I don’t quite understand the obsession with the music. I understand lyrics more. I’ve dated a few musicians, which I only partially recommend, and their babble about them being hit by the music in very private places sometimes grates on my nerves.
(Not to mention some of their music grating on my nerves. Death metal? Eh, sometimes bearable and also amusing to sing along to. The Pixies over and over and over? And over? In a warbling, not-Frank Black voice, but more like Billy Corgan? Less bearable. Rap? Never bearable.)
I’m a wordy person. I listen to the lyrics. If I can’t relate to them, the music isn’t too likely to be able to sway me. Some musicians do not understand this. I remember that I’ve tried to have this conversation, the importance of the meshing of sound and lyrics, with J many times.
Case in point, a couple of weeks ago, song – Pink Bullets by The Shins. Yes, I posted the lyrics here whilst being moody. The bovine reference is for the video in which a very sad cow sings into the camera at the end. At least, my interpretation is that it is a cow. It’s a very strange origami animation if I remember correctly. Nonetheless, it’s glorious.
“ ‘To finally fly apart, we had to cut them off.’ Like I had to! Get it? It’s relevant to ME!” I wail and proceed to flounce into the bedroom, throwing myself sobbing onto the bed.
“But that thing about tossing the ramparts?” J yells after me, “That doesn’t make any sense whatsoever!”
“You are NOT a sad cow sir!”