Song Analysis #26: Camera Obscura – Other Towns and Cities

Song Analysis, , , , ,

Title: ‘Other Towns and Cities’
Where to find it: ‘My Maudlin Career’ (2009, 4AD)
Performed by: Camera Obscura
Words by: Traceyanne Campbell

Female singer/songwriters have quite a bit of a mountain to climb if they are to win me over. I give them all a listen and once-over for TGTF, but generally, my writers know if I don’t feel strongly one way or another for one of them, I’m likely to palm the release off to someone else. (I know, bad editor, bad editor!) It goes back to my training, if you can call it that, back in school choir, when for a time I was the de facto lead alto, at least for the purposes of practise ahead of performances. Our teacher with an unpronounceable, as well as easily misspelled Italian surname, known more easily to all of us as “The Scozz”, often called me down to the front of the class where I would have to demonstrate the proper way to sing whatever passage was being taught that class. At the time, at the tender age of 13, when I was much, much mousier than I am now, I was so embarrassed.

I might be a little taller now than I was then, but it’s pretty damn intimidating as a slight girl of 13 years to be stood in front of a group of 40 or so girls, many of whom who were ahead of my year (I was a freshman), singing lines from the ‘Lacrimosa’ of Mozart’s ‘Requiem’ that meant nothing to me except how they sounded in song, and they sounded good. There is something very strange when you’re singing quite loudly in a large hall, the rest of the room entirely quiet, the echoes of your voice bouncing off the walls and back at you. Now I can look back at that time fondly; it’s this time of year that I remember singing lead on ‘O Holy Night’ when Christmastime came. I’m not a religious person at all, but when I was asked to sing that song, I could feel the power of that song in my voice and thought (and not in a cocky way at all because at age 13, is it even possible to be cocky?), hey, I’m pretty good at this.

It grates on my ears when I hear a female singer is making money for shrieking and shouting (yes, I’m looking at you, Florence Welch), because I hold them to a higher standard. Even though it was on an amateur scale, like all of them, I used to sing, and it was then when I learned there’s an art to singing, just like there is an art to songwriting. Traceyanne Campbell is one of the few female singer/songwriters who I think does both things very well. She’s an extremely thoughtful songwriter, and she’s fantastic as expressing pure emotion, even if her meanings are hidden behind a sunny pop melody for people too lazy to look at the words.

I bought my copy of ‘My Maudlin Career’ while in Boston on holiday. I’d escaped for a few days from the office and hopped on a plane to go see my friends Friendly Fires play a show sponsored by Nylon Magazine. I purchased the album at the famous Newbury Street location of Newbury Comics, where I also saw the xx do an in-store, well before they became massive in America. My hotel room at the quirky Charlesmark Hotel, smack dab in the middle of town, had an amazing sound system, so my first listen to the album from start to finish was done while I was stretched out lazily on the bed, basking in the warmth of being inside while the December winter wind howled outside. I have these great memories of my first trip to Boston, but I feel like some of the innocence of that first time has been lost: it shocked me to the core when the Boston Marathon bombing took place in April 2013, as the Charlesmark marks the finish line of the marathon on Boylston Street. Boston was never ‘my’ city in the sense that unlike some of my friends, I’ve never lived there or even went to university there, but it is tied up with my music writing memories and when that terrible day came, it felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.

Some have pointed out that ‘Other Towns and Cities’ sticks out like a sore thumb, a far too sad addition to the album. But I think the placement of the song, right before bright, horn-filled album closer ‘Honey in the Sun’, was done on purpose to take some of the edge off. Because there is no other way to put this, ‘Other Towns and Cities’ is just sad. It feels like it’s been sung in a very stream of consciousness way, of a woman looking back on her many feelings for a man who meant so very much to her in an important time of her life, but she now has to come to grips that he is gone and things are no longer the same. What makes this song great is that even with the overwhelming sadness, in less than 4 minutes the song comes to what I feel is a hopeful conclusion. Some films can’t even get that together in over an hour.

