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For Amanda and Sabina…

There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, viagra sales cialis sale dare I say, generic cialis viagra souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, view grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, viagra sales cialis sale dare I say, generic cialis viagra souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, view grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, discount viagra site dare I say, souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, viagra sales cialis sale dare I say, generic cialis viagra souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, view grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, discount viagra site dare I say, souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, tadalafil treat dare I say, no rx souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, prostate grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, viagra sales cialis sale dare I say, generic cialis viagra souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, view grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, discount viagra site dare I say, souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, tadalafil treat dare I say, no rx souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, prostate grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, cialis usa see dare I say, thumb souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, cheap grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, viagra sales cialis sale dare I say, generic cialis viagra souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, view grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, discount viagra site dare I say, souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, tadalafil treat dare I say, no rx souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, prostate grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, cialis usa see dare I say, thumb souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, cheap grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
Leonard Cohen

Plato was a cool dude.  Sadly, buy viagra see I don’t remember much from the half dozen Philosophy courses in college, buy but I never forgot Plato’s Symposium on the nature of love; in particular, diagnosis the semi-satirical notion that man and woman were once a single being split into two and that, as a result, the purpose of love – the purpose of life – is to become whole again.  Whether you choose to embrace the romanticism or burp-vomit from the nauseating schmaltz, you cannot deny that one of the hallmarks of artistic expression throughout human history has been the examination of the relationship between man and woman (and man and man, and woman and woman, for that matter).

Leonard Cohen wrote songs that not only recognized the complexity of love and sex, but celebrated the entire spectrum from raw and painful to painfully ambiguous to rapturously joyful.  I saw him in concert last week for the first time, and it was glorious (I love this word, but rarely find the occasion to use it – so indulge me).  Much like Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks tour last month, seeing Cohen in concert was an experience of a lifetime.  Thank goodness for his ex-manager, whose money-swindling activities forced Cohen out of seclusion from a Zen monastery to eventually hit the road (and rebuild his retirement fund.)

He thanked the audience before starting and then rather ominously said, “We may not pass this way again, so we promise to give you our all tonight.”  While the audience cheered loudly, I suspect we all knew what he meant.  For a 75 year old man, he was quite spry, gliding from one end of the stage to the other with each song.  In his dark suit and dark fedora hat, I couldn’t help but wonder if this is what a Raymond Chandler version of Singin’ in the Rain would look like.  But that voice, that unmistakable baritone voice – both jolting and comforting at the same time – singing songs of love and despair is why we listen to Leonard Cohen.

It’s hard to believe a man of his age could put on a 3-hour concert, but I had a permanent grin from the opening Dance Me To The End Of Love to the closing Whither Thou Goest.  (The performance and setlist was nearly identical to that of his Live in London recording, so the songs below are from that concert.)

Since there are far too many songs that equally deserve to be highlighted, I have to ruthlessly pick just a handful for this post.

Dance Me To The End Of Love, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  If you assume the title suggests a standard love song, then you’d be wrong.

The Future, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  I suppose it’s not surprising that Oliver Stone chose this song for the soundtrack to Natural Born Killers…

Bird On The Wire, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  Like so many other of his songs, Bird On The Wire has been covered many, many times.  Cohen’s version is still the best.

In My Secret Life, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  One of my favorite Cohen songs.

Hallelujah, Leonard Cohen (from Live in Londo-Buy Here, 2009).  I posted John Cale’s defining cover here.

I’m Your Man, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  The title song from one of his best albums (despite its synthpop origins).
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, viagra sales cialis sale dare I say, generic cialis viagra souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, view grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, discount viagra site dare I say, souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, tadalafil treat dare I say, no rx souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, prostate grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, cialis usa see dare I say, thumb souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, cheap grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
Leonard Cohen

Plato was a cool dude.  Sadly, buy viagra see I don’t remember much from the half dozen Philosophy courses in college, buy but I never forgot Plato’s Symposium on the nature of love; in particular, diagnosis the semi-satirical notion that man and woman were once a single being split into two and that, as a result, the purpose of love – the purpose of life – is to become whole again.  Whether you choose to embrace the romanticism or burp-vomit from the nauseating schmaltz, you cannot deny that one of the hallmarks of artistic expression throughout human history has been the examination of the relationship between man and woman (and man and man, and woman and woman, for that matter).

