Random life ramblings are my blogright and hence, I shall ramble

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I am in dire need of a plan.

A plan with which I can hit the dejected me on the head. And also from time to time, throw at my ever so inquisitive old and withering relatives. A goggles wearing, one liners hitting, leather jacket and hat wearing plan. A plan so monumental that it makes all the minute seemingly inconsequential things come together and for friggin once, fit. A plan which in all it's Dalai Lameness, makes sense.

Surprise me Mr. Davis, has surprisingly manage to surprise.

What an absolutely refreshing band that. Their music doesn't sound like the imperfectly orchestrated, edited, reedited, misplaced effects filled music that the world's subjected to these days. It just sounds like the bunch of them came together one wintry evening and started jamming over some beers and pot. It's been six years since their formation and they still don't give a chipmunk's behind about fitting in with the rest of the music community or carving a niche for themselves and all that jazzy bull.

Why isn't Alex Band coming up with something awesome anymore?

I mean, it HAS been a whole gaping YEAR since Alex goodness. That Twilight inspired vampire video has ruined the remaining last vestiges of his career which his ex wife and ex guitarist hadn't managed to rip apart, castrate (read wife), destroy. Anyway, how can he expect us t-shirt ripping, maniacally giggly, stalker fans to still rip t shirts, giggle and stalk if he doesn't hit us with anything new and awesome. Those charity bracelets don't count. If charity made us swoon we'd have pictures of Mother Teresa (may she RIP) in our rooms instead of his bare chested ones. Absolutely inconsiderate, I say.

Such ripping hunks in Grey's Anatomy!

If my parents, during their early years of trying to persuade me into choosing between Doctor and engineer, had introduced me to Grey's Anatomy, it would've been easier for them to get me to become a neurosurgeon or something and I wouldn't have had to refer to spell check while trying to spell Neurosurgeon. But no, they introduced me to gory pictures and unpronounceable words and ended up with a daughter who has no idea what to do with life and such.

If Maneka Gandhi and her animal rights association would visit us, they would probably arrest the cat.

Life was less painful when I was a dog person. And I mean literally less painful. She bites, she scratches, tries to gauge our eyes out. There are scratches in places where there just shouldn't be scratches or ANYTHING else. This new years eve when the world hugged and kissed and what not their near and dear ones, I was out on the streets CHASING the bloody cat, who had decided that 12 am on the New year's eve was an opportune moment to run away. And it so happens that she's named Brandy. So there I was, at midnight, screaming BRANDY and running around in circles. Yes, not very ladylike at all. One of these days...

More to come.

Happy new year peeps :)

Hatful of rain

Ok firstly, I'm so psyched about Kartik discovering them that I actually have goosebumps everywhere. There is no other way I can describe how awesome they are. A week ago, he sent me Always the last to know. I heard and liked it and that was it. But today I downloaded the whole Hatful of rain album and I'm so friggin, friggin blown away!. They're a scottish pop rock eighties band, and I'm sure half the teeny boppy population's heard it. But I still want to write about them, because that's how awesome they are...to be re-written about through years.

It's everything you want an album to be, whenever you want it to be. A rainy day album, a love album, a break up album, a nostalgic album, a how you doin' album, and so much more. Every song is not just a song, it's an experience. Currie (lead vocals, bass), with his smooth voice and Iain Harvie (lead guitar), form a brilliant team.

The Hatful of rain starts with 'Cry to be found'. Now when I first heard this one, I didn't particularly like it. But after the third time I heard it, I liked it. It's simple, it's cliched and yet, it works.

The album picks up with the second track,  Roll to me. It's one of my favorites and I'm pretty sure that we've all heard it at some point of our lives. It's a happy dancy song, and such a cheer up-er, even when you're not depressed.

Next is another of my favorites, Kiss this thing goodbye. Now this is apparently a break-up song, but also a funny one. I love the way they've used the instruments in this song. The music is so...scottish and bagpipey. Iain is, as always, quite awesome.

'It seems like weeks since you looked at me baby

without that look of distaste...'

