Featured Song: Abraham’s Daughter – Featured Book: The Hunger Games

Abraham took Isaac’s hand
And led him to the lonesome hill
While his daughter hid and watched
She dared not breathe; she was so still

Just as an angel cried for the slaughter
Abraham’s daughter raised her voice

Then the angel asked her what her name was
She said, “I have none.”
Then he asked, “How can this be?”
“My father never gave me one.”

And with his sword upraised  for the slaughter
Abraham’s daughter raised her bow
“How darest you, child, defy your father?”
“You better let young Isaac go.”

-“Abraham’s Daughter,” by Arcade Fire

The story of Abraham and Isaac is one of the most important in the Old Testament.

God wants to test Abraham’s devotion to, and fear of him.  So he commands Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac, as a testament to his loyalty.  Abraham takes Isaac to a mountain and tells him to gather up wood for a sacrifice.  When Isaac asks where the lamb for slaughter is, Abraham replies, “God will provide the lamb,” and together they ascend.

Abraham then lays Isaac down and raises his knife.

Convinced that Abraham is sufficiently God-fearing, an angel descends and stays his hand, thus, saving Isaac.

Abraham is then allowed to sacrifice a ram in Isaac’s place.

In Suzanne Collins’ bestseller, The Hunger Games, a very similar scenario sets the stage for the entire series.

The United States has been destroyed and a new nation, Panem, has risen, controlled by a brutal government, the Capitol.

Reminiscent of the Roman Empire, the Capitol hosts the annual Hunger Games, in which 24 male and female Tributes fight to the death.

Panem et Circenses is Latin for “bread and circuses.”  Bread was thrown to the Roman citizen who came to watch warriors, animals and slaves fight and be slaughtered in an arena, elaborate games created to entertain the masses and to display Roman power.  Bread is a theme throughout the book.

Katniss Everdeen lives in District 12, the lowliest, most derelict sector in Panem.  Her sweet and innocent sister, Prim, is chosen to fight in the Hunger Games.

Knowing that her sister will certainly die, she volunteers to take her place, and so the story is set in motion.

Katniss Everdeen (portrayed by Jennifer Lawrence) taking Prim’s place as Tribute for the Hunger Games

The ending credits of the 2012 film adaptation is are accompanied by Arcade Fire’s song, “Abraham’s Daughter.”

The song tells an alternate version of Abraham and Isaac’s story in which Abraham has an unnamed daughter, who steps forth to save her brother.

Though open to interpretation, there is a fair amount of symbolism in the song.  Abraham represents District 12, the instrument leading to execution, unable to speak up for its children.  The angel is the Capitol, calling for the slaughter of the innocent.  Isaac symbolizes Prim, the victim, defenseless against those who would condone her death.  And Abraham’s daughter is Katniss, who “raised her voice” just as the angel “called for the slaughter.”

The daughter wields a bow, Katniss’ weapon of choice.  The angel is appalled that would dare to defy her father.  She is prepared to fight and demands that “[the angel] let Isaac go.”

Aside from having great lyrics and incredible symbolic meaning, the music is great.  It is very ethereal and even has a choir-like quality to it.  Sort of like distorted church music, it really gives context and texture, the allusion bringing depth to the story.

Watch the above music video on YouTube.  It is excellent and well worth it.

Featured Band: All Time Low

There’s always that one band you listen to in your early teen years that you never forget.

When I was 13, I discovered All Time Low and fell completely in love.

I usually like one or two songs by a band.  Four songs TOPS.

But All Time Low…they were different for me.

To date, they’ve recorded 4 albums and one EP.

The Party Scene (2005)

This album is no longer available. There are only 1,000 known CD copies.

EP: Put Up or Shut Up (2006)

So Wrong, It’s Right (2007)

Nothing Personal (2009)

They also released a “Straight to DVD” album of a live concert in New York City in 2010, along with a full-length DVD about their lives backstage and on the road.

In 2011, they released their latest album Dirty Work.

The album cover was also released in red.

They are the only band I’ve ever listened to that I have liked every single song they’ve written.  Well almost every song, I’m not a huge fan of three songs.  But other than that, I love all their music.

Until Dirty Work came out.

One thing I thought was absolutely fabulous about All Time Low, was that they never used autotune, except for one song (a version of “Coffee Shop Soundtrack”) that was CLEARLY supposed to sound super strange and synthesized.

Their latest album featured autotune and it was much more… pop that they used to be.  The lyrics were still pretty dynamic and poetic.  But they took on a co-writer for some reason.

Their three original albums are absolutely brilliant.  The lyrics make me want to laugh out loud they’re so beautiful and strange and wonderful.  Frontman Alex Gaskarth is truly a spectacular composer and lyricist.  So I have faith in him and I’m sure their next album will be back to their original marvelous magic.

