General Comment The beauty about music is that what a song means to one person, is personal and unique to them.
I see people trying to be all logical about songs on here and it's funny. This particular song makes me happy and sad. It makes me think about how lucky the person is for whom this song was written.
Drawing from personal experience, it makes me think of a relationship once desired, once enjoyed, once destructive, once lost, once longed for and now, just gone. There is not much left other than vague memories, at one time tainted with anger and disappointment, and now tainted only with indifference. The beauty about this song is that it reminds me of what love is, how it feels, and it captures the pleasure and the pain of the experience.
Also, the beauty of love is having someone, something to believe in. This song makes me want to be in love again! General Comment A great love song. I have often felt the feelings that this song so easily expresses. It always makes me feel so lonely and regretful when I hear it; and yet I love it so much and think that it is so beautiful.
I wonder who inspired it? Guybrush on July 07, Link. General Comment ylva-li, I understand what you mean. But maybe you concentrated too much on the lyrics than the music AND lyrics. It's them together that makes this song great. The whole song. One song. Just a thought, cheerio! General Comment this is one of my many favorites of his, because it just sounds so good.
He didn't make too many love songs, and the ones he did are gems, so I don't see the problem with that. It paints a picture — which I always tried to do with my songs — but it does it very vividly. As you pass through different thresholds of life, you look at some of the memories, and for me the songs that represent those memories.
For sure, you see another dimension. Pickup a good book now. And wow. A very, very important, profound song. I've talked about change in lots of songs. But in that song I say, "When your children see the answers that you saw the same. From the son's point of view, your father can't see it the way you see it.
The father doesn't want change. Youth is always taking different turns so quickly, and suddenly you're in a new scenario you've never seen or experienced before. That's what youth is. The song is an ever-living testament to the differences that we represent to each other, especially in terms of age with fathers and sons, and also with traditions. Traditions have a big impact on our lives, and sometimes you've got to walk away from that tradition.
You'll find something better. They're just listening to streaming music and playing with their mobile phones. Yet the Tillerman is still a constant, reliable figure in the middle, sitting and drinking his tea — in a space suit, because he's prepared for whatever. Pollution is affecting this world, and he's still optimistic. Behind him is a massive, white, gleaming moon. Even in the darkness, God has given us something to lighten our way.
I love that song. And I love the Tillerman. Save FB Tweet More. Cat Stevens. Tea For Tillerman 50th anniversary release. Credit: Rhys Fagan. What was this, though? And the stage set—it was elaborate, whimsical, evocative of the old Cat, whose tastes sometimes crossed the line into outright silliness. Most significantly, though, he himself seemed engaged, connected, and—hardest to believe—lighthearted. Here he was again. Cat Stevens. Questioning, seeking, proudly admitting that he did not have the answers, but that he was on his way to find them.
Our companion, our friend, had returned. It was the first of what would be many goosebump-inducing moments in the generous, two-part concert. He was, after all this time, validating their worth again, and with it, our love for them. He was giving us permission, again, to do and think and live how we wanted. And he seemed genuinely happy saying and singing it. The faithful Alun Davies was there on lead acoustic guitar, as he has been since Matt Sweeney was a welcome addition on electric guitar, adding a pinch of verve and danger to the mix, but if old concert footage is any indication, Cat Stevens was never one for taking too many risks onstage musically, choosing instead to eschew spontaneity in deference to the arrangements on his studio recordings.
At the end of each of these old songs, there was that same sustained applause that followed his aside, early in the show, about how happy he was to be there. It was an entity, a palpable force, as though the emotion behind every voice and every pair of hands could be heard. There was a sort of desperate celebration to it. It was the sound of reconciliation, of gratitude, of redemption. By Howard Fishman. Howard Fishman is a writer, performer, and composer based in Brooklyn.
The New Yorker Recommends What our staff is reading, watching, and listening to each week. Enter your e-mail address.
0コメント