The mind seeks familiarity while the heart craves foreignness. We are in equal parts soothed and unsettled by remaining within our comfort zone, and stepping out of it becomes an increasingly necessary but increasingly tedious task. There comes a crucial juncture where you feel you must step into somewhat of an unknown abyss or find yourself starting to resent the familiarity of your surroundings. This is where I find myself now.
I was immediately taken with Oh Hyuk's voice on Nabi. His barely there, soft, undulating croons, coupled with the unfamiliar sounds of the Korean words he was singing made for a winning combination to my ears.
I adored the way he half-rolled his 'l's, semi-stressed his 'm's and dragged his "ah"s. I loved the way the words seemed to go on for much longer than you'd expect.
I looked up the romanised lyrics, and realised there were even more syllables secretly wedged in between the sounds we actually hear.
Lago malhan ideuleun da eodi itna
I dove further into the English translation, and the meaning behind the words was as moody and romantic as they sound.
In the silent time of mine
All I see in the distance is hatred
The foreign became a little more familiar.
Did I enjoy the song a little less?
Priya Ragu finally comes on stage at Rough Trade East, but her mic isn't working. She is (I assume) belting out my favourite song of hers, Kamali, but all we see are her lips moving, and all we hear are her band and the "pm ts, pm ts" reggaeton beat of the backing track. She's urging the audience to sing the words. My own knowledge of it is patchy (I tried to do some last minute memorising in the days leading up to the gig, but one's brain only retains so much under pressure), and there's a general air of uncertainty in the crowd. Not ideal for Priya. But when the primarily Tamil chorus comes on, I'm ready for it (my brain came through!), everyone's ready for it, and we're singing the words loud and proud.
Kamali, kamali
Nee odu naan vaaren vellu nee
En kaiyil ellaame sollu nee
Nee sonnal un vaazhkai vellum di
Cue tabla beat.
Thakutu thakutu tha!
The sheer familiarity of the words, and being in the exclusive "know" amongst non-Tamil speakers in the audience, was intoxicating. Here, my enjoyment of the track is derived especially from knowing and loving the language it was being sung in, understanding the cultural background of why a 9-year-old female skater in India is its protagonist, and being personally familiar with the concept of filial piety it preaches. And just. Damn it feels good to sing in Tamil.
In the overall battle of the foreign vs. the familiar, which wins?
Surely the immense inertia I feel in even venturing out of my tried-and-tested-but-getting-pretty-boring "Liked" songs on Spotify, even with playlists of totally new tracks curated completely for my taste by Spotify's, frankly freakishly good, AI algorithm available to me and refreshed every week, is testament to the fact that the familiar always wins out?
I made a "latest discoveries" playlist to get myself out of this precise rut of stale, cowardly familiarity. I pushed myself to venture further and further out of my listening comfort zone, and ended up with valuable finds like the entire discographies of Oh Hyuk and Japanese alt-rock band OGRE YOU ASSHOLE. The risk and effort definitely paid off.
Now, my ponderings turn to my life outside of just music (which admittedly is a large part of it anyway). Will I be courageous enough to step out of the rut I have dug myself into in other, arguably more imperative, aspects of my existence? I hope so.
dededos
turnnoffyourmind
origamiaround
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
jbbartram-illu
yousharknotpass
areudirty