Anyway, I’ve loved the band for a long time.  The music is catchy and fresh without being too pop.

And Alex just has the most magnificent, smooth, gorgeous voice.

Annabel Lee: Part I

This post is going to be part of a series based on the love story of Edgar Allan Poe‘s poem “Annabel Lee.”

It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me.

Than to love and be loved by me…

The words roll around in my mind, marbles on a marble floor.

I stand alone on a grassy hill, watching the gray clouds reflected in greenish water.  A storm is coming.  The ocean churns and froths beneath my empty stare, bubbling up like pus from a great wound.  But all I can think about is my heart, lying in the tomb.  Cold, lonely, lost.

My Annabel is gone.

Sweet Annabel Lee, my first, my only love.

I had never loved God or His angels.  Even as a boy I was ever skeptical of the mercy and kindness others painted Him with.  But I have never hated those divinities more than I do at this very moment.

Those jealous seraphs killed my beloved, and God Almighty allowed it to happen.  I feel myself shaking with rage and grief.

Closing my eyes, I think back to the day I met Annabel.

I had been playing at the beach, frolicking gaily at the shore just beyond the reach of the waves.  The sky was vivid lapis lazuli, the breeze, light and sweet.  I do not remember the water being particularly warm, but it was clean and clear, refreshing.  The dry sand sparkled white and the wet sand was soft gold, silky and fine.  Gulls cried, their voices carried across the beach by the breeze, breaking sharply in my ear.  Waves rolled, the low, melodious hiss of the surf soothed the birds’ shrill shrieks.

I was perhaps one and ten years.  By my mother’s accounts, I was a handsome boy.  She loved to run her fingers though my wavy blond hair and tousle it gently.  My skin was barely three shades lighter than honey, but still fair and unmarked.  However, what people first noticed were my eyes.  Large and uncannily bright, they were the deep blue of a summer ocean.

I had just scooped up a handful of sand when a shadow fell over my head.  Annoyed that this new obstacle was blocking the sun’s warmth, I looked up.

Probably appearing rather ridiculous, I shielded my eyes with one sandy arm and squinted, opening my mouth and cocking my head to the left.  What I saw slackened my jaw and made my arm drop like a stone.

A girl about my age stood in front of me.  The waves tugged at her long, pale pink dress, twisting it around her ankles, bits of white foam caught in the hem.  Long dark hair, locks of chestnut laced with amber, danced around a heart-shaped face.  Her magnolia white skin held the faintest flush across her cheekbones.  Lips, the dewy fresh color of roses, slightly parted, revealed pearly white teeth.  Luminescent eyes started down at me.  The incredible green of gemstones, they reminded me of my mother’s emeralds or the exotic lumps of jade she kept locked in a special velvet box.  Dark, curling lashes ringed the eyes and cast shadows down on her face like the silhouette of delicate black lace.

She knelt before me and sat with a grace I hadn’t thought a girl her age capable of.

“May I join you?” She asked, her voice soft and clear as a crystal bell.

I could only nod and stare.

She reached down and began digging a little hole, then proceeded to pile up the sand and shape it into a small mound.  Fascinated, I watched as she grabbed handfuls of sand, still dripping with seawater.  She turned her hand so that sandy drops trickled through her slender fingers and fell onto the mound.  The droplets created a strange and intricate castle of frozen tears.

“It is called a drip castle,” she smiled.

Without a word, I picked up a handful of sand and copied her actions, adding my droplets to the growing castle.

Hour after hour we did this, building upon the castle until it was as thick around and as tall as I was.  Only then did we stop to admire our work.

The sun was setting and a pinkish glow had stolen across the water, casting a coral light on everything.   Toward the shore, the color deepened and each wave looked like panes of rose and violet glass shattering against the sand.   Magenta and lavender clouds gathered at the horizon and the sun turned to wavering orange fire as it wobbled at the ocean’s edge.

I looked over at her.  A smear of sand smudged her right cheek and a few flecks dotted her forehead.  Her long hair had tangled in the wind but that only succeeded in making her more beautiful.  The green eyes peered at me, inquisitive, alight and devastatingly lovely.

“I am Annabel Lee,” she said in that musical voice, “what is your name?”

I realized then I hadn’t uttered a single word in all the hours we had spent together.

“Alexander,” I replied.

She nodded and smiled again.  Fluttering her eyelashes shyly, she looked up at me, demure, coy.

“I will see you again, Alexander,” then dashed off, a flash of pale pink satin and chestnut-amber hair.

STAY TUNED FOR THE FOLLOWING INSTALLMENT NEXT WEEK!