Leonard Cohen wrote songs that not only recognized the complexity of love and sex, but celebrated the entire spectrum from raw and painful to painfully ambiguous to rapturously joyful.  I saw him in concert last week for the first time, and it was glorious (I love this word, but rarely find the occasion to use it – so indulge me).  Much like Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks tour last month, seeing Cohen in concert was an experience of a lifetime.  Thank goodness for his ex-manager, whose money-swindling activities forced Cohen out of seclusion from a Zen monastery to eventually hit the road (and rebuild his retirement fund.)

He thanked the audience before starting and then rather ominously said, “We may not pass this way again, so we promise to give you our all tonight.”  While the audience cheered loudly, I suspect we all knew what he meant.  For a 75 year old man, he was quite spry, gliding from one end of the stage to the other with each song.  In his dark suit and dark fedora hat, I couldn’t help but wonder if this is what a Raymond Chandler version of Singin’ in the Rain would look like.  But that voice, that unmistakable baritone voice – both jolting and comforting at the same time – singing songs of love and despair is why we listen to Leonard Cohen.

It’s hard to believe a man of his age could put on a 3-hour concert, but I had a permanent grin from the opening Dance Me To The End Of Love to the closing Whither Thou Goest.  (The performance and setlist was nearly identical to that of his Live in London recording, so the songs below are from that concert.)

Since there are far too many songs that equally deserve to be highlighted, I have to ruthlessly pick just a handful for this post.

Dance Me To The End Of Love, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  If you assume the title suggests a standard love song, then you’d be wrong.

The Future, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  I suppose it’s not surprising that Oliver Stone chose this song for the soundtrack to Natural Born Killers…

Bird On The Wire, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  Like so many other of his songs, Bird On The Wire has been covered many, many times.  Cohen’s version is still the best.

In My Secret Life, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  One of my favorite Cohen songs.

Hallelujah, Leonard Cohen (from Live in Londo-Buy Here, 2009).  I posted John Cale’s defining cover here.

I’m Your Man, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  The title song from one of his best albums (despite its synthpop origins).
Plato was a cool dude.  Sadly, discount cialis healing I don’t remember much from the half dozen Philosophy courses in college, search but I never forgot Plato’s Symposium on the nature of love; in particular, order the semi-satirical notion that man and woman were once a single being split into two and that the purpose of love – the purpose of life – was to become whole again.  Whether you choose to embrace the romanticism or burp-vomit from the nauseating schmaltz, you cannot deny that one of the hallmarks of artistic expression throughout human history has been the examination of the relationship between man and woman (and man and man, and woman and woman, for that matter).

Like few prominent songwriters, Leonard Cohen understands the complexity of that relationship
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, viagra sales cialis sale dare I say, generic cialis viagra souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, view grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, discount viagra site dare I say, souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, tadalafil treat dare I say, no rx souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, prostate grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, cialis usa see dare I say, thumb souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, cheap grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
Leonard Cohen

Plato was a cool dude.  Sadly, buy viagra see I don’t remember much from the half dozen Philosophy courses in college, buy but I never forgot Plato’s Symposium on the nature of love; in particular, diagnosis the semi-satirical notion that man and woman were once a single being split into two and that, as a result, the purpose of love – the purpose of life – is to become whole again.  Whether you choose to embrace the romanticism or burp-vomit from the nauseating schmaltz, you cannot deny that one of the hallmarks of artistic expression throughout human history has been the examination of the relationship between man and woman (and man and man, and woman and woman, for that matter).

Leonard Cohen wrote songs that not only recognized the complexity of love and sex, but celebrated the entire spectrum from raw and painful to painfully ambiguous to rapturously joyful.  I saw him in concert last week for the first time, and it was glorious (I love this word, but rarely find the occasion to use it – so indulge me).  Much like Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks tour last month, seeing Cohen in concert was an experience of a lifetime.  Thank goodness for his ex-manager, whose money-swindling activities forced Cohen out of seclusion from a Zen monastery to eventually hit the road (and rebuild his retirement fund.)

