and swings ago. You weren’t paying much attention to me, but… you threw this coin overboard,” I said, and showed him the coin from around my neck.

“Shit!” he said, and scrambled to his feet, knocking the chair over. He quickly got behind it. “Keep that thing away from me!”

I stepped back, politely, and said, “Why? What does it do?”

“Nothing!”

“Then what’s so terrible about it?”

“It’s not… You know what? I don’t want to talk about it. Take it away from me. I don’t ever want to see it again, and if you have any decency, you’ll keep as far from me as you can yourself. I’m sorry for everything but go.”

“I’ll go. But if there’s anything you could tell me about…” But he was covering his eyes so he didn’t have to look at me, and drinking brandy right from the bottle. “I’ll just go, then. Sorry to disturb you.”

I left him, turned two more corners, and found myself in the good old Strawberry Gallery. From there I stepped out into the grassy inner bailey of the palace. Sunshine! Late morning, it looked like. I wondered what there was to eat around here.

There was a fresh breeze off the river. I stepped up a little hill to catch more of it. Why did I miss the palace? I really didn’t belong here. What pleasant memories could I have of the place? But I did like it here and wished I could stay, maybe even live here, somehow.

There were other greenkind around, but nobody close. Ambe’s lair was right over there, though. Could she possibly be inside? I doubted it. But I could check.

I opened the little door and stuck my head in. “Amb? Are you here?”

A patch of moss on the gnarled wall formed itself into a mouth and said, “Amb? Are you here?”

“I guess not,” I said, and went to leave, but the mat below said, “I guess not,” jumped up, and grabbed my hands.

“Ow!” I said, and tried to break free.

“Ow! Are you here?” said the coatrack as it reached out to grab my head and pull me inside.

“Piss off!” I said, fighting against all of this.

“Amb? Piss off,” said the wall, opening up to accept my body into a dark crevice. “I guess not. Ow!” agreed the coatrack, pushing me in.

All my love,

Ybel

Summer 36: unforgivable

Matthew ELeave a comment

Oh, Zann…

“Now then,” Fafafa said, “Gods, it’s good to see you. I suppose some things make more sense to you.”

“You fighting in the resistance, you mean? Yes. I suppose Quoon and Ostavon are also part of it? Are they all right? It’s good to see you too.”

“Of course, yes, they’re fine.”

“And what about Wande?”

He sighed. “Yes. I’m sorry. She was. But she’s not with us now. I don’t know what happened to her. Or her little girl.”

“Oh! I know where they are. Don’t worry about that. They’re well.”

“They are? You’ve seen them?”

“Ay,” I said. “But the resistance.”

“Ay. All simple enough. We couldn’t tell you about it, because you’re a Rosolla Guard, obviously. You must know that. In fact, we still can’t tell you about it.” A few of the other soldiers relaxing in this courtyard were close enough to overhear us. I could see them straining their ears to eavesdrop.

“Yes, you can. Please know, I’m not your enemy. I’m… I’m just trying to fix all this. And I need help. I know Acea hates me, but… is Acea your leader?”

“Ay. Why does he hate you?”

“I could never explain it. It… never mind. My point is, Lord Clear is the enemy. And the greenkind have done unforgivable things, but they’re not the enemy. And I’m not either. And we have to make it all right for us all to be here. Somehow. And I’m the only one who wants to do that, and I need help.”

He shook his head dismissively. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. How are you going to fix the whole city? You’re not making sense. But see here. You know I’ve done a lot of fighting, over the years.”

“Of course I know that. But–“

“This isn’t the first time I’ve had a friend on the other side. And, whatever you think, I do care about that. I don’t like having to treat you like an enemy–“

“Then don’t!”

“–but now that you’re here it doesn’t matter. I can just put you somewhere safe until this is all over, and I don’t have to worry about us killing you in battle!”

“Put me somewhere! Faf, no, I have to help–“

“It’ll be somewhere comfortable. We’ll feed you. And let you out after we’ve won. You can just relax. We’ll bring you books. You won’t have to worry about anything.” He signaled a couple of soldiers to come over.

“Like piss I won’t! I’m not just going to sit in a box while the world changes all around me! You don’t even know what it’s about! I need to–“

“What are you doing there?” he asked, indicating my left hand. I looked down. I had pulled my coin, on its thong, out from under my tunic and I was digging its edges into my fingers, without knowing. “Is that your magic coin?”

