Music Monday: Congratulations by MGMT

When I first heard this band in Australia three years ago, I had no clue they'd ever make an album such as this. My friend Chris said it, "quietly blew him away." Their big international hit, "Electric Feel" was like a Prince song, as played by two New England white boys. Their three dance rock hits helped their debut, Oracular Spectacular, go platinum worldwide and gave the masses high expectations for their follow-up. Based on these three songs, many were very disappointed to find that Congratulations was a collection of throwback, late-60's psychedelic pop. This shouldn't be to surprising to any who actually listened to the entirity of Oracular Spectacular, including the second half featuring less-catchy, more artistic psychedelic workouts.

I was not disappointed by their "change" in sound, considering I was not a huge fan of the band. MGMT and their producer went to great lengths to capture the sounds of  1960's pop they've unleased.  This is by no means a straightforward throwback that has become so popular with hipster bands lately, but the late- 60's as seen through the eyes of electro-funk obessed New England white boys (though this album doesn't actually contain any electro-funk. It is a confidently delivered album, from the surfy, harpsichord laden opener, "It's Working" until the closing title track.  It is a meticulously structured album, but sounds almost like a cocky afterthought.  "Siberian Breaks", the centerpiece and highlight of the whole album, is a 12-minutes suite, beginning with a modern interpretation 1967-era Byrds and ending with a sweep of swirling electronic beauty that is almost Wagnerian in texture.  Oracular Spectacular sounded like a promising debut by a band destined to fade away as one album wonders.  Congratulations shows that they are much more than that; they'll still go down as one album wonders, (it is the kind of album that'll anger the masses) but the cool kids will follow every move they make.

Arrival

I've crossed oceans enough times, found myself stuck on buses for 12 hours, trains for 36. Flying to Budapest seemed like nothing. I just sat back and watched a few movies; I've spent whole days doing the same thing. I landed in the early afternoon, planning to manage the public transportation to find my home, but after spending nearly two days awake, I opted for a taxi.

The outskirts of Budapest seemed like any other developed country. I saw houses, factories, drab apartments, but mostly express-way. Things were a bit different when the taxi entered the actual city. It looked like Europe; not necessarily the Europe I knew from my travels in Germany, but the Europe of movies: concrete, endless apartment buildings, bakeries at every corner, carved doorways.

It was all quite charming. When the taxi stopped in front of my building, I wasn't so charmed. My block was run down, drunks on the street. If it was cloudy, I'd feel like I was in a Kieslowski film, but Michelle was waiting outside, arms spread and I knew that Eastern Europe couldn't be all bad.

When changing time-zones, I vow to not sleep during the day, fearing this will set back my adjustment, but I was too tired to resist when Michelle headed to class, leaving me alone in the apartment. The moment I had my clothes put away in the drawer, I found myself under the covers, asleep for a nap.

She woke me two hours later and after a long cuddle, we were getting ready to visit our friend Yeganah before heading to a birthday dinner at the New York Cafe, one of the premier restaurants in Budapest.

Our meal was an amazing white-tablecloth affair, with our own waiter armed with a crumb scraper and cloth gloves. My food was divine, especially in its presentation. I ordered rabbit with Hungarian veggies (the were puréed, so I never really found out which veggies they were). It tasted great and the wine washed over my fatigue. My companions kept asking me if I'd like to head home, but I felt fine. I didn't know how bad I looked until I woke the next morning, remembering little and quite shocked by my dishevelled look in the photos. I remembered the free, orgasm-inducing chocolates at the end and that's all that matters.

Abroad Again: Moving to Budapest

                Four years ago, I made a decision that has altered the course of my life considerably.  At that point, I had been out of college for two years, was a rising manager in an exciting restaurant with a staff of 30 people.  I didn’t know where I was headed, but all I could see was up.  I was blinded by this early success, the ambition in the corporate structure, my growing IRA.  I didn’t see the lack of fulfillment. 

Even though I saw it as my own restaurant, I was still being controlled by those above me.  I’d pour my heart and work into projects for the betterment of the business, only to see them brushed aside.  Sure, I’d get a pat on the back for my hard work; I was being noticed by the head office in Chicago, but I really couldn’t do anything.  It did not matter though, because contentment had found me.  All I had to do was keep working hard, keep impressing my superiors and eventually, I’d reach some undetermined higher level of status.  

Contentment is a slow acting poison.  It seemed like happiness.  If you’d asked me how I was, I’d tell you I was happy.  But, work was always a phone call away.  My weekends were spent at home, ready to remedy a disaster at work.  My dreams were a series of problems at the workplace I could not control.  I had money to spend, but no time to spend it.  My one shot of 18 year old single malt scotch had become three and I didn’t even feel the difference.  In the corporate world, happiness is a pillar with only an illusory ladder.  The only escape I had were my emails to Australia.

My unexpected relationship with Jess was cut short not long after it had begun.  Just when we’d come to terms with our feelings for each other, shed the guilt from our situation and realized we wanted to explore the future together, she had to go home.  I don’t know if it was love for her or a hidden desire inside to escape the trap of the American Dream (surely it was both), but my choice to drop everything and cross the ocean involved little thought.

I’d always wanted to live in other places.  This belief was fostered in me through years of hosting exchange students.  It was given that I’d spend a year abroad and see the other side of this lifestyle that had become so normal.  My dreams were clouded by ambition, my need to live life by logic.  I didn’t know what I wanted to be, but spending a year as an exchange student would set it back.  Graduating in 2002, instead of 2001 was unacceptable, because I’d then graduate from college a year later as well.  This would make me underprivileged compared to my classmates, who would have a whole year head start on me.  I was losing the race before I’d even started it.  In the end I settled for a month backpacking in Germany when I was 17.

Eight years later, I found myself getting on a plane to cross the pacific, ready to start living with a family in Australia, taking back the dream I once saw as a threat to my happiness.  At age 25, I finally became an exchange student.

I’ve been traveling ever since.  Things with Jess did not work out, but it freed me to see the country.  After another year at home, I headed to Asia for another year-long adventure, where I met Michelle.

Now, I find myself following another woman across a different ocean, this time to Budapest, which is one of the last places I expected to find myself.  In a logic driven life, I’d not be here.  From years living abroad though, I’ve learned to embrace a life of curiosity and feeling, to ignore the ladders and the pillars (finding happiness is not a climb, it’s more about rolling down the right hills), and not to worry if my choices are setbacks.   Somehow, I’m engaged to marry a beautiful Norwegian and will spend four years in Hungary while she finishes he veterinary program.  I’m facing a forced career change, for with no Hungarian, few contacts, and absolutely no business, it would be impossible to fall back upon my prior dependencies.

I don’t know what I’ll do , but writing and English teaching are about all a native speaker can do in Budapest.   I’m signed up for a CELTA course, which will qualify me to teach.  After that month, who knows what  will happen next.  At least it will be impossible to accept contentment.