He thanked the audience before starting and then rather ominously said, “We may not pass this way again, so we promise to give you our all tonight.”  While the audience cheered loudly, I suspect we all knew what he meant.  For a 75 year old man, he was quite spry, gliding from one end of the stage to the other with each song.  In his dark suit and dark fedora hat, I couldn’t help but wonder if this is what a Raymond Chandler version of Singin’ in the Rain would look like.  But that voice, that unmistakable baritone voice – both jolting and comforting at the same time – singing songs of love and despair is why we listen to Leonard Cohen.

It’s hard to believe a man of his age could put on a 3-hour concert, but I had a permanent grin from the opening Dance Me To The End Of Love to the closing Whither Thou Goest.  (The performance and setlist was nearly identical to that of his Live in London recording, so the songs below are from that concert.)

Since there are far too many songs that equally deserve to be highlighted, I have to ruthlessly pick just a handful for this post.

Dance Me To The End Of Love, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  If you assume the title suggests a standard love song, then you’d be wrong.

The Future, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  I suppose it’s not surprising that Oliver Stone chose this song for the soundtrack to Natural Born Killers…

Bird On The Wire, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  Like so many other of his songs, Bird On The Wire has been covered many, many times.  Cohen’s version is still the best.

In My Secret Life, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  One of my favorite Cohen songs.

Hallelujah, Leonard Cohen (from Live in Londo-Buy Here, 2009).  I posted John Cale’s defining cover here.

I’m Your Man, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  The title song from one of his best albums (despite its synthpop origins).
Plato was a cool dude.  Sadly, discount cialis healing I don’t remember much from the half dozen Philosophy courses in college, search but I never forgot Plato’s Symposium on the nature of love; in particular, order the semi-satirical notion that man and woman were once a single being split into two and that the purpose of love – the purpose of life – was to become whole again.  Whether you choose to embrace the romanticism or burp-vomit from the nauseating schmaltz, you cannot deny that one of the hallmarks of artistic expression throughout human history has been the examination of the relationship between man and woman (and man and man, and woman and woman, for that matter).

Like few prominent songwriters, Leonard Cohen understands the complexity of that relationship
Plato was a cool dude.  Sadly, discount viagra doctor I don’t remember much from the half dozen Philosophy courses in college, sovaldi but I never forgot Plato’s Symposium on the nature of love; in particular, the semi-satirical notion that man and woman were once a single being split into two and that the purpose of love – the purpose of life – was to become whole again.  Whether you choose to embrace the romanticism or burp-vomit from the nauseating schmaltz, you cannot deny that one of the hallmarks of artistic expression throughout human history has been the examination of the relationship between man and woman (and man and man, and woman and woman, for that matter).

Like few prominent songwriters, Leonard Cohen understands the complexity of that relationship and managed to convert
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, viagra sales cialis sale dare I say, generic cialis viagra souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, view grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, discount viagra site dare I say, souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, tadalafil treat dare I say, no rx souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, prostate grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, cialis usa see dare I say, thumb souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, cheap grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
Leonard Cohen

Plato was a cool dude.  Sadly, buy viagra see I don’t remember much from the half dozen Philosophy courses in college, buy but I never forgot Plato’s Symposium on the nature of love; in particular, diagnosis the semi-satirical notion that man and woman were once a single being split into two and that, as a result, the purpose of love – the purpose of life – is to become whole again.  Whether you choose to embrace the romanticism or burp-vomit from the nauseating schmaltz, you cannot deny that one of the hallmarks of artistic expression throughout human history has been the examination of the relationship between man and woman (and man and man, and woman and woman, for that matter).

Leonard Cohen wrote songs that not only recognized the complexity of love and sex, but celebrated the entire spectrum from raw and painful to painfully ambiguous to rapturously joyful.  I saw him in concert last week for the first time, and it was glorious (I love this word, but rarely find the occasion to use it – so indulge me).  Much like Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks tour last month, seeing Cohen in concert was an experience of a lifetime.  Thank goodness for his ex-manager, whose money-swindling activities forced Cohen out of seclusion from a Zen monastery to eventually hit the road (and rebuild his retirement fund.)

