Sunday, October 09, 2005 This week I moved to Geneva. It's my fourth city in three years, and yesterday I had my first chance to take the kind of lonely walk in beautiful surroundings that has become familiar to me in that time. As I strolled through the Parc des Bastions I came upon Yann Arthrus-Bertrand's Earth from Above exhibition, which is either installed in every major city of the world, or is following me. Surely no art installation has ever deserved ubiquity more, though -- it's difficult to imagine a passerby, be he art critic or businessman or rough sleeper, failing to enjoy its technicolor reimagining of some of the world's most underappreciated spectacles. As I strolled through the gallery for the 20th time, Devendra Banhart's Cripple Crow seeped from my iPod. As my gaze moved from a Cognac landscape to the Temple of Al-Dayr, the album's title track suddenly overwhelmed me, and I began to cry. It was as if I could feel myself shrinking, the size and beauty of the world crashing over me like a wave. It is truly curious how music can come to soundtrack our lives. (That Devendra Banhart is one of the few artists of this century capable of doing so is something best left to the resurrected Ink Blot to come ... after a few days with Cripple Crow I'm leaning towards scrapping the old format and turning this into www.devendraisgod.com). There are some who will tell you that music takes on the colors of our lives, that the songs and the records that lodge permanently in our hearts do so on the back of personal transitions, emotional changes and powerful memories. This is why, the cynics argue, our deepest affection is saved for the music of our youth. That's where our most vivid memories reside. Don't believe them. Many of the most important moments of my life -- my first romance, leaving home, getting married -- remain unsoundtracked. But yesterday "Cripple Crow" burned an impression of October 8th, 2005 into my mind. Great music rises to the occasion, of that I'm convinced. I don't love Blur and Primal Scream because I found them when I was young ... on the contrary, the early 1990s were made significantly more meaningful to me by the brilliance of "Blue Jeans" and "Come Together." If my memories from much of the turn of this century have no soundtrack, then maybe that's because I never found the music worthy of the moment. Don't give up searching. Music doesn't belong to youth, and it doesn't have to recede into the background of your 30s. The Weather Band, The Libertines, and now Devendra Banhart have reminded me of that in each of the past three years. Listen hard for your life's soundtrack, it's worth the effort. posted by jesse   1:16 PM Ink Blog by Email   Visit the InkBlog Archives The Libertines The Libertines I have the sleeve pinned on the wall over my desk. That doesn't mean I'm gay, does it? Wait, don't answer that. The Feenom Circle The Pawn Shop EP It would have been really ghetto to call it The Pawn Shoppe EP. Nothing says ghetto like Olde English. Miss Kittin I Com She may own one or two mirrors. Amp Fiddler Waltz of a Ghetto Fly Real name Knob Twiddler. Air Talkie Walkie "Wooddeeeee ... I'm gooooaangg to steeel your garrlfraand ... " Franz Ferdinand Franz Ferdinand Side-partings! Wispy moustaches! Cracking choons! Cat Power You Are Free Not Miss Kittin's mum then? No? Well, tell us all about it. What's that you say? Chan? Like Charlie Chan? No? Elbow Cast of Thousands Check out those miniatures on the album cover. No miniatures in the band, though, hur hur. Brandon Patton: This is why you read this column. Tell your friends you discovered him first. Join the Inkling ... Monthly email madness ...