Band: Tortoise
Album: TNT
Best song: Few things beat the album’s title track. “The Suspension Bridge at Iguazú Falls” is magnificient
Worst song: “Everglade” is the weakest song on a very strong album.
I’ve written before about the nature of love and the import of personal growth within relationships. Indeed, one of the largest fallacies of modern romantic thought is that a relationship is failed unless someone ends up six feet under. It goes against the common trope of a relationship being a “waste of time” if it ends in divorce or another breakup of some sort.
I’ve learned tremendous things in most of my relationships and certainly in all of my long-term relationships. The two most important ones of my adult life were times I wouldn’t trade for absolutely anything. This is all a runup to say that in (moreso) high school and early college, I had a real reputation for being a curmudgeon. And my college/post-college relationship really made me socially workable. I’d been a real pain-in-the-ass due to depression, an unstable home life and the hormones of my teenage years. But, my girlfriend changed that, in many ways. She taught me not to fight back against everything and be a reasonable, personable human being. Indeed, my friends from high school would comment on how much I’d grown socially during college. This skill is invaluable, of course, but as I get older, I find that I don’t use it as much as I should.
(And believe me, it’s a skill for me, like hitting a baseball or baking a cake. I can do it or I can not do it.)
My coworkers used to joke about calling me “Grandpa” because I wouldn’t go out after work when I first started there. This was entirely because I had a really long commute home and I have a dog; I didn’t want him to explode from not having gone to the bathroom. I don’t get it as much anymore, as I live closer to the office and can actually go out after work.
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Not to get too far in my head (HA!), but this site is a music blog almost solely in name. I write entirely about my dopey life and write half-witted philsopical nonsense half a step above orangutans using iPads.
With that said, I care about music in a way that doesn’t necessarily lend itself to conversation. It’s connected, I’d say, to the above; my native state is “pain-in-the-ass.” Because of the nature of polite society, people are nice to me and they put up with my bullshit, but most have no interest in actually dealing with me outside of the social contract.
I’m a terrible conversationalist about things on which I know I’m right. And an opinion can’t be wrong, so my opinions about music are right, in my head. Unlike monetary policy, politics, sports or the like, music is intensely personal and I can’t be moved an inch on it.
Moreover, I’m not supremely interested in trying to convince other people to like what I like. There’s nearly a giant amount of shitty music out there and if you like such music, I’m not going to convince you otherwise. The Counting Crows blow so much ass, but if you lost your virginity to “Mr. Jones,” that song’s going to have a power over you.
I’m also at a loss for connecting about music, for the most part. I think it’s because I tend to find a lot of people who like the same music I like are not my people. I listen to a fair amount of metal and a lot of metalheads are douchebags. I listen to a fair amount of post-rock and mildly (very mildly) experimental stuff and those people are flighty nonlinear thinkers. Because the line between mainstream and indie doesn’t exist anymore, a lot of the formerly indie rock (Bon Iver, Arcade Fire, Broken Social Scene, etc.) blurs into terrible mom-rock bullshit (Mayer Hawthorne, the aforementioned Counting Crows, etc.).
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I mention all of this because I’ve twice acted more dickish than I should have to people who were just trying to be nice and trying to connect. The first instance was when I got rid of a ticket on Craiglist. I’d bought a ticket to see the Heritage Hunter tour, featuring Mastodon and Opeth as coheadliners. A dude responded to the ad and we exchanged a couple of e-mails. Naturally, he Googled my name. Not as naturally, he wrote me a very nice note about this blog, saying we love the same kind of music — I’m assuming he didn’t see the Miley Cyrus thing. Of course, he’s a musician and sent me a link to his site.
Now.
I’m not sure what to do with this. For one, I’m not interested in listening to his music. I’m not shitting on it; I have no doubt that it’s good. But, I’m just not interested in listening to his record. More importantly, I don’t want to chat about shit I’ve written about. More on that in a bit.
I told him thanks for the kind words and we worked out the ticket details. He finally said something about a couple of bands that were playing here soon, both of which I don’t like (Hot Snakes and Refused). Again, it’s nothing against this guy. I’m sure he’s a good dude and was absolutely nice to me over e-mail. It’s not him. It’s that I cannot fundamentally smalltalk with a stranger about music. Again, more on why in a bit.
The other instance involved a phone call. I was interviewed by a reporter a couple of times for a thing I did. In the second interview, she’d mentioned that she’d Googled me (Oh, Google. You are my best friend and worst enemy. All at once.) and stumbled, you guessed it, upon that site you’re reading. This prompted said reporter — just like the ticket guy — to talk about Wilco and her having seen them a few times. I made some smalltalk about seeing them at Strathmore (what a show!), but I just wanted to leave it there, because, again, I don’t want to connect with people over music.
She did nothing wrong. She was being nice.
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I don’t talk music much for two reasons. The first is that I do find it immensely personal. I — and I’m sure I’m not alone in this — like a lot of stuff because of a place it takes me; the music is a reminder of a time I want to recreate. Some of that is consequence — Coldplay’s “Speed of Sound” has a place in my heart, for example, because it was playing at a time when I was highly emotional — and more of it was my seeking out certain music. But, nevertheless, I can’t explain to someone else why an objectively shitty song like “Speed of Sound” matters to me without sounding daft.
The second reason is pretty simple and builds off the previous reason. Because of the personal nature of it, I prefer to not let people too far into my emotional life en re: music. So, I broadcast my opinions and why the music matters. Which is to say I like to use one-way communciation to communicate about music; I write here, people can read or not. More the latter. But, I’m not doing it, necessarily to start a conversation.
Look, I know that’s an incomprehensible way to say it, but I’m not sure I can explain it any other way. Music matters because it soundtracks our lives and that connection doesn’t exist in the same way between two lives who are solely inteacting on a shallow level. I love talking music with my very close friends and with romantic partners; music soundtracks those shared experiences, as well.
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To say that TNT is a great album is kind of like saying ice cream is a great food. It’s a little bit of an understatement.
The problem, though, is describing how and why ice cream is delicious. Sure, it feels great on a hot summer day. And yeah, it’s sweet. But, a lot of foods are cold and sweet. What makes ice cream so great?
It’s hard to put a finger on why TNT is, arguably, Tortoise’s best album (they’re all great. Tortoise is my favorite band, so I am biased.). Is it the sonic diversity of the record? The title track is languid, “Ten-Day Interval” is sparse percussion — of the vibe and xylophone persuasion — over synths, “I Set My Face to the Hillside” starts with chldren laughing and builds to a latin beat, “The Suspension Bridge at Iguazú Falls” relies on a guitar line over more percussion, “Almost Always is Nearly Enough” is all synths and programming, etc.
Is it the sequencing, as each songs fades into another, thematically and sonically? Is it the cover art? Is it the simple fact that 1998 was when Tortoise was in the prime of its time, with each member working in side projects and bringing in more, creatively? I don’t really know or care. TNT is the perfect album to help you go to sleep, to help you study, to help you calm down, whatever. It’s background music that’s wonderful in the foreground.
And this is why talking music is so hard. It can be disjointed and difficult, but it’s always personal. It’s what the music soundtracks for each person.