First, the words:

Verse 1
Drinking whisky reminds me of you
You’re the first in ages to have gotten through
I know you mean well, I know that you do
But sooner or later you’re going to break me in two

Were my pupils dilated?
Could you tell that I liked you?
We were so unlikely
You flirt with an ex, put me to the test
Still I want to tell you that I love you the best

Verse 2
We turned the radiators on, and there was no way back
Did you know you had the Plough star trail on your back?
Your voice is quiet, but I need it loud
In the night you went up and the morning you went down

It’s like you to forbid me to say goodnight
I had your brown eyes and limbs on me through the night
These words are weak and to your dislike
You’ll never believe them so I guess it’s all right

Chorus
Do you like the view I show you?
I say look at the light
Do you still miss the way that I hold you?
In other towns and cities
Who’s holding you tonight?

Verse 3
The dresses came out of the bag then the tears came
Drinking has never been the same again
I shared your trouble, I shared your weight
I lost it with you today

We don’t share a birthday, we do share a sign
And we shared something, or was it in my mind?
There was talk of love and how I need it back
I’d be better for you than that last love of mine

Chorus
Do you like the view I show you?
I say look at the light
Do you still miss the way that I hold you?
In other towns and cities
Who’s holding you tonight?
You’re in another town or city
You mean nothing to me tonight.

Now, the analysis:

‘Other Towns and Cities’ itself is a pretty beguiling title, because it’s not obvious at all from just the name what the song is about. It becomes very clear, through a couple short listens, that she’s referring to a globetrotting former lover whose world travels takes him to so many different places. In the first half of the song, she’s wondering where he is, what he’s doing, and most importantly, who he’s with. That right there is and can be crippling stuff for someone very lonesome. But all is not lost, as she begins a change of heart at the conclusion of the song. If you have listened to ‘My Maudlin Career’, you will have noticed this is a major, major development after ‘You Told a Lie’, which tells of a liar who broke her heart and even though her mind knows better, she can’t help still be attracted to him, still wanting him. Frankly, I don’t know what’s worse.

For my personal ease, I rearranged the lyrics to fit the rhythm of the song and how Campbell sings it. In the first four lines of verse 1, she says how drinking reminds me of this man. He must have been very special, for “You’re the first in ages to have gotten through”, which I read two different ways: either he was the first man to really ring her bell and “got through” to her, and/or there was some reason she couldn’t be in a relationship because she was emotionally unavailable to be in one, and he was able to barrel through those walls she had up. In “I know you mean well, I know that you do,” she seems to be giving him an out, saying whatever happened to cause them not to be together anymore wasn’t his fault, the often typical thinking of people who have been dumped. But then she sings, “But sooner or later you’re going to break me in two”. I like the way this was written, because it’s not clear at this point in the song where he is or what has happened, but she makes it so that you know he’s been doing something that will rip her apart. Clear pain.

In the next three lines, she sounds like she’s having this flirty imaginary conversation with him. “Were my pupils dilated? / Could you tell that I liked you?” She was smitten from the start. She’s trying to be adorable, and it comes across as adorable. “We were so unlikely”: she admits that on paper, they didn’t seem to be a good match, but what is not said and does not need to be said is that for the time they were together, they were very good together. Then she comes back for a jabbing moment of pain again: “You flirt with an ex, put me to the test.” It’s not obvious if his flirting happened when they were together, or she’s witnessing it now after their relationship is over, but in case you haven’t experienced someone you love flirting with someone else (even though I can’t imagine anyone who hasn’t), it hurts like hell. Still, though, she wants him to know she’s trying to be okay with it: “Still I want to tell you that I love you the best.” Even when she sees this flirting unfolding in front of her, because she’s still in love with him, she’s trying to smooth things over, saying it’s fine and it’s okay, because in her mind, blinded by love, it doesn’t matter who he’s flirting with: her feelings for him transcends all.

