When simplified to the most basic interpretation, people dance for two reasons: For a love of movement and for a love of sex. These two motivations dominate any dance floor and are in a constant state of conflict. Unfortunately, it appears that far too many individuals simply see dancing as an opportunity to attract one another.

Imagine yourself at a dance party. Do you know what the DJ is playing? The thumping sounds emitting from the speakers aren’t playing Rihanna and Calvin Harris’ “We Found Love” or even the latest Skrillex jam. Despite this, some people are dancing the night away without a care in world. At the same time, a girl in stiletto heels who is wearing far too much makeup walks up to the DJ and asks for something people can dance to.

Why is only half of the crowd dancing? Perhaps only half of the crowd is dancing for the right reason. Those who dance out of a love of movement do not care about the artist being played, but rather they care about the experience and the atmosphere the DJ is creating. As long as the DJ can create fluid transitions and keep a sense of tension, this crowd could care less what genre of music they are listening to.

On the other hand, those who dance to attract others tend to only dance to music they have heard before. The ability to recognize the song is essential, as this dictates the “appropriate” style of dance. These types of dancers are not truly interested in experiencing the music, but care more about who is looking at them. This over-sexualized form of dancing is ruining the concept of the infinite beat. When a love of movement is removed from the equation, the idea of dancing until sunrise or dancing in the middle of the day seems absurd.

Next time you find yourself listening to music you are unfamiliar with, don’t become distraught. Instead, think about how this music can compel your body to move. If you follow these steps, I promise you’ll have a better time. You might even attract something better than a one-night stand.

What is your favorite song? It seems like a pretty simple question. It’s that song you listen to most frequently. So for me that would mean its “We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed” by Los Campesinos! But what about that song you play in the car with the top down in the summer time and sing along to? Oh wait, I do that with “We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed,” too. How about that song that just hits you in a way that words can’t describe?  It’s that feeling that transcends words, an idea that can’t be transmuted into words. ”We are Beautiful, We Are Doomed” fits that description, too.

To be clear, while “We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed” is an amazing song, it is not my favorite. I was hoping that I could illustrate just how contradictory the criteria for choosing a “favorite” song can be… but it seems I’ve been duped. Everything points right at “We are Beautiful, We Are Doomed” — but somewhere there is a disconnect.  Because as much as I love it and as much as I listen to it and as much as I blast it on highway trips and sing along to it, “We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed” is not my favorite song. This title belongs to “Motorcycle Drive By” by Third Eye Blind.

I’ve struggled with this question for quite a while, how exactly to define what my favorite song is. I mean, I came up with perfectly good criteria and found a song that fits all of them, but for some reason there is still a gap between my theoretical favorite song and my actual favorite song.

I first heard “Motorcycle Drive By” when I was 14. I was mesmerized. I listened to it constantly and then, as I went through high school and began to truly love music, it fell out of constant rotation. It’s not that I had gotten tired of it, which happens frighteningly often when I find a song I love. Instead, my favorite song just fell aside. But the memory of elation stayed clear within my mind. I rediscovered it in March of my freshman year of college and it was like greeting a long lost friend.

My favorite song is a love song. I don’t see how anyone could honestly admit that their favorite song is not about love. My favorite song is also a pop song. If you know me, you’d know that I take pride (probably a bit too much) in having an eclectic musical taste. I constantly seek out music that’s fallen out of the public eye or has never really reached it in the first place. And more often than not, I’d rather listen to the niche music of the underground than the all-too-often cookie cutter creations of the mainstream. But while I constantly search for music that is odd, unique, and complex there is an integral aspect of music that pop capitalizes: Connection. Pop music is made for the masses. It needs to find a way to cater a message to an audience that’s heard it all without being boring. While pop will always be criticized for being inauthentic corporate drivel, it is inauthentic corporate drivel that brings people together in a way niche music cannot. That is why I am not ashamed to say that my favorite song is, indeed, a pop song.