“Ay,” I said. “I don’t know–“

“You’d better give it to me,” Fafafa said, reaching for it. “I’ll hold on to it for–“

“Get your own,” I said, standing and shoving him back over his bench. I used the bench to vault myself over him and run for the nearest door. There were resistance soldiers all around us and I couldn’t avoid them for long, but I knew I couldn’t let them take me.

“Hey!” Fafafa shouted, lying on his back flailing his arms. “Take him! Don’t kill him!”

A couple of alert soldiers blocked the nearest door. Next closest thing was a low window. This was going to hurt, I thought, and dove into it.

I crashed through the glass and slats, and it hurt, and I fell to the floor below. The window may have been low from the point of view of the courtyard, but it was high in the wall of this room. Two women were in here, backed against shelves and cabinets in surprise. “Day,” I said to them.

“Day,” one of them said automatically. “Who are you? What’s happening?”

“Can you get me out of here? The soldiers want–” I looked around. There was a long table with a lot of glassware on it. Many books. A map of the city on the wall, next to a map of the stars. Two purple lights bobbing around in the corner. “You’re wizards? With the resistance?”

A soldier stuck his head through the broken window. “Amele! Hold him there!”

One of the other items in the room was a wooden frame, standing alone, on a swivel. Faint black-and-green smoke was coming out of it. Inside it was a green void, with small yellow lights chasing each other around deep inside. I could hear music, faintly, from it. Harp music.

“Never mind,” I said. “That’ll do.” And I dove through it.

Love,

Ybel

Ya Ya (Lee Dorsey, 1961)

Matthew ELeave a comment

“Ya Ya” – Lee Dorsey (1961) written by Lee Dorsey, C.L. Blast, Bobby Robinson, and Morris Levy, unless some part of that isn’t true. #7 on the Billboard Hot 100, #1 on the Billboard R&B charts. Covered by many other famous acts.

So simple and challenging that it might as well be for little kids. Cheerful, easy to sing, full of nonsense words. On the one hand, why talk about it? On the other hand, why aren’t there always a few songs like this on the charts?

Anyway, the truly admirable thing here for me is the slow start. “Oh… well… I’m…” and then Dorsey’s breath catches and that, right there, that’s where the genius comes in. That part where his breath catches and he jumps into the rhythm of the song, that’s what, as Josh Lyman would put it, makes it art. Replace that with AI, you SOBs!

“Echo Beach” (Martha and the Muffins, 1980)

Matthew ELeave a comment

I have it in mind to start writing about music more, because I like it, even if I don’t know much about it from a technical point of view, and why wouldn’t I start here.

“Echo Beach” – Martha and the Muffins (1980) written by Mark Gane; #5 on the Canadian charts, #37 on the U.S. Disco charts. Juno Award for Single of the Year.

“Echo Beach” sounds simple. There’s a futuristic synth riff, and there’s a woman singing about how she wants to be at Echo Beach, and it’s all very catchy, and it adds up to a hit song. A very modern hit song (for 1980, that is).

But you know, there is a saxophone solo in the song too. And the sax, while it was a very ’80s instrument, wasn’t really a supermodern touch in the way that the synth line was. But that’s okay, because of what the song’s about.

According to the lyrics, the song is about a woman who has a boring, unfulfilling life, and the only good part of it is when she gets to go to Echo Beach. Not for partying and surfing and sunshine, but for solitary evening contemplation. It’s peaceful and beautiful, apparently.

What we have to remember is when the song came out. 1980. And one of the things that was in the air in 1980, and for a long time before and after 1980, was The Sixties. Do you think you hear about the nineteen-sixties too much now? Nothing like it was back then. “Looks like the sixties are finally over!” “When do you think the sixties ended?” “What did you do in the sixties?” “Things were better in the sixties.” The Beatles this and Vietnam that and Kennedy the other thing.

And the Boom was the only generation. (Not literally. There were people older than Boomers, and people younger than Boomers, but nobody talked about any of them as being part of a generation.) The Boom perspective was the only real one. Their storyline was, we came of age in the sixties and that was great but also terrible, then the seventies came and we all had to sell out and get jobs and now there’s disco and we miss the sixties.

Which brings us back to “Echo Beach”. It’s one of many songs* about how the sixties are over and the singer misses them. That job she finds so boring is the one she got after the Beatles broke up. Notice how the lyric specifies, not that she’ll be at Echo Beach, but that she’ll be back at Echo Beach? The place that is far away in time? The value of the place, beautiful as it may be, is in nostalgia. It’s where she can go to remember the past. Almost like it’s where she can hear the echo of the past.