The lines of verse 2 introduce us to how they became intimate. The heat built, and they couldn’t ignore it any longer: “We turned the radiators on, and there was no way back”. Campbell then does something unusual in saying, “Did you know you had the Plough star trail on your back?” The Plough star trail is a reference to the Irish’s term “the Starry Plough” for what us Americans call the Big Dipper constellation, a collection of stars used for thousands of years by navigators as the guide. In essence, what she’s saying is he may not have been aware of it, but to her, he was her guiding star, someone very important to her life. The next two lines are less obvious. First is “Your voice is quiet, but I need it loud”: I wondered if this meant that they were engaged in a clandestine relationship and his voice was quiet because he didn’t want anyone to know about, such as the one in Til Tuesday’s ‘Voices Carry’, when what she really needed was for him to be public about their love and not be ashamed of it.

Then comes “In the night you went up and the morning you went down”, which some fans are saying indicates her lover was either on drugs and/or had depression, which led him to be “up”, happy, and high with her at night, but yet in the morning when he woke up, he was back down from the high and felt depressed again. These theories make sense, because in the next line, “It’s like you to forbid me to say goodnight”, he was high and was feeling so good being around her, he didn’t want her to leave, or maybe even he didn’t want her to go to sleep because he wanted to have sex. The latter of this feeds into “I had your brown eyes and limbs on me through the night”, though the way this is sung, it does not sound like she put up a fight and wanted to be there. “These words are weak and to your dislike” seem to say she was talking to him, possibly about his depression, and but he refused to listen to her wisdom, and the next line, “You’ll never believe them so I guess it’s all right”. Her tone here has shifted. She has resigned herself to the fact that he wasn’t listening to what she had to say, how she was trying to help. She’s trying, as hard as it might be, to disengage.

And now we are at the first chorus, which is loaded with meaning. “Do you like the view I show you?”: the view could be taken two ways, either literally her own beauty as a woman, or “the view” she offered him, trying to help him out of his depression, imploring “I say look at the light”, instead of the darkness. “Do you still miss the way that I hold you?”: this tells us she held him not just because they were lovers, but because they shared emotions. She understood him and wanted to be there for him. But he’s gone now and she’s wondering aloud, “In other towns and cities / Who’s holding you tonight?” Who has replaced her in his life? I think when someone important has left you, you try and be strong and not think about this person, but in reality, when you are lonely and sad, who is the first person to come into your mind? The person/people you loved who you can no longer have.

But she appears to have got on with her life, as this is her wedding day at the start of verse 3: “The dresses came out of the bag then the tears came”. She can’t drink without thinking about him (“Drinking has never been the same again”) and what personal things they shared (“I shared your trouble, I shared your weight”), but “I lost it with you today”, this is a turning point. I like astrology, so I thought the start of the next four lines, “We don’t share a birthday, we do share a sign”, was a nice nod; though it rhymes nicely with the next and important line, word-wise it’s awkward.

She is trying to rationalise what happened, “And we shared something, or was it in my mind?”, wondering if she had misunderstood what they meant to each other. Crippling. She’s having this internal battle in her head, asking herself how it all went wrong. Could she have misunderstood the signs? Maybe he was never really in love with her? “There was talk of love and how I need it back”: there came a point where she realised the love she needed from him wasn’t there, and she “needed” her love back so she could go on and live her own life. However, the next line is so confusing: “I’d be better for you than that last love of mine.” She’s no longer with her last love (who wasn’t him), but she’s saying she’s learned from her past relationships and is adamant she would be better for him than the her last love, who I presume she learnt from and so is now miles away a better significant other. It’s sung in this grand drawl but because it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense here, it’s kind of a throwaway line to me.

The second chorus is the same as the first, except for the addition of two very important lines: “You’re in another town or city / You mean nothing to me tonight.” That’s the great take-home message of this song: even if it’s just a small bit, we all harbor memories of those we loved in our hearts. They never truly leave us. And that’s okay, because even if we’re not sure when it will happen, the wounds of that relationship from the memory of a man who once meant so much to her will heal, and she can live again.

This is just her first step in accepting that in this point in time, he has no significance in her life. Whether or not she actually believes it in her heart, he is now far away and should not mean anything to her anymore. A painful lesson, but something we all must learn in life. I’m trying to learn this myself, but it’s so hard for me: it’s entirely against my nature not to care for someone who means so much to me, even if the other person doesn’t care for me the same way. I can’t turn off my love, even though everyone who wants the best for me in my life says I need to. I guess there is always a kernel of hope in me that the other person will come around and I will one day get that love back in kind.

