Route 1 (Hello Ghost Remix)Hello Ghost
thought i’d share this new poke-remix i’ve made, of the music from route 1 (the bit between pallet town and viridian city with all the rattatas and pidgeys) on red, blue and yellow.
i’m still unsure whether to start a seperate tumblr dedicated to making these. i enjoy doing them but remixing the whole game could be overkill… particularly as i still need to record some original music of my own! let me know what you think though, because i still might do it if enough people are enjoying it - 4070 plays of pallet town seems like a good sign!
Yellow Car (Demo)Paul Riley
As I mentioned on Tuesday’s post, my song for this week utilizes a lot of color imagery. For that reason, I feel it’s the spiritual sister song to “Temperature.” I think it’s a much better song, but I’ll let you be the judge.
Brown walls of trees line Route 101.
Crusty blood red leaves, suspended on
those languishing January trees
before the sun comes out, overhead.
I doubt it’ll help.
Out on Route 1, the same colors appear.
Salted dark blues and blacks and tans
cruise past darkened stores abandoned,
only “For Sale” signs in the windows.
I look to my left:
driving in the other lane.
and how you would exclaim,
a blur of black as you would lunge,
your red-gloved hand punches my arm.
Push back auburn strands from emerald eyes.
You loosen your purple scarf – cream colored skin.
Made more vivid in mind.
Outside my car, I blend with the grey,
a black-gloved peacoat blot waiting for sun.
Clouds above remain – I walk up to
the massive beige dock of the warehouse.
Look back from the door.
driving through the parking lot.
wonder if you forgot.
You left for the western shore
color draining with the warmth.
The scarf and gloves that you once loved
were left on a shelf in a thrift store.
Now you’re in golden California.
Green treetops shine, mountain snow melts.
Little deuce coupe zips down I-5.
How long does the sun linger before
In this song’s earliest incarnation, it was a dirge, a pensive contemplation of life after friend has gone. Between first sketching the idea for “Yellow Car” back in early 2010 and a month ago, I realized that I don’t have a lot of fast, energetic songs. I sped up the tempo, christened the electric guitar the hero of the tune and ripped off Green Day’s “Sassafras Roots” to create the song you hear today.
I am incredibly happy with the instrumentation on this track. While I was recording the electric guitar track, a smile erupted out of me. It’s the joy of rock — and the bass riff on alternating verse lines. There’s something that’s pure fun in an electric guitar. However, I am not fully satisfied with this demo I’ve posted. The vocals are too muddy, and I think they are a detriment to the song.
This is especially troublesome to me because I am quite proud of the lyrics. What started as another melancholy rumination on a lost friend became much more interesting through editing. I like the juxtaposition of color palettes, the reference to changes in weather (further tightening the connection between the song and “Temperature”), and the use of geography to place the narrator and subject in a definite location. I think the deliberate use of these words does not prevent the listener from coming to his or her own conclusion. At least, I don’t think so — I’d love to hear your reaction either way.
This is my 26th song, and my last for 2011. In a lot of ways this song is a mirror of this year. The excitement and joy I felt playing those power chords is the same as I felt about the opportunities before me at the start of January; so much is possible, and powerful things could happen. But if you don’t invest the necessary time or critically consider what you’re doing, it can fall short of your aspirations. That’s what happened here, with the vocal melody and recording.
Thankfully, a demo is not the final product. When I revisit this song to record a final version, I can improve on it. The same is true of days and years, and I think we should take heart in that. If you end a day unhappy with what you did or look back on your year with regret, turn around and remember that there’s a new way to sing that line tomorrow.