A bit of a demoralizing and depressing day today, for obvious reasons. I need some coffee and I don't have any brilliant erudite and pun-ripe observations to make.
There is music for every mood. But is there music at the bottom?
For these moments, I made a mix once of all the songs that mattered to me before I was ten years old. Before puberty, before adulthood, before relationships, kids, etc. Frozen in wide-eyed childhood, parked (perched?) somewhere between toddler and boy-into-comics-but-before-girls sophomoric-journal-writer
But that mix seems a bit tedious now, all British Top 30 from the early and mid 1970s.
But I like to imagine the happiest moment in my life (well one of them anyway) being on a drive on Route 155 in Texas, sometime in March 1989. Hung over, as the white brittle clouds passed over the blue Texas skies. My head leaning to the side, while the radio station played music that eventually turned to hiss as the station disappeared in a sea of static. That static, a kind of hiss, was really the sound of happiness. For miles and miles neither of us moved the dial to find a new station, because it just seemed right to hear that filled up static and noise, mixed with the wind as it jetted over the tops of our window panes, pulled down a little bit.
Something like this, but with the volume turned down low. How it feels today.
There is music for every mood. But is there music at the bottom?
For these moments, I made a mix once of all the songs that mattered to me before I was ten years old. Before puberty, before adulthood, before relationships, kids, etc. Frozen in wide-eyed childhood, parked (perched?) somewhere between toddler and boy-into-comics-but-before-girls sophomoric-journal-writer
But that mix seems a bit tedious now, all British Top 30 from the early and mid 1970s.
But I like to imagine the happiest moment in my life (well one of them anyway) being on a drive on Route 155 in Texas, sometime in March 1989. Hung over, as the white brittle clouds passed over the blue Texas skies. My head leaning to the side, while the radio station played music that eventually turned to hiss as the station disappeared in a sea of static. That static, a kind of hiss, was really the sound of happiness. For miles and miles neither of us moved the dial to find a new station, because it just seemed right to hear that filled up static and noise, mixed with the wind as it jetted over the tops of our window panes, pulled down a little bit.
Something like this, but with the volume turned down low. How it feels today.
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