When I was eighteen I decided that I wanted to make a mix CD that reflected my personality. It took me six months to create; 21 songs and 1:19:04 long.  With 20 songs chosen and organized in a logical (to me) fashion I had enough room for one song and I had no idea what to choose. Time passed, songs were proposed and subsequently tossed aside, and frustration built up.  And then, as if it had been the logical choice all along, I thought “Hey, what about THAT song?”  I still don’t know how I could have overlooked “Motorcycle Drive By”.  This song, which had fallen out of my life for no particular reason, had suddenly regained prominence.  It illustrates the duality of the system and surroundings, the unity of “was,” “am,” and “will be.”  It is a love song that is not about falling in love or falling out of love. Just love. The pain of isolation and rejection juxtaposed with the assuagement of community and acceptance. It was the perfect capstone.

This song, like “We Are Beautiful We Are Doomed,” fits all of my criteria: Consistently among the top 25 played through five iPod incarnations, sing-along-able, and hits me in a way I can’t quite explain. But unlike “We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed,” “Motorcycle Drive By” has long since rooted itself in my heart.  It is inextricable to my persona and I cherish every second of it. And yes, it is a poppy love song.

Hailing from the vast expanses of South Dakota, Rachel Ries can bring audiences to tears with the trembling of her harmonies. A talented instrumentalist, and deft songwriter, Ries has been traveling around the country accompanying Anais Mitchell as part of the Young Man Band on Mitchell’s most recent tour.

My introduction to Ries was at the Whip In. Just south of downtown Austin, right off of I-35, situated on a busy corner of the southbound access road, the Whip In is a flat-roofed, cinder-block building that at first glance looks much like an ordinary convenience store. But upon entering, its clear that it is a different creature. To the right of the door, there is a cozy dining space warmed by wooden church pews, antique tables, Indian wooden screens, and colorful printed textiles. Beercave, coffeehouse, cozy restaurant: The Whip In is a magical place.

It was there that I saw Ries play for the first time. She took the stage with Anais Mitchell, Matt Fockler, and Southpaw Jones, and performed a suite of songs including Mitchell’s powerful “Young Man In America.”

Ries pulled every last one of my heartstrings; she had me weeping in awe. Despite the myriad of performers that I saw across the city during SXSW, it was Ries’ raw performance that impacted me the most.

That night I chatted with her and picked up a copy of her most recent recording, On Laurel Lake EP. Besides overflowing with massive doses of honesty, the On Laurel Lake EP reveals skilled production and recording techniques. Ries tackled the album by herself on a personal retreat in Tennessee and dug deep to patch the songs together.

On this album, Ries’ trembling harmonies punctuate her sophisticated melodies. Her craftmanship is apparent on this exquisite folk recording. From the slightest wavering of vocals to the gentlest of brushes on the guitar pickups, Ries captured it all on the recording. While not as seemingly hip as Bon Iver’s Blood Bank, her recordings on the EP have a poignant delicacy that allow it to exist free from hype. In a different vein from On Laurel Lake is Ries’ 2007 release, Without A Bird.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NASAnqtPPGw

Warmly analog and carefully orchestral, Without a Bird showcases the artistry of some of Chicago’s finest players: Kevin O’Donnell (Andrew Bird’s Bowl of Fire, Neko Case), Joel Paterson (Devil in a Woodpile, Kelly Hogan, Steve Dawson), Alison Chesley (Bob Mould, Verbow, Poi Dog Pondering) and Ariel Bolles (Bakelite 78). Without a Bird was recorded and mixed analog and it shows. As would be expected, in contrast to the On The Lake EP, the songs have much more of the city’s rhythms flowing through them.

Across albums, Ries’ music constantly grapples with the tumultuous dichotomy between life in the city and life in the country. In her own words: “This life I’ve chosen felt suddenly precarious, muddled, and far too far from the source. What do we really need? Out here in the ‘real’ world I ask for so much more than family, faith, food and shelter. So much vapor.”

While Ries’ songs are heartbreaking, they are not love songs. They speak to life — its joys and its anguish. Memories, dreams, and illusions sit beside anguished lonesomeness in Ries’ songs to create a heart wrenchingly powerful combination.

Fans of early Liz Phair, Anais Mitchell, Ani DiFranco, and early Regina Spektor  will certainly find much to like in her recent recordings.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jmBG6HiPbII

Post by Juan Fernandez