Tagged: music

Crankdat @ Subterranean 4/14 – win a pair of tickets

Music for Your Monday

A song you like with a color in the title

Purple Swag – A.$.A.P. Rocky

A song you like with a number in the title

17 – Youth Lagoon

A song that reminds you of summertime

Sunshine – Atmosphere

A song that reminds you of someone you would rather forget about

Lightning Crashes – Live

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Writing Advice: Write Like There’s No Tomorrow

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A piece of advice that I’ve happened upon many times in my internet searches of “how to write blog” can be summed up as “write as much as you can…don’t be afraid of failure or mistakes, otherwise you will never improve…you will never grow.”

I’ve always skimmed over this tip but never given it much thought, always writing for this blog what I thought others would surely enjoy, nothing that would be too risky.

However, I was thinking the other night, and realized this, that

If I’m ever to grow as a writer, I’ve got to embrace the concept of backlash, the prospect of defeat, and the idea of failure. Continue reading

Something About Playlists…

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If you clicked on this thinking it would be a sizzling summer playlist, you were wrong.

(but there will probably be one up later next week!)

Does music ever make you feel nostalgic?

In high school, when debate seemed to dominate my life, I would download new music right before every major tournament…there are playlists in my library whose titles share the name of the tournament I was about to attend.

Songs of every genre were clumped together in groups with no collective identity, their only similarity being where and when they just so happened to be relevant.

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My life in Roman numerals

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i) They say that I don’t smile. Almost every person I know looks at my empty face and asks why I’m looking at them like I want to kill them.

I took a look at my face in the mirror the other day, nay – I stared deeply into my eyes and saw that indeed, I wasn’t smiling. My lips were pursed, my mouth was closed. I conveyed neither disapproval nor distaste; I was completely neutral of emotion. Maybe then, you can see me through my eyes. What is it that they say about eyes? That they’re the windows into the soul? Maybe it’s my voice. It’s expressive but meanwhile horribly deceiving.

The truth is that sometimes I wear my emotions on my coat like badges or flashes of color for all to see, but I can also suppress them, like a lid on a pot of boiling water. So perhaps I’ve been too suppressive of my emotions lately? Is that why people keep saying that to me?  Continue reading

MONTHLY LISTENING CLUB: DECEMBER

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Hello readers, this is Colin. I’m a freshman at the prestigious Illinois State University and an avid Spotify playlist maker. Last year I started making playlists for each month to capture all the feelings and vibes that time of year gave me; Catherine and I have decided to include them on her blog. So without further ado, here is the first installment of the Monthly Listening Club, “December”.

How playing the violin changed my life

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When I was in elementary school, my mother pushed my sister and I to take up piano lessons, a prominent Asian stereotype. Grudgingly, we complied for a few years, but I personally never felt satisfaction or even enjoyment from the activity. Perhaps it was because our teachers weren’t the most pleasant, or because the recordings of the music sounded far superior to what I managed to produce with my chubby, tiny fingers. I dropped the activity around sixth grade.

But violin was a different story. I joined orchestra in 4th grade, and have never since stopped. Private lessons began in 5th grade, with Laura, a teacher that I stuck with until the beginning of junior year. She’s witnessed my growth over the years through our weekly meetings. She’s seen me at my positively worst – struggling with ambition and motivation – but she’s also seen me at my Sunday best – galvanized into repetitive practice. Our interactions have been professional for the most part – practicing scales and etudes – but there were often moments of genuine friendship between us.

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