Last night, thanks to a totally unexpected and completely solid move by my friend Ed, I got to see one of my favorite bands of all time perform live, long after I had resigned to never being able to do that. I had to leave work early and haul ass three-and-some-odd hours down the interstate to get there in time, but I did and it was incredible. I got to see some old friends and…
Favorite song of the album, followed closely by the song about bestiality. But my favorite overwrought metaphor by far is the one in TKO. Below the belt, through the chest, to the dome? Brilliant.
What I am currently dancing to in my kitchen. THROWBACK!
The first time I heard this song, I sobbed. The second time I heard this song, I sobbed. The third time I heard this song … you get the idea.
I get too excited when my art worlds collide. Since The Knife’s new album came out a few months ago, I’ve been absentmindedly turning the phrase “I’m telling you stories — trust me” over and over and over in my mind, like a cough drop of sorts. Savoring its succinct sweetness and familiarity. And finally, fucking finally, it dawned on me the other day why that phrase instantly took hold of me. Oh, you know,…
Sometimes when I’m feeling particularly wistful, I think that it would be nice to get married someday — don’t laugh! It’s possible that someone might actually consider me suitable for legally enforced, lifelong partnership some day before I die! — and if that were to happen, I would want this song to be the first song we danced to as a married couple, be it on a floor of grass or sand or wooden planks…
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