We've all been there!

...                                                                           



All my near and dear ones (and most of the human population, four legged animals, rocks)  know that I love Alex Band and spend an unnatural amount of time obsessing about him. Even when he suddenly disappears from the scene now and then to marry random women and make bad vampire videos. If the family allows, I would paint the ceiling with that beautiful face of his. But more on the crazy stalker obsession later.

I almost cried when I heard his new album today. One, because it was like coming home. Two, because man. Just because.

But apart from that, the album is...so Alex. It's a peek into his life, with each song taking you through everything he's been through. Each telling a story of the love lost, found, the personal and professional struggle. Which is understandable as he's put everything in this album- passion, house, cars, shitloads of money.

 The song which stands out in We've all been there, has to be Please. The Melody, harmonies, everything hits you individually. He is the same brilliant Alex that crooned wherever you will go.

Another one of my favorites is Without you. So here's the thing, his lyrics, though horribly cliched, still work beautifully! His voice, with those lovely guitars can still work the old magic.

Will not back down, starts with a lovely piano piece and continues throughout the song. The lyrics are strong and make an impact.

Never let you go, holding on, love, are all absolutely beautiful, calming songs. I love how he's not tried to be something more than he is. A pop rock love songs singer. Nothing more, nothing less.

I can hear you
Call my name
Sitting beside me
Like a burning flame...

Leave (Today is the day), is one the most touching songs in the album. It's so much more than just a goodbye song. It's where he cuts of all the strings of his past and starts anew. Probably with his old Record Label. Er.

I didn't like Cruel (feat. chantal) very much. It sounds very clubby, like it's just put in for commercial reasons. Seems like something Enrique would do.

The album ends with Start over again, it begins with soft arpeggios, his voice washes over you and then slowly builds up with violins in the background, explodes towards the middle and then ends just as it started. A perfect end to the album.  

It's his comeback album as a solo artist and it sounds like him asking for another chance after that terribly long hiatus.

But then,

We've all been there...

  

Beautifully Tangled...

  ...     

     

Flynn: Alright blondie.

Rapunzel: Rapunzel.

Flynn : Gesundheit.

There are good movies, and then there are the absolute wonders that are them Disney movies. Though admittedly, I was pretty disappointed with Tangled at first because of the shoddy random end. Or so I very critically arty fartily thought. But then like all other Disney movies, it grew on me and just when I was least expecting it, it hit me, as they always do, in all it's happy technicolor glory.


Rapunzel: Who's that?

Flynn: They don't like me.

Rapunzel: Who's that?

Flynn: They don't like me either.

Rapunzel: And who's that?

Flynn: Let's just assume for the moment that everyone in here doesn't like me!

Tangled is the updated  Rapunzel story. Instead of a prince, there's a self obsessed, obnoxious thief. I presume Disney's finally taking a shot at being realistic. Sappy princes so don't work anymore man. Give us bad, sarcastic, rude with a 5 o' clock shadow and we're a puddle of drool. I'm pretty sure the Disney wives were involved in the making.

Rapunzel: Who are you, and how did you find me?

Flynn: [clears throat] I know not who you are, nor how I came to find you, but may I just say... Hi. [cocky grin] How you doin'?

I really don't understand the flak that it's been getting. So Disney's been on this twisted fairy tales spree (Also read, Princess and the frog), but so what?! They're still those lovely Disney movies which envelop you in a bubble and leave you smiling for days after. A happy bubble which floats above all the mopeyness and the brokeness and the angstyness. I chose Tangled over equally, probably awesomer, 127 hours, but I'm glad I did. Because sometimes, when all else fails, all you need is some Disney to get by.

Flynn: I didn't want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice. Here comes the smolder.

So here's to the frying pan, which does everything but fry.

Yesterday...

I wrote a song after 6 months. I could tell my baby was happy, seemed like it was playing itself.

I was happy and then I was not.

The cat killed Mr. Beanbag and Mr. left sneaker. Pity mr beanbag, but mr left sneaker's demise means shopping. I hate shopping. I'm usually the pile of bags trailing behind the mother and the sister.

But I like shoes, so maybe I will go. And bags. And second hand books.

I like second hand books because they all have a different musty smell. It gives them a personality.

Suchi was right. The beach was theraputic. But it's so much more.

Sometimes, I shouldn't be allowed to talk to people. It's just a lot of self destruction and them destruction. Most of the time.

No matter how much I try, I can never be a cappuccino person. I will always be the expresso person, who puts too much of sugar for it to be anything else but liquid sugar.

And then it was today. I was happy again.

It comes in waves...

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

...

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 :)

Into the moonlight he staggers 

In drunken haze                        

A dagger through his breast

            To her.

                                 

                                                She sits by the window
                                                Dreaming of tomorrow
                                                Happy chandeliers in her ears

                                                         He promised.

Amidst autumn leaves

He kissed her feverishly

Caressing worries away

     Wait for me.           

                                                                                        His hand found hers

                                                                                        In the crowd           

                                                                                        Shy stolen glances     

                                                                                                 Love...                                                                                     

                                             

       Rustle of skirts

       He turned to see her

       pretty hair swinging

           He smiled

                                                                             An enigmatic smile

                                                                             Through searing eyes

                                                                             Passionate soundless music

                                                                                 She blushed...

                   

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.

Writing on the bench...

You know how you used to doodle stuff on your bench during those soporific lectures, where you would try to stab yourself in the eye with a pen just to make things more interesting?...Yeah, those. The scribbles ranged from the initials of your crush to the lyrics of some random emo song which you thought described your love life the best then. A couple of days back I stumbled upon the bench which I had sat on last year and found my doodles along with hundreds of other people's. There was my name (obviously) amongst a million of others, a line from open your eyes, which somebody had cut and written "jagya rulessss" on (....eeeyeah..), then there was a head, which looked like cross between the hulk and C3PO, but I guess that was the beauty of that head, it's non resemblance to any sort of living being, which gave people the license (creative of course) to label it as whichever professor/ girl/boy/backstreet boy they disliked the most. Then there were those doodles which were a constant fixture at every table, like the summer of 69' lyrics (always, always that one), a lot of ansty f***k yous and f***k off (for no apparent reason), a group of names with 'we rule/ rock' written all around them, a something which at a certain angle looks like a hand giving the finger, the sprinking of 'Zzzzzzzzzs' all over the bench, and names and more names, squeezed in everywhere.

It made me realize those scribbles on the benches are probably the best documentation of our growing up memories. Not the pretty pictures or grainy videos, not the drawing books filled with crayon scribbles, not the dusty Enid Blytons and Nancy Drews lying forgotten among the crisp Asimovs and Sheldons...It's those absent minded doodles...

Of zig zags and spirals,

and little stars and birds.

Of tiny hearts and sad songs,

and disconnected words...