So that is my new year’s wish for you all: go into 2014 by closing the book on the people who have hurt you. So you don’t let them hurt you anymore.

Lastly, the song, live for a Pitchfork TV spot, starring Traceyanne Campbell’s fragile vocals, backed simply by Kenny McKeeve on guitar.

Bass Line #6: Led Zeppelin – What Is and What Should Never Be

Bass Line of the Week, , , , , ,

A note: I’ve been neglecting this category as of late, but I’m going to try and post more here, as I don’t want any of you thinking I’ve somehow lost my love for the bass. Hardly. I’ve just run out of free time to write, but I hope to rectify this going forward into 2014.

A lot of my friends including John, my right-hand man at TGTF, were surprised to learn I am a diehard Led Zeppelin fan. I think it comes with the territory of growing up with an older brother: if you’re a music fan when you’re little and your older sibling(s) are listening to good music, there is no question, you will pick this music up through osmosis.

I had to be about the strangest 8-year girl in my class: when asked who was my favourite band, I would say Led Zeppelin, which would bring horror to the teachers and a look of confusion to the other students. Looking back at it now, I have to laugh: at the time, I didn’t understand the sexual innuendo splayed all over my still favourite album ‘Physical Graffiti’ (and most of their music, eh?), so I had no idea why I was getting funny looks from the adults!

What’s odd is that years later, my brother doesn’t even listen to them anymore – I’m the owner of a bunch of his Led Zep CDs that he no longer wanted when he moved out – but I’ve stayed true. My collection of miscellaneous Led Zeppelin paraphernalia – CDs, books, magazines, backpack patches – is only rivalled by my Beatles collection.

As a bass player, I’m very impressed with what John Paul Jones’ musicianship while he was in Led Zeppelin. Naturally, it was the charisma of singer Robert Plant and the showmanship (and to some extent, his just plain weirdness in his interest in the occult) of Jimmy Page that made the two of them the stars of the band. While the band still existed, even John Bonham had a higher profile than Jones, simply because of his drunken antics. But at the same time, I think it speaks to Jones’ own security in his talent he never felt he needed to step out and be the star or a star of Led Zeppelin. He did so much in the band, being probably the best multi-instrumentalist of the last 50 years, as well as being an amazing composer. Some people seem to forget this in light of the legendary onstage pomp of Page and Plant. So in my own little way, this is my homage to the great unsung hero of Led Zeppelin.

There are tons of examples of great bass lines from their back catalogue. The obvious one would be ‘Whole Lotta Love’; it came as a great shock to me when I began playing bass that, whoa, wait a minute, THAT line is the bass? It’s not Jimmy Page? Seriously? But I don’t want to be obvious today. No, I’ve been listening to a lot of ‘Led Zeppelin II’ lately, owing to my need to get out some, er, stress in my working life and ‘II’ is brilliant for this purpose. ‘What Is and What Should Never Be’ is the chillest of the chill, until you get to the chorus, and it’s what Jones does before that point as the perfect foil to Plant’s wandering voice that I love. I’ve never even attempted to learn this song, because, well, you’ll see below watching the cover in the embed below, it’s so fast. For those people who say bass isn’t hard, think again.

Below I’ve got for you an extremely good, near perfect bass cover I found, along with the band’s performance of the song at the Royal Albert Hall in 1970. Oh, if I was only alive back then to see them live!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=00eN1t4iKCo

Song Analysis #25: Mystery Jets – Greatest Hits

Song Analysis, , , ,

Title: ‘Greatest Hits’
Where to find it: ‘Radlands’ (2012, Rough Trade)
Performed by: Mystery Jets
Words by: presumably Blaine Harrison

