Junior said:
Hearing Whitelily's Bottom Of The Universe mix for the first time is one of those singular moments when I can pinpoint when my musical tastes were broadened/changed. It's still probably my favourite mix of all time and one of the reasons my own mixes always remain unfinished - I am aspiring to something perfect that manages to make me feel sad and happy in equal measures.
No doubt. I find, though, that more than changing my tastes--though it did do that to some extent, for sure--what it really changed was my idea of the kind of emotional weight that a great mix can support. I wouldn't necessarily want to make or listen to another mix that has the same musical vibe as Lily's (I still don't own most of the records in that mix, and I probably don't need to), but man, I feel like some part of me will always be chasing the
feeling of it.
Last year I was unduly geeked to hear that
"white...lily" sample pop up on a Laurie Anderson record that I'd had--as your people say--
since time.
(And for what it's worth, Whitelily's
The American Dream also comes highly recommended.)
...
Oh, I saw something today that reminded me of another one:
Carole King's reaction to Aretha Franklin doing "(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman" at the Kennedy Center Honors a few months back.
The whole thing is just great. King is jumping out of her skin the entire time, looking not so much "honored" as "decimated," in the manner of one blissfully rendering her whole self up into the all-dissolving sun that the voice and presence of Aretha Franklin can be. Even as it's this big, rarefied thing happening between these two highly-decorated and unassailably-pedigreed musical goddesses, it still somehow feels like it also belongs at least a little to every one of us who's ever lost our shit in the face of music that we love and that seems to love us right back. From first to last, it's an astonishingly pure intersection of music and humanity.
But there's one particular moment I want to talk about, even if by now it's only to myself.
First, some context: Over the last couple decades, Aretha Franklin has, in terms of image, been moving steadily away from the ivory-pounding belter of her earlier days, away from the grody pop mama of her 80s days, away even from the hip-hop-propped diva of the late 90s. She has long since transitioned into the more refined image of Aretha The Icon--stately and sophisticated, single-spotlighted at the microphone with the gowns and the polish and all that. 2016 Aretha is not the Aretha that's at the piano all fierce and emotional with her natural and banging out "Rock Steady." That has not been the scene for a looooong time now. 2016 Aretha is the Aretha that's, like, doing "Nessum Dorma" at Notre Dame or wherever. "Amazing Grace" acapella in front of a lot of tuxedoed money-stacks at Clive Davis's millionth birthday. Singing to the pope and shit. If she was once a capital-C Creator, she seems to have a while ago settled for being a capital-S Singer.
I think because of all that, for me, the singular moment of the thing is when Carole King realizes that not only is Aretha Franklin going to
sing her song for her, she is--sweet Jesus--going to
play it for her, too.
If you doubt that this is that big a deal, just look at King's face when Aretha sweeps aside her floor-length fur and sits down at that bench.
King is so clearly torn between wanting to watch and wanting to look around to make sure that what she's seeing is being seen by others who can, when all this is over, assure her that, yes, it really did happen that way. The wonder of it just keeps unfolding in front of her, and you can see plainly on her face that joyous agony--wanting the moment to go on, but wanting it to wait for her, too.
Again, it's so singular, but so so relatable. It's being there when your favorite band plays your favorite song, times a million. It's hard not to cry whenever I watch it.