FLY ME ON A ZEPPELIN

FLY ME ON A ZEPPELIN

I keep coming back to them. It’s been years. They were there when I was fourteen, nineteen, and now, twenty-three – I just keep coming back.

As I grow older and the more I get exposed to music, the more I start to appreciate it. Led Zeppelin feels like finally being able to absorb your favourite book from start to finish, in its entirety.  There are things that will only make sense when you know how to make sense of it.

For one, you get to appreciate the incredible distinction of their playing and the absolutely batshit unpolished rawness they exuded, back when heavy music was just starting to rise. Historically speaking, they had paved the path to heavy metal. It was different, new, and the combination of Page’s guitars + Plant’s high-pitched guttural wails was almost like a breath of fresh air – if fresh air smelled like thick cigarette smoke, running beer taps and the occasional cold wind blowing. People loved that shit. It was the era of experimentation, the vast divide between what kind of music was accepted and what wasn’t were slowly closing in, lines were blurring and – I mean – speculations that they were satanic had to follow, obviously. (Although let’s be real, I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole band did sell their soul to the devil. Haha.)

But among all the 6-minute solos, the orgasmic moans Plant was fond of doing on stage and JPJ’s incredibly underrated precision on the bass, the one thing I love about them are the sentimental values that seem to come with listening to them.

Their BBC Session was the first album that I’d listened to – and it makes me remember long drives in the car with my father. We used to drive back to Kelantan (that was an 8-hour long drive back then, mind you) and I’d be in the front seat, picking out which album I wanted to listen to and my dad would explain what made the album tick.

He would give me in-depth explanations about them. Like.

“Jimmy Page was in a band called The Yardbirds with Eric Clapton and Jeff Beck. They did okay music but Yardbirds was a stupid name, let’s be honest.”

“Stairway to Heaven was never their signature song. They refused to acknowledge that, even if it was the biggest song they have. It has always been Kashmir. Always.”

All these useless things he’d told me when I was younger now seem like little nuggets of GOOOOOOD ASSS TRIVIA that I can probably use to win The Chase or something but I digress.

Before, I never quite understood how people who loved them could be able to love them. I thought it was noise – especially with the addition of shitty recording and mastering quality back when everything was still analogue and you had to cut and paste everything manually and all that difficult jazz – but I guess the older you get, the more you know and the better your ears get so the easier you get to appreciate the music in its entirety (even the flawed little nuances present), you know?

I remember listening to Stairway for the first time and I fell in love. Completely and utterly in love with the melody – and at this point I realise I’m geeking out over one of if not the biggest rock song in history but you know, I’d imagine other people to have felt the same when they heard it. And being able to play it was my biggest achievement when I was in my teens.

I don’t really know how to end this post. I have many feelings but the biggest one is obviously the sadness of never being able to experience them live. There are many lucky ones who have gotten to watch them do what they do on stage – and that, I consider, is one of the best experiences a person can have.

Ok la let’s not get carried away. 

But you know, it’s like that ‘what can never be’ situation. Kinda sucks la not going to lie. Heh.

 

 

Wants

Wants

There was a quote in The Alchemist that goes:

“And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”

I have this theory that once a person reaches a certain point in their life, the only thing they will think about is their own welfare.

Everything else is irrelevant.

Whether it’s the want to pursue a dream, or the desire to fall in love, we come to a point where we choose to have nothing but happiness for ourselves. What makes us happy? What can we reap from the overflowing abundance of possibilities the world has sown?

The journey will suck, like a big, fat wrecking ball constantly taking a swing at your stomach – nobody said it’d be a breeze but I’m willing to gamble that it’d be worth it.

I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a boat that’s rocking perilously between jagged rocks and still water. Like two halves of the world split in between the wooden planks underneath my feet.

If I could just dip my foot into that clear water…

So the waves will slow, to gently lap the boat and sway it to a steady rhythm.

If I could only reach out and take what I want. I want to be able to do that, because despite the fears I have to overcome, I know I want this.

Self-reflection makes you realise things. Like what you really want and what you deserve; they provide you this sense of comfort knowing that you’re one step closer to this vague glitterbomb underneath the Maldivian blue waters we so-call happiness.


