Aside from theorizing on gravity, cialis casually inventing calculus in his spare time and penning the Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica—the treatise that would revolutionize mathematics and physics while setting the foundation for Einstein’s Theory of Relativity—Newton was also borderline insane, as all geniuses inevitably are. Newton was obsessed with our ocular faculties, and spent years lecturing on the refraction of light and its potential use in the crackpot study of alchemy. He was so interested in how humans see that he inserted a large bodkin needle into his eye socket in that little space between the eye and the bridge of the nose just to see what would happen. He then prodded the back of his eye with this needle and apparently caused himself to see a psychedelic array of colors in concentric circles. After this experiment he is quoted as saying, “Whoa dude, that was trippy.” Newton was obsessed with ghosts and deeply invested in uncovering certain occult beliefs, especially in the realms of eschatology and end of the world theories. He also was a precursor to Lord Voldemort in that he ardently sought out the Philosopher’s Stone so that he could discover the Elixir of Life and circumvent death. In other words, Isaac Newton was a medieval hippy.
Some of my smartest friends are also strange, stoner hippies who harbor devout beliefs in conspiracy theories and fringe philosophical doctrines. These are the types of people that can extrapolate on Zeno’s first use of the concept of infinity in explaining the Viscous Infinite Regress in metaphysics while still maintaining an ardent belief that life was brought to Earth billions of years ago by highly intelligent aliens qua the blockbuster film and prequel to Alien, Prometheus. They are absolutely insanely smart, but they are still absolutely insane. If Isaac Newton were alive today, he would easily fit into this category of brilliant but ridiculous thinkers. These are the same people who listen to Wooden Shjips or Quicksilver Messenger Service and were obsessed at the dawn of their pubescent years with the Antiquity iconography of Jim Morrison and the tonal universes Pink Floyd conjured up on albums like A Saucer Full of Secrets and The Piper at the Gates of Dawn; you know, the early stuff with Syd Barrett before they got too commercial…man.
So, if Sir Isaac Newton were a twenty-three year old living in Allston at the dawn of 2013—having just discarded his Mayan Apocalypse theories—what local shows would he go to? He wouldn’t want a temperamental, brooding sound. He couldn’t get off on up-beat, laid-back reggae—he would see that as trying to tune out without turning on. He would be downright afraid of neo-punk bands with anarchy symbols stitched on dilapidated leather jackets. To Newton, such crowds would be dropping out of the mix just for the hell of it. No, Newton would need something a little more out there. He would embrace the darker consciousness-bending sounds of Quilt and their throwback sensibilities to early psychedelic harmonies and jangling guitars in songs like “Young Gold” or “Utopian Canyon,” as well as their electro-folk sing-a-long jams “Milo” and “Penobska Oakwalk.” Imagine Newton having his epiphany about gravity when he hears the lyrics:
We always seem, seem to play with confidence /
And oh the bricks they fall /
They bricks they fall on Penobska /
Envision him getting lost in the tapestry of interwoven sounds that Quilt brings to the stage. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to insert a bodkin needle into his eye to see strange concentric psychedelic circles while at a Quilt show, but I am sure he would anyways. He would reach transcendence in the multi-layered, reverb-driven passageways of the labyrinth that is “Cowboys in the Void.”
Newton would fit right in at a Quilt concert. Rather, he would partake in the ancient alchemical ceremony that is a Quilt experience…man.