It took me a while to discover Mystery Jets. They’re not a band that gets played at all on American radio, so it was not until I started listening to BBC Radio religiously that I heard about them. I’m so glad I did, though. The best word I can think of to describe them is ‘cheeky’: even though they’re older, wiser, and more mature than when they began in the early Noughties, yet they’ve never lost their youth. They’re still witty and funny, and there are so many songs of theirs I keep close to my heart. Their 2010 album ‘Serotonin’ still gets to me every time I queue it up, as it has such personal meaning for me; when I did my own answers for the Quickfire Questions 2 years ago, I didn’t hesitate to list it as the album I’d bring with me when I leave this earth. But I chose this particular song because even though I wasn’t a huge fan of their 2012 album ‘Radlands’ – in which they tried to go ‘American’ for this one; just ask any member of Noah and the Whale, being ‘called American’ by British media if you’re English is not a compliment – ‘Greatest Hits’ sticks out as a hugely poppy song, yet there’s a hell lot of underlying meaning in here for music lovers, and it’s sung in such a cute way too.

For me, the way they began is one that is so heart-warming. Blaine has leg weakness from spina bifida, which I’ve had to explain to people why he’s sitting down when he’s playing guitar onstage. It seems strange to me to have to do this explaining; he’s an artist, he should be able to do what he wants, right? But even though I’ve only met him once (frankly, I don’t know how I didn’t cry when it happened) and we’re not close friends or anything, there is a special kinship I have with him, because he’s not letting a medical disability from stopping him from what he wants to do in life. He’s not letting it get him down. If anything, it’s probably made him more ambitious. Good for him!

As a child, Blaine could have said to himself, “this is my lot in life”, and just given up, but he chose not to. A big part of why he didn’t, and he has admitted this himself in interviews, is the support he has gotten from his father Henry. A while ago, I’d read this Sunday Times article that was Henry’s personal account of how the Mystery Jets began. He explained that he helped his son early on with his band, even playing bass in the new group, because he wanted his son to have an outlet for his creativity and not think about his physical impairment. And that is what the best parents with children who have any sort of medical / physical / mental condition: they support their kids in whatever endeavour they decide to pursue. They don’t say, “that’s dangerous” or “you shouldn’t do that because it’s not appropriate for someone with your condition” and lock their children in their bedrooms. Of course, there are plenty of examples of kids and adults with medical issues who have gone on to excel in the fields they’ve chosen and seemed to have thrived rather than ‘suffer’ from any problems the not-so-supportive parents insisted they would have, whether real or perceived. But naturally with the music connection, it’s Blaine Harrison and his story that touches the most deeply.

First, the words:

Verse 1
You can take ‘The Lexicon of Love’ away, but I’m keeping ‘Remain in Light’
You can take away ‘It’s a Shame About Ray’, but I’m holding on to ‘Country Life’ (ohhhh oh)
You can keep ‘No Need to Argue’, and I’ll keep ‘The Aeroplane Over the Sea’
But hold on to ‘The Boy with the Arab Strap’, ’cause I’m holding on to ‘Village Green’

Pre-chorus
I don’t know if the knot just needs untangling, ’cause the tapes get stuck all the time
Either way, I’m keeping ‘Double Nickels on the Dime’

Chorus
These were our greatest hits (shalalalalalalala shalalalala)
The best of me and you (shalalalalalalala shalalalala)
These were our greatest hits (shalalalalalalala shalalalala)
The best of me and you

Verse 2
I still remember buying you ‘Band on the Run’ on the first day that we kissed (whoo-ooo-ooo)
But you always did prefer ‘McCartney I’ because it reminded you of being a kid
No way you’re having ‘This Nation’s Saving Grace’, you only listen to it when you’re pissed
But when you sober up, it’s always “Why the fuck are you still listening to Mark E. Smith?”

Pre-chorus
I don’t know if the knot just needs untangling or if we forgot which way’s up and which way is down
But still the tape keeps going round and round

Chorus
These were our greatest hits (shalalalalalala shalalalalala)
The best of me and you (shalalalalalala shalalalala)
The best of me and you
Of me and you

Outro
Still the tape keeps going round and round
The tape keeps going round

These were our greatest hits (shalalalalalalala shalalalala)
The best of me and you (shalalalalalalala shalalalala)
Our Desert Island Discs (shalalalalalalala shalalalala)
The best of me and you (shalalalalalalala shalalalala)

Now, the analysis:

I suppose I’m lucky that I’ve never lived with anyone I’ve loved: I’ve saved myself the heartache of having to split up combined record collections, which is the crux of ‘Greatest Hits’. For someone like me for whom music is my whole life and mine can be told through the music I own, I can’t imagine anything worse than two people who have clearly bonded over music having to do exactly that when they break up. The title ‘Greatest Hits’ I think is misleading, but I think this was done on purpose, because ‘These Were Our Greatest Hits’ sounds cumbersome and potentially off-putting to the casual liner note reader, and worse, to a music fan, it sounds pretty depressing, doesn’t it?