He thanked the audience before starting and then rather ominously said, “We may not pass this way again, so we promise to give you our all tonight.”  While the audience cheered loudly, I suspect we all knew what he meant.  For a 75 year old man, he was quite spry, gliding from one end of the stage to the other with each song.  In his dark suit and dark fedora hat, I couldn’t help but wonder if this is what a Raymond Chandler version of Singin’ in the Rain would look like.  But that voice, that unmistakable baritone voice – both jolting and comforting at the same time – singing songs of love and despair is why we listen to Leonard Cohen.

It’s hard to believe a man of his age could put on a 3-hour concert, but I had a permanent grin from the opening Dance Me To The End Of Love to the closing Whither Thou Goest.  (The performance and setlist was nearly identical to that of his Live in London recording, so the songs below are from that concert.)

Since there are far too many songs that equally deserve to be highlighted, I have to ruthlessly pick just a handful for this post.

Dance Me To The End Of Love, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  If you assume the title suggests a standard love song, then you’d be wrong.

The Future, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  I suppose it’s not surprising that Oliver Stone chose this song for the soundtrack to Natural Born Killers…

Bird On The Wire, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  Like so many other of his songs, Bird On The Wire has been covered many, many times.  Cohen’s version is still the best.

In My Secret Life, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  One of my favorite Cohen songs.

Hallelujah, Leonard Cohen (from Live in Londo-Buy Here, 2009).  I posted John Cale’s defining cover here.

I’m Your Man, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  The title song from one of his best albums (despite its synthpop origins).
Plato was a cool dude.  Sadly, discount cialis healing I don’t remember much from the half dozen Philosophy courses in college, search but I never forgot Plato’s Symposium on the nature of love; in particular, order the semi-satirical notion that man and woman were once a single being split into two and that the purpose of love – the purpose of life – was to become whole again.  Whether you choose to embrace the romanticism or burp-vomit from the nauseating schmaltz, you cannot deny that one of the hallmarks of artistic expression throughout human history has been the examination of the relationship between man and woman (and man and man, and woman and woman, for that matter).

Like few prominent songwriters, Leonard Cohen understands the complexity of that relationship
Plato was a cool dude.  Sadly, discount viagra doctor I don’t remember much from the half dozen Philosophy courses in college, sovaldi but I never forgot Plato’s Symposium on the nature of love; in particular, the semi-satirical notion that man and woman were once a single being split into two and that the purpose of love – the purpose of life – was to become whole again.  Whether you choose to embrace the romanticism or burp-vomit from the nauseating schmaltz, you cannot deny that one of the hallmarks of artistic expression throughout human history has been the examination of the relationship between man and woman (and man and man, and woman and woman, for that matter).

Like few prominent songwriters, Leonard Cohen understands the complexity of that relationship and managed to convert

As much as I love Van Morrison, sildenafil approved
there’s a special place in my heart for Ray Charles’ version of “Georgia On My Mind”. Sure, viagra buy sildenafil Hoagy Carmichael and Stuart Gorell wrote the song in 1930 and countless people have covered it, but it undeniably belongs to The Genius. The sweeping strings, the tickled ivories, the choir in perfect harmony, and of course, the voice – how could it not be one of the greatest songs ever?? (For what it’s worth, Rolling Stone ranked it as the 44th Greatest Song of All Time.)

Before you read on, please listen to Brother Ray sing one of the songs on my desert-island mix.

Ray Charles’ Georgia On My Mind has been, and still continues to be, a source of enduring comfort and inspiration. I’ve reached out for the song during moments of deep, unyielding sadness when it felt like nothing could possibly dig me out, but somehow, at least for those 3 minutes and 40 seconds, the song brings about an inexplicable calm. The sadness itself doesn’t magically disappear, but it does (after much repeated listening) eventually morph into the good kind of sadness (sadness, after all, can be beautiful). Equally as powerful were the moments of intense happiness and gratification that also demanded repeated listening. I’ll admit that some past relationships have induced many-a-repeat listening brought on by joy and eventually sadness; it could, in fact, be said that the song acted as bookends for those relationships. The only relationship to start with Ray and not end with him is…my marriage. I don’t think even my wife, Amanda, knows the value of this song in my life, or that during my music-listening sessions late at night after she’s fallen asleep I frequently play the song while thinking about how much I love her and am grateful that we were able to find each other. (Hi, honey! You’re my only reader so it’s ok to be dripping with sentimentality!)