 Driving with the brakes on, a hauntingly beautiful song, strikes a chord. For me it's about how there are somethings you can never move on from. Relationships, incidents, some seemingly offhand remarks, loss. No matter how ok and over it you say you are, you're still driving with the brakes on.

Tell her this is a beautiful, beautiful song. Though I can't make up my mind if it's love song or an apology song. But it's one of the most beautiful songs you will ever hear. It'll touch you right where it's meant to and make you wish all apologies were just as beautiful as this. Also, the lovely acoustic guitar in the background makes it perfect.

The album ends with Don't come home too soon, which was incidently written by Justin Currie as Scotland's World Cup '98 Theme. And a perfect theme it is. It inspires you, in the fear of sounding corny, to chase your dreams and to be yourself. But sometimes, corny, is what you need to be inspired.

So long, go on and do your best,

Let all France have whiskey on it's breath,

The world may not be shaking yet

but you might prove them wrong,

Even long shots make it...

Hatful of rain is not a good album. It's a great album. Go ahead, give it a listen.

Oh sweet lord! He can hammer-on!

Sometime back, this friend of mine sent me this video by the College humor guys, who by the by make the funniest videos ever, in which this guy was explaining that how playing or teaching guitar can help you score girls. I saw, I laughed and then disagreed hotly and fed my friend all that crap about how we girls aren't that shallow and how it's the personality we actually go for yada yada. But the fact of matter is that the ugliest of men with a guitar in their hands, get more girls than any college jock with a six pack body can. Sure they can gym and gym and get all those rippling muscles. But a puny guy with a simple strum and a hammer-on can send every girl in the vicinity in a frenzy which no amount of steroid induced packs will. Not drummers, not keyboardists, it's just the guitarists.

Every girl has a type of man she prefers, tall/ short, skinny/ fat, dark/ fair etc. But there's a universal type of men which no girl can resist, the long haired, tattooed, guitar playing type. The type who sit in dark corners of the campus strumming away, seemingly uninterested in what the rest of the world's upto. The type who roam around unshaven, with uncombed and messy hair, in clothes which seem like they've been through a holocaust or two. The type who make you toes curl when they play and sing and still manage to look manly. The type who make you wish that you were the guitar their hands that they're so into. The type who speak though their music and wouldn't even look at you.

One would think that knowing how to play yourself would make you immune to all these things. But sadly, the world doesn't work that way. It's in our genes. The way chocolates and chick flicks makes us go weak, it's an inbuilt primal thing, like bees and honey or kids and poops jokes or superman and kryptonite. But then...who's complaining eh?

Below are the links for the videos. They'll crack you up.

Vol. 1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F5QCs3PnQBc

Vol. 2

http://www.youtube.com/user/collegehumor#p/u/3/Q0Frja3_q3E

I love rock n' roll...And also, chick songs.

                                   

A couple of days ago while browsing through my music, I stumbled upon my long forgotten Chick Songs folder wedged in between Nirvana and Creed. Joan Jett, Britney spears, Avril Lavigne, Rihanna, Kelly Clarkson, Shakira, the works. So my week was spent on Piece of me, Complicated, underneath your clothes et all and I have to say...I was pretty psyched. It reminded of the days when I wanted get that trippy tattoo Joan has (still do), or write clinically depressed songs like Avril and thought I was at the height of cooldom cause I could sing I love rock and roll word to word. Albeit off key, yes, but the point is I grew up on them (along with the boy band association of course) and they've all influenced me in some twisted way or other. Musical finesse was never an issue back then, the trashier the better.

Anyway, I played them all back to back, over and over again and now I can't stand them anymore. It's like you sit next to a cute guy and you're happy and shit, but then you fall asleep and drool all over him. Yeah I know, it's quite a bad simile, but hell it sure is true. They're fun for sometime, you bop around, be happy, but then after a while you feel like throwing babies and kittens off cliffs and watching the Saw series. But I am pretty fond of them. I also have no idea as to why I call them Chick songs, considering I too am, well...a chick. However, you can never really say that you're over chick songs. They're always with you. One moment you're worshiping them, and then suddenly they became lame you're dissing them and then after a time comes a point when you're bored with good music and you put them on and dance along like a crazy octopus.