This song means so much more when you read the lyrics in the two verses. He specifies which albums he’s willing to leave behind to her and which ones he adamantly refuses to give up. He also remembers the albums of their time together. I love the actual naming of the albums happening here: it’s like a knowing nudge from a fellow music lover, the wink wink, nudge nudge that happens between friends. First off, let’s look at the albums mentioned in verse 1, along with the choices he’s making.

You can take ‘The Lexicon of Love’ away, but I’m keeping ‘Remain in Light’
He’s leaving behind ABC’s ‘The Lexicon of Love’, a ’80s New Wave pop album about love. This is also the album that contains the immortal ‘The Look of Love, Part One’, aka a perfect example of ’80s love song cheese. Seems appropriate to not want this album if you’re breaking up with someone. In exchange, he’s keeping Talking Heads’ ‘Remain in Light’. I love Talking Heads, and this is the album that contains ‘Crosseyed and Painless’, ‘The Great Curve’, and ‘Houses in Motion’, so I’m the wrong person to ask about this, because in my opinion, there’s no contest here.

You can take away ‘It’s a Shame About Ray’, but I’m holding on to ‘Country Life’
He’s giving up the Lemonheads for Roxy Music. For me, this is another no-brainer, though I suppose others that grew up in the ’90s might have more trouble deciding. That said, it’s an interesting battle, since the Lemonheads represent the ’90s alt-rock movement in America, and Roxy represents ’70s glam rock, two entirely different genres. I got into Roxy Music through my love of Duran Duran, though I’m not as big of a fan to know if the “ohhhh oh” the Jets popped after the end of this line means anything. Read on for more…

You can keep ‘No Need to Argue’, and I’ll keep ‘The Aeroplane Over the Sea’
The Cranberries vs. Neutral Milk Hotel: Irish indie / rock vs. American indie / folk. Hmm. No pun intended, I’m neutral on this battle. Jeff Mangum’s cult of followers is a mystery to me, though I think in the song, this line is intended to indicate that by taking the more lyrically dense album and leaving behind ‘fluff’, the music is more important to him than the girl or the relationship, even if it’s painful as hell at this moment.

But hold on to ‘The Boy with the Arab Strap’, ’cause I’m holding on to ‘Village Green’
‘Village Green’ of course refers to ‘The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society’ from 1968. Again, I think this is a loaded choice: he’s letting her keep Belle and Sebastian‘s third album – Stuart Murdoch being one of the great and prolific pop love song songwriters of recent memory – and taking for himself the last Kinks’ album, as if it’s a parting blow.

In verse 2, things go from what seems to be jovial to argumentative. The first half is Paul McCartney related: he recalls buying her ‘Band on the Run’, aka Paul’s most successful post-Beatles album, on the first night that they kissed. That’s a lovely memory. The added “whoo-ooo-ooo” is a cheeky nod to ‘Band on the Run’ track ‘Jet’. He also remembers that even though ‘Band on the Run’ was a great album, “you always did prefer ‘McCartney I’ because it reminded you of being a kid”. ‘McCartney I’ is actually ‘McCartney’, the first album Paul did after he left the Beatles, but I guess for clarification purposes since there was a later ‘McCartney II’, it’s referred to as ‘I’ here. I’m thinking there is a reason why he remembers this particular preference of his former love.’McCartney’ represented the start of things for Macca, whereas ‘Band on the Run’ represented the heights of Wings: by remembering these two albums that are Paul McCartney’s and also link the two of them, he is reminiscing about how it all started between the two of them and how innocent it was.