When I was in college, one of my favorite TV shows was Quantum Leap. In the second season (my freshman year), Sam leaps into the body of an undercover cop in order to save the life of his partner. It was the late 60s and the Vietnam War is raging, and Al (the observer) is a young Navy pilot captured by the North Vietnamese. The undercover cop happened to live in the same city as Al’s wife (Beth), who, despondent after hearing of Al’s MIA status, is about to meet the man who would eventually become Beth’s second husband. We later find out that Al had engineered this particular leap so that he could ask Sam to convince Beth that he’s still alive and that he will return to her. I don’t recall much more from this episode, but I do distinctly remember a tender moment when Beth is slowly dancing alone with arms outstretched as if Al were holding her, and the song on the radio is Charles’ Georgia On My Mind. In the end, as much as it troubles him to do so, Sam refuses to help Al because it is against Leaping rules (or whatever it’s called). Now skip to the series finale three years later and Sam is given another opportunity to help Al, even though doing so could deny what he wants most – to go back home. He leaps back as himself and finds Beth where we last saw her in the second season and proceeds to tell her that Al is fine and will return home soon all the while we hear Charles sing in the background. A very moving conclusion to a wonderful show.

Hmmm, this entry was suppose to be about Van Morrison’s version of Georgia On My Mind. While many of Van Morrison’s songs elicit the same emotional reaction, I’ll save the importance of Van Morrison in my life for another entry. As for his version (found in the 2002 album, Down the Road), it’s pretty darn good. For the most part, it’s representative of his signature blend of classic R&B, emotive blues, and impassioned vocals with occasional jazz phrasings. It’s Van Morrison – ’nuff said.

Georgia on My Mind, Van Morrison.
Georgia On My Mind, Ray Charles.
Georgia On My Mind, Willie Nelson. This is bonus – I love Willie Nelson.

(If you need a good laugh, check out Michael Bolton’s vocal histrionics-laden version with, that’s right, Kenny G. And yes, YouTube voters gave it 5 Stars. I dare you to make it past two minutes of it! In the interest of science, however, I watched the whole video – all 301 seconds.)





There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, viagra sales cialis sale dare I say, generic cialis viagra souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, view grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, discount viagra site dare I say, souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, tadalafil treat dare I say, no rx souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, prostate grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
There’s something mystifying and mystical about the reception of music in our brains and, cialis usa see dare I say, thumb souls.  The need to dissect music – whether to reveal its core components, cheap grasp its meaning, or delineate its effects on peoples and societies – is understandable and inevitable, but is there a cost?  Is something lost in translation?  Does it invite music to transform itself from form to function?

Pandora (the creator of a music analysis algorithm that purports to find music you should like based on your input) was recently featured on The New York Times Magazine.  Don’t get me wrong, I actually like Pandora, but doesn’t such an automated service remove the mystique of music and its effect on an individual or group?  Selecting the music one likes and dislikes is an intensely personal decision that shouldn’t necessarily come so easily – or else this might happen:

[A Pandora executive] likes to tell a story about a Pandora user who wrote in to complain that he started a station based on the music of Sarah McLachlan, and the service served up a Celine Dion song. “I wrote back and said, ‘Was the music just wrong?’ Because we sometimes have data errors,” he recounts. “He said, ‘Well, no, it was the right sort of thing — but it was Celine Dion.’ I said, ‘Well, was it the set, did it not flow in the set?’ He said, ‘No, it kind of worked — but it’s Celine Dion.’ We had a couple more back-and-forths, and finally his last e-mail to me was: ‘Oh, my God, I like Celine Dion.’ ”

The irony of Pandora is that its core function (provide an unbiased examination of the  musical elements that comprise a song) is fundamentally contrary to the very nature of the formation of musical taste – the human factor ought not be removed. This is not to claim that Pandora doesn’t “work” (it often does), but rather that process and intentions matter when determining or refining taste.  Is it simply an agnostic clearinghouse for music classified into highly fine-tuned genres, or is it a arbiter of taste based on an algorithm?  If the latter, then what happens to the connection between artist and fan?