And that’s why the saxophone is appropriate in the song. The singer is looking back to the sixties and the synthesizer is looking back to the sax. It reflects the sound of 1980, when the seedy and sleazy ’70s music was slowly evolving into the sleeker and cleaner ’80s music. “Echo Beach” was leading the march of time in both directions.

It’s a good tune. Check it out if you don’t know it.

*Some other sixties-lament songs of the era were “Hey Nineteen” (Steely Dan), “The Sad Cafe” (Eagles), “Video Killed the Radio Star” (Buggles), “The Boys of Summer” (Don Henley)…

Summer 35: potatoes

Matthew ELeave a comment

Dearest Zann,

Acea stared after us as his soldiers took me away. Of course that’s all he did. He didn’t want to talk to me nor I wanted to talk to him. I loved him. But clearly, clearly, the best thing would be if we never saw each other again.

I didn’t resist. I didn’t speak. What was to say? There was nothing I wanted to know or wanted anyone else to know. I made no mystery about what Acea was doing here; he had heard that the people of Crideon were being repressed by Lord Clear and the greenkind, and he came to help. Just like he and I used to do in other places. And here I was.

The rebel soldiers would put me in a cell. And eventually Acea would come and talk to me. And we would hurt each other. And nothing would be resolved. And he’d let me go, because why not. And then I’d slink off and scheme some more.

“In here,” one of the soldiers said, shoving me toward a door, not too rough.

“No,” I said, putting out an arm against the doorframe. “Wait.”

He thumped me with a spearbutt. “Acea said–“

“I know what he said. But I’d like to do something useful here. Can we do something useful?”

They both had their spears leveled now. “What are you talking about? You’re a Rosolla, and–“

“I came here to try to fix things. Not to fight you fellows. Or anybody. Well, maybe Lord Clear. But all I can do from in there is to make Acea feel bad. Can we do something else instead? Can you think of anything else you can do with me? Ay, keep me out of trouble. But don’t leave me in there like potatoes.”

“Just get in,” the first soldier said, but the second one interrupted.

“No, no; I get this. Well, partly. Let’s take him upstairs. That’ll be fine. We can keep an eye on him.”

“You believe him?” the first one said.

“A little. Come on. Let’s see what happens.”

Grateful as I was, I winced on behalf of Acea. If I was leading a rebellion and one of my men wanted to disobey my orders about a prisoner to ‘see what happens’, my head would pop off of my neck and go bouncing down the lane.

They led me upstairs and out into a little courtyard. There were soldiers training with spears and swords, but also some in a corner sitting around drinking water. They brought me to this corner and shoved me down on a bench. One of them called, “Ancient!” and an officer trotted over.

It was Fafafa. “Oh,” he said, “you’ve got Ybel here. I guess that was inevitable.”

“You know him, sir?”

“I’m his friend,” I interrupted.

Fafafa looked at me, fondly, I thought. “Are you? Still?”

“I don’t know if you’re my friend, but I’m yours.”

Fafafa grinned and sat down. He beckoned a soldier and said, “Could you get my friend some water, please?”

I drank it. Cold and clean.

Love,

Ybel

Songs Featured in the *A History of Rock Music in 500 Songs* Podcast

Matthew ELeave a comment

Here’s something I’ve been thinking of doing for a while.

One of my favourite things is Andrew Hickey’s podcast A History of Rock Music in 500 Songs, which is exactly what the name says it is. Each podcast episode focuses on one song, and over the course of the series, he assembles a history of rock music out of it all. Also there are bonus episodes for Patreon supporters. At this writing he’s at song 183. It’s a really good podcast; you should listen to it.

But if you want to know what all songs the podcast has talked about, it’s really hard to find that information. You have to look at all the episodes and scroll back through Patreon and all. So I thought I’d put together a list of all the featured songs, regular and bonus, and put it up on the internet so everyone else could see a list of good songs. Also, have no fear, I will keep it up to date; I’m usually fairly prompt about these things.

I am not affiliated with Andrew Hickey; he’s aware of this list but it’s very much an unofficial thing. I’m doing it because I like making lists, I’m interested in the podcast, I like the songs, and I like putting stuff up on the internet that people can use to look up stuff that’s of interest.

The link to the list is here. (It’s neither the first nor the last list of songs I’m gonna be putting on this site!) You can look but you can’t edit. Enjoy! Let me know of any issues with the list in the comments. I hope you listen to something you like today.