 

Smoke and Mirrors

I’m sitting on black wisps of smoke with my eyes closed. 

I smell the singe of thick, burning locks permeating the air; whispering their silly mantras like saccharine hisses caressing my ear. 

My body sways gently to the crackled melody humming from underneath my bottom, lilting experimental choruses; thick with distortion. Soothing. 

A smile creeps. Not from the smoke, not from the music – but this roller coaster jerking up and down on weathered tracks, it keeps me alive. 

Because who knew one could find a fucking pinprick of light inside this void? Even with her eyes closed.

I’m overwhelmed by the mess in my life but underneath all this disgusting clusterfuck, I’m happy. That’s it. 

Midnight Musings: Passion vs Occupation

Work. To support your hobby.

This is so important and it’s something I’m beginning to realise more and more.

When I first started work, I thought I had to find a job that meant everything to me. I had to find that niche and turn it into an occupation because I was always fed the idea to always ‘do something you love’ which explains a lot why I keep bouncing from one job to another.

‘Do something you love’ is amazing advice but here’s the thing.

Doing something you love doesn’t necessarily mean make it your occupation. This is the biggest misconception we have nowadays, especially among us millennials. We expect to get a job that we are passionate about and brings us gratification, happiness and all the while fitting in a big fat paycheck in between.

But the real world doesn’t work like that. The real world doesn’t give a shit about your aspirations to become a musician. Instead it says if you don’t take this job that has nothing to do with music, then you won’t be able to afford becoming a musician.

So what’s it going to be?

When you reach that kind of ultimatum, you need to ask yourself what is more important. You need to grow the fuck up and learn to prioritise.

Ideally, everyone would want to get paid for doing something they love. Everyone wants their art to be showcased, their music to be heard, their books to be read but sometimes you need to accept the fact that life really doesn’t work that way.

So here is my little nugget of wisdom for the day; if you have no opportunity or are not given the privilege to pursue your hobby as a career, find a job you don’t mind doing. Find something you know you’re good at that can be profitable and hone it. Make that money. There is no shame in falling into the corporate world and selling a bit of your soul to big companies. In the mean time, learn as much as you can. All these experiences will act as an investment for your real passion, your real aspirations.

When you already have a clear goal pictured, the only thing you need to worry about is paving the path to get there. Jobs I realise, especially now, are nothing but the bricks to lay on the pavement to ease your journey which, ultimately, will be your hobby.

Some people have it better – and that’s fine. Some people have it much worse – and that’s unfortunate but it just means they have to work a little bit harder. Shit man, at the end of the day, do what fits you.

Fuck the rest, you do you boo.

The usual disclaimer: My thoughts are my own. Should you want to discuss, hit me up on Twitter: @IzzyKhaleedy. Should you want to argue, also hit me up on Twitter because I love me some drama.

Keep At It

Today marks the second day of March. 2017 really is flying by like a breeze – but we say that almost every year. Anyway congratulations for surviving this long and if you’re still committed to your New Years resolutions, I applaud you.

My unspoken resolution this year was to create more. So far I think I’ve done a subpar job at keeping my YouTube alive, mostly because of the nitpicking but one thing is, thankfully, remaining constant; writing. I’ve been writing a great deal, whether it be scripts, ideas, or just random word vomits like this, I’ve just been writing consistently.

But one thing I realised was that the art of writing, especially online, is pretty much dying.

Why is blogging a dying art?

I was having a conversation about this a few weeks ago. It’s disheartening to realise most of my favourite bloggers have stopped a few years back. It’s a sad feat we have to come to terms with sooner or later, what with the presence of online videos where everything can be condensed into visually appealing 5-minute shorts. Why read when you can watch, am I right?

I know a lot of people who used to write. Used to. And I know people who still do, still keep blogs and still update once in a while.

My message to you is; please keep on writing. Please publish your words and make them known because you should never settle for fragments of your happiest memories trying to recall them. Write about them because words make you feel, words are powerful things, even more than pictures. It’s fluid and abstract but can be rigid and specific. Words mould the shape of our thoughts into what it wants to be.

 Keep writing, and people will keep reading. I will keep reading. Share me your thoughts, your hopes and fears, everything.