Bon Iver and the music that robs you of your breath.

Bon Iver~For Emma (Live in-studio at MOKB/WEEM) from Tim Wilsbach on Vimeo.

however, my favourite off the album is re: stacks.

I remember falling immediately for Bon Iver. Last spring, probably while I was floating in time through the Internet, I became introduced to him. Walking down the same streets in Manhattan—the ones you know will get you from point A to B (either the most scenically or quickly)—music becomes the only reliable companion to take you through your day, to carry you confidently. Voices closely kept inside my ear, the musician’s sensibility is the only kind that matters—then and there. And to a certain extent, the music you choose in turn chooses your character and decides your sense of being. Artists like Bon Iver almost perform a robbing—a robbing of breath. Listening, I wonder whether it is a breathing in I need or a breathing out. Air keeps you sane—a traveling forth, whether mentally or physically—a continual movement, a constant stretch that shows your growth. Music does this, and as a writer, as a visionary, as a translator of interior discourse, I honor the art of music—it’s ability to mingle movement (sound, rhythm, fingers falling against keys…) with words (text that is locked in place). It is impossible for me not to listen to music and hope my writing’s voice will strengthen so it can be heard, so it can move, so it can be played out and inspire an audience (viewer, reader, listener) to perform. I listen to two spectrums of sound and they both rest on opposite extremes. I live for the moments where I can loose myself in song—where I can, quite literally, dance it off—where the music is meant to make you move and challenge the constraints of your body—where you feel similar to a swimmer, weightless in the water. Then there is Bon Iver, Andew Kenny & Ben Gibbard, A Weather, Buddy, Cherry Ghost, Kevin Drew, Le Loup, M. Craft, Marble Sounds, Okay, Pinback, Raine Maida, Rob Crow, Seabear, Titles, Wye Oak, Wolftron, Yeasayer that when I play for others am told how “depressing” the music is, but I am almost offended by that, for I find it to invigorating, motivating and overwhelmingly strengthening. The lyricism is actually what makes me run quickest, work hardest and live for more. I will never forget the seven am walks to work at The Weinstein Company—the ins and outs of metros—the pace Manhattans are expected to maintain and exceed—and how the entire time I was listening to “music that is sad”. I do believe it is how you want to translate the information you are receiving, and I cannot deny that every morning when I walked through the door, I never felt like I was not on top of the world or something other than overcome by ambition. In a week I will be back in Manhattan, and I will miss the speed of sound I traveled with in Miami. There is no doubt that I look like a fool, singing at the top of my lungs with my convertible top down, exposed and unashamed. But I know my alternative: listening to music while walking quickly down Manhattan streets. Driving in Miami, I listen to music while I fly—traveling quicker than my feet will ever be able to take me—covering a larger landscape. One should always chase after euphoria and when it is met, one should always use what it is to continue to produce its effects. Then, what is assumed to be depressing for others becomes your driving force, and you have the capabilities to go further—to have the actual act of living last longer.