But this feeling is momentary, as it then goes sour. His memories head to Mark E. Smith, the famously curmudgeonly leader of the Fall. He’s arguing with her, saying she has no business keeping ‘This Nation’s Saving Grace’ because she only wants to listen to it when she’s drunk, and presumably in an ill enough mood to want to emote with Smith, but when she’s not drunk, she’s wondering aloud – and in an argumentative fashion – why he even has the record. There is also a mention of ‘Double Nickels on the Dime’, an ’80s punk record by the Minutemen. I misheard this as “either way I’m keeping double nickels on the dial”, as if he was standing around alone at a jukebox, putting tokens in, feeling lonely. To be honest, I like my misheard lyric better.

In both versions of the chorus, their relationship, rather appropriately enough for two great lovers of music, is being compared to a tape that can no longer be played. I don’t know why it’s taken so long for someone to put this into a song. Everyone else seems to like using the “close the book” / “close the door” imagery on the end of a relationship, and I find this far better and appropriate for a child like me who came of age on cassettes, not vinyl or CDs. Instead of just saying they are over and the connection is gone, this literally explains their relationship as being dysfunctional.

“I don’t know if the knot just needs untangling, ’cause the tapes get stuck all the time”: I can’t tell if this is pure confusion over what has happened, or he’s resigned himself to the fact that the tapes get stuck, that there is miscommunication and/or communication between them has been halted altogether. But in the second chorus, he changes the second part of the line to “if we forgot which way’s up and which way is down”. Tape players, like most electronic devices, cannot work when they’re upended and this again shows that their tapes, their life together, cannot continue to be used for their intended purpose.

As I mentioned at the start of the analysis, “there were our greatest hits” would have been my choice for the song title, as this is what the song is about. He’s remembering the life the two of them had together, and people who like music think of everything in their lives in terms of music: you remember what you were listening to when milestones, good or bad, happened. I think the words “these were our greatest hits / the best of me and you” are so sweet: even if this was written at the moment they broke up or at least he was feeling horrible that the relationship was over, eventually all of us, though it takes some of us longer to get there (*cough*me*cough*), we can eventually get to a point where listening to those songs that remind of people we once loved won’t hurt anymore and we can look back at the times we had with those people fondly.

A final note why this song is so personal to me: Desert Island Discs is something all Brits are familiar with, because you guys grew up with it. I didn’t. The only reason I know about it is because on Saturday mornings, my father would take me to the one Tower Records in town so he could go shopping for new music or gear. But for me, the one thing I really looked forward to when we went was picking up a copy of their magazine Pulse! It was a free magazine, and there were always huge stacks of it by the door, you couldn’t miss them or their bright red colour covers. It was something I could hold in my hands and flip through while in bed, poring over the album and equipment reviews. I remember thinking, wow, what would it be like to be a rock journalist and get to write for Pulse! With them sitting there by the door, everyone must read it, surely? Writing for them would be something, wouldn’t it?

In the back of the issue, there was always a section called Desert Island Discs, and it is exactly what you imagine it would be: famous American people listing what albums they’d bring with them to a deserted island. It wasn’t until much, much later when the internet happened that I realised this Desert Island Discs thing has been going on for *years* on BBC Radio 4 and it wasn’t Pulse! who had come up with the idea for the feature. (My mother has this running line about “most things that are good seem to come from Britain” and this would be one of them!) Though I did not intend them to be when I started the feature, the Quickfire Questions on TGTF now act like a small nod to my father. I hate December, and I pretty much hate the holidays too, because I don’t like being reminded that he is no longer here. But posting this on Christmas Eve makes me feel somewhat better.

Lastly, the song, in promo music form. It’s important to note that the promo version includes an intro prior to the song in which Blaine Harrison is calling an American girl (obvious by the way the phone is ringing), a man answers the phone in a typical Southern drawl (‘Radlands’ was recorded in Texas, after all), and he explains he’s coming by to see ‘Gracie’ to pick up his records. This differs from the album version, which features a clip of I assume John Lennon (?) in an interview saying he doesn’t want to give his secrets away to “the fucking BBC” (I guess they had to remove that for YouTube).