What’s that you say…?  Oh, right, just shut up and put up some MP3s.

For what it’s worth, I submitted one of my favorite tracks from one of my favorite albums of the decade…

Rise Up with Fists!!, Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins (from Rabbit Fur Coat, 2006). (In my desert-island mix.)

…into Pandora and got…

A History of Lovers, Calexico & Iron and Wine (from Into the Reins, 2005).
Turpentine, Brandi Carlile (from The Story, 2007).

I do like these tracks and actually own both albums.  However, I was exposed to these songs and artists through an organic process that allowed me to understand their history and their place in the music continuum.  And they weren’t just songs served on a silver platter simply by stating a preference, they were songs that revealed themselves in the context of an album.
Leonard Cohen

Plato was a cool dude.  Sadly, buy viagra see I don’t remember much from the half dozen Philosophy courses in college, buy but I never forgot Plato’s Symposium on the nature of love; in particular, diagnosis the semi-satirical notion that man and woman were once a single being split into two and that, as a result, the purpose of love – the purpose of life – is to become whole again.  Whether you choose to embrace the romanticism or burp-vomit from the nauseating schmaltz, you cannot deny that one of the hallmarks of artistic expression throughout human history has been the examination of the relationship between man and woman (and man and man, and woman and woman, for that matter).

Leonard Cohen wrote songs that not only recognized the complexity of love and sex, but celebrated the entire spectrum from raw and painful to painfully ambiguous to rapturously joyful.  I saw him in concert last week for the first time, and it was glorious (I love this word, but rarely find the occasion to use it – so indulge me).  Much like Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks tour last month, seeing Cohen in concert was an experience of a lifetime.  Thank goodness for his ex-manager, whose money-swindling activities forced Cohen out of seclusion from a Zen monastery to eventually hit the road (and rebuild his retirement fund.)

He thanked the audience before starting and then rather ominously said, “We may not pass this way again, so we promise to give you our all tonight.”  While the audience cheered loudly, I suspect we all knew what he meant.  For a 75 year old man, he was quite spry, gliding from one end of the stage to the other with each song.  In his dark suit and dark fedora hat, I couldn’t help but wonder if this is what a Raymond Chandler version of Singin’ in the Rain would look like.  But that voice, that unmistakable baritone voice – both jolting and comforting at the same time – singing songs of love and despair is why we listen to Leonard Cohen.

It’s hard to believe a man of his age could put on a 3-hour concert, but I had a permanent grin from the opening Dance Me To The End Of Love to the closing Whither Thou Goest.  (The performance and setlist was nearly identical to that of his Live in London recording, so the songs below are from that concert.)

Since there are far too many songs that equally deserve to be highlighted, I have to ruthlessly pick just a handful for this post.

Dance Me To The End Of Love, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  If you assume the title suggests a standard love song, then you’d be wrong.

The Future, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  I suppose it’s not surprising that Oliver Stone chose this song for the soundtrack to Natural Born Killers…

Bird On The Wire, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  Like so many other of his songs, Bird On The Wire has been covered many, many times.  Cohen’s version is still the best.

In My Secret Life, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  One of my favorite Cohen songs.

Hallelujah, Leonard Cohen (from Live in Londo-Buy Here, 2009).  I posted John Cale’s defining cover here.

I’m Your Man, Leonard Cohen (from Live in London-Buy Here, 2009).  The title song from one of his best albums (despite its synthpop origins).
Plato was a cool dude.  Sadly, discount cialis healing I don’t remember much from the half dozen Philosophy courses in college, search but I never forgot Plato’s Symposium on the nature of love; in particular, order the semi-satirical notion that man and woman were once a single being split into two and that the purpose of love – the purpose of life – was to become whole again.  Whether you choose to embrace the romanticism or burp-vomit from the nauseating schmaltz, you cannot deny that one of the hallmarks of artistic expression throughout human history has been the examination of the relationship between man and woman (and man and man, and woman and woman, for that matter).

