Pick a new theme song for myself each week or so

Blister in the sun by Violent Femmes

Where is my mind, by the Pixies

OK, in a vain attempt to make up for the “six months or so” that went by since my last entry, a multiple pick.
(as I feed my iPod)

These songs have meant so much to me in so many ways I don’t think I can even explain:
June of 44, Of Information & Belief
Jim O’Rourke, Fuzzy Sun
Tortoise, Ry Cooder

But I do need to dance and go wild, so I added these two to the bunch:
!!! (Chk Chk Chk), Me and Giuliani Down By The Schoolyard
Liars, Mr You’re On Fire Mr

Gees, I’m SOOO looking forward to their gig next week in Amsterdam!

In the meanwhile, I jump and frolic around in anticipation.

in a wild live jam session—which I was lucky enough to see twice. Boy, do I miss them...

(err, it’s instrumental!)

In Liverpool
On Sunday
No traffic
On the avenue
The light is pale and thin
Like you
No sound, down
In this part of town

Except for the boy in the belfry
He’s crazy, he’s throwing himself
Down from the top of the tower
Like a hunchback in heaven
He’s ringing the bells in the church
For the last half an hour
He sounds like he’s missing something
Or someone that he knows he can’t
Have now and if he isn’t
I certainly am

Homesick for a clock
That told the same time
sometimes you made no sense to me
if you lie on the ground
in somebody’s arms
you’ll probably swallow some of their history

And the boy in the belfry
He’s crazy, he’s throwing himself
Down from the top of the tower
Like a hunchback in heaven
He’s ringing the bells in the church
For the last half an hour
He sounds like he’s missing something
Or someone that he knows he can’t
Have now and if he isn’t
I certainly am

I’ll be the girl who sings for my supper
You’ll be the monk whose forehead is high
He’ll be the man who’s already working
Spreading a memory all through the sky

In Liverpool
On Sunday
No reason to even remember you now

Except for the boy in the belfry
He’s crazy, he’s throwing himself
Down from the top of the tower
Like a hunchback in heaven
He’s ringing the bells in the church
For the last half an hour
He sounds like he’s missing something
Or someone that he knows he can’t
Have now and if he isn’t
I certainly am

In Liverpool
In Liverpool

I fell in love again
all things go, all things go
drove to Chicago
all things know, all things know
we sold our clothes to the state
I don’t mind, I don’t mind
I made a lot of mistakes
in my mind, in my mind

you came to take us
all things go, all things go
to recreate us
all things grow, all things grow
we had our mindset
all things know, all things know
you had to find it
all things go, all things go

I drove to New York
in a van, with my friend
we slept in parking lots
I don’t mind, I don’t mind
I was in love with the place
in my mind, in my mind
I made a lot of mistakes
in my mind, in my mind

you came to take us
all things go, all things go
to recreate us
all things grow, all things grow
we had our mindset
all things know, all things know
you had to find it
all things go, all things go

if I was crying
in the van, with my friend
it was for freedom
from myself and from the land
I made a lot of mistakes
I made a lot of mistakes
I made a lot of mistakes
I made a lot of mistakes

you came to take us
all things go, all things go
to recreate us
all things grow, all things grow
we had our mindset
all things know, all things know
you had to find it
all things go, all things go

you came to take us
all things go, all things go
to recreate us
all things grow, all things grow
we had our mindset
(I made a lot of mistakes)
all things know, all things know
(I made a lot of mistakes)
you had to find it
(I made a lot of mistakes)
all things go, all things go
(I made a lot of mistakes)

[Well, yes, don’t know why, but the orchestration depicts me perfectly]

Like many musical snobs, who consider ‘pop’ music an abomination and a plague (A POX on the Houses of Pop and Rap, say I!), music with words that I can understand irritates me. Words distract from the music itself, and reduce it to a supporting role; it’s music for non-musicians, perhaps even for the unmusical.

And like any generalisation, it is as idiotic as the subject it tries to typify. [See what I mean?]

So now we come to my theme song for this week: Body and Soul. Not just any Body and Soul, but a jazz rendition so wonderfully crafted after the sense of the words that the words have become superfluous. Yet the words had to exist for Coleman Hawkins to interpret the music as he has.

Have a look before you have a listen:

_You’re making me blue
All that you do
Seems unfair
You try not to hear
Turn a deaf ear
To my prayer
It seems you don’t want to see
What you are doing to me
My arms are waiting to caress you
And to my heart they long to press you, sweet heart_

_My heart is sad and lonely
For you I cry
For you, dear, only
I tell you I mean it
I’m all for you
Body and soul_

_I spend my days in longing
And wondering it’s me you’re wronging
Why haven’t you seen it
I’m all for you
Body and soul_

_I can’t believe it
It hard to conceive it
That you’d turn away romance
Are you pretending
Don’t say it’s the ending
I wish I could have one more change to prove, dear
My life a hell you’re making
You know I’m yours for just the taking
I’d gladly surrender
Myself to you
Body and soul_

_Life’s dreary for me
Days seem to be long as years
I’ve looked for the sun
But can see none
Through my tears
Your heart must be like a stone
To leave me like this alone
When you could make my life worth living
By taking what I’m set on giving, sweet heart_

_My heart is sad and lonely
For you I cry
For you, dear, only
I tell you I mean it
I’m all for you
Body and soul_

Every once in a while, it’s nice to be wrong.

A friend of mine has just left his wife and kids after 30 years of marriage. No clues given beforehand, no hints at discontentment – according to the soon-to-be ex-wife – just “I’ve got an important announcement …” and two hours later he’d packed his things and was gone.

BOOM

Seems he’s been doing the right thing, the responsible adult thing, the self-abrogation thing since about the age of 18 months, and needed to cut loose. And being so desperate, and so profoundly inexperienced at ‘cutting loose’, he met another woman, fell in love, and cut loose BIG time. As though with one enormous act he tried to compensate for all those years of never cutting loose.

Of course, old habits of being responsible don’t just evaporate overnight. So he’s replaced feeling responsible with feeling guilty. MEGA-guilty. Life-lamingly guilty.

But where are the clowns?Quick, send in the clowns.Don’t bother, they’re here.