Like few prominent songwriters, Leonard Cohen understands the complexity of that relationship
Plato was a cool dude.  Sadly, discount viagra doctor I don’t remember much from the half dozen Philosophy courses in college, sovaldi but I never forgot Plato’s Symposium on the nature of love; in particular, the semi-satirical notion that man and woman were once a single being split into two and that the purpose of love – the purpose of life – was to become whole again.  Whether you choose to embrace the romanticism or burp-vomit from the nauseating schmaltz, you cannot deny that one of the hallmarks of artistic expression throughout human history has been the examination of the relationship between man and woman (and man and man, and woman and woman, for that matter).

Like few prominent songwriters, Leonard Cohen understands the complexity of that relationship and managed to convert

As much as I love Van Morrison, sildenafil approved
there’s a special place in my heart for Ray Charles’ version of “Georgia On My Mind”. Sure, viagra buy sildenafil Hoagy Carmichael and Stuart Gorell wrote the song in 1930 and countless people have covered it, but it undeniably belongs to The Genius. The sweeping strings, the tickled ivories, the choir in perfect harmony, and of course, the voice – how could it not be one of the greatest songs ever?? (For what it’s worth, Rolling Stone ranked it as the 44th Greatest Song of All Time.)

Before you read on, please listen to Brother Ray sing one of the songs on my desert-island mix.

Ray Charles’ Georgia On My Mind has been, and still continues to be, a source of enduring comfort and inspiration. I’ve reached out for the song during moments of deep, unyielding sadness when it felt like nothing could possibly dig me out, but somehow, at least for those 3 minutes and 40 seconds, the song brings about an inexplicable calm. The sadness itself doesn’t magically disappear, but it does (after much repeated listening) eventually morph into the good kind of sadness (sadness, after all, can be beautiful). Equally as powerful were the moments of intense happiness and gratification that also demanded repeated listening. I’ll admit that some past relationships have induced many-a-repeat listening brought on by joy and eventually sadness; it could, in fact, be said that the song acted as bookends for those relationships. The only relationship to start with Ray and not end with him is…my marriage. I don’t think even my wife, Amanda, knows the value of this song in my life, or that during my music-listening sessions late at night after she’s fallen asleep I frequently play the song while thinking about how much I love her and am grateful that we were able to find each other. (Hi, honey! You’re my only reader so it’s ok to be dripping with sentimentality!)

When I was in college, one of my favorite TV shows was Quantum Leap. In the second season (my freshman year), Sam leaps into the body of an undercover cop in order to save the life of his partner. It was the late 60s and the Vietnam War is raging, and Al (the observer) is a young Navy pilot captured by the North Vietnamese. The undercover cop happened to live in the same city as Al’s wife (Beth), who, despondent after hearing of Al’s MIA status, is about to meet the man who would eventually become Beth’s second husband. We later find out that Al had engineered this particular leap so that he could ask Sam to convince Beth that he’s still alive and that he will return to her. I don’t recall much more from this episode, but I do distinctly remember a tender moment when Beth is slowly dancing alone with arms outstretched as if Al were holding her, and the song on the radio is Charles’ Georgia On My Mind. In the end, as much as it troubles him to do so, Sam refuses to help Al because it is against Leaping rules (or whatever it’s called). Now skip to the series finale three years later and Sam is given another opportunity to help Al, even though doing so could deny what he wants most – to go back home. He leaps back as himself and finds Beth where we last saw her in the second season and proceeds to tell her that Al is fine and will return home soon all the while we hear Charles sing in the background. A very moving conclusion to a wonderful show.

Hmmm, this entry was suppose to be about Van Morrison’s version of Georgia On My Mind. While many of Van Morrison’s songs elicit the same emotional reaction, I’ll save the importance of Van Morrison in my life for another entry. As for his version (found in the 2002 album, Down the Road), it’s pretty darn good. For the most part, it’s representative of his signature blend of classic R&B, emotive blues, and impassioned vocals with occasional jazz phrasings. It’s Van Morrison – ’nuff said.

Georgia on My Mind, Van Morrison.
Georgia On My Mind, Ray Charles.
Georgia On My Mind, Willie Nelson. This is bonus – I love Willie Nelson.

(If you need a good laugh, check out Michael Bolton’s vocal histrionics-laden version with, that’s right, Kenny G. And yes, YouTube voters gave it 5 Stars. I dare you to make it past two minutes of it! In the interest of science, however, I watched the whole video – all 301 seconds.)




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