Postcards from Italy

i'd like to kill some things in the mush of my brain. but postcards from good times are not one of them- no matter how angry i get that they're only flat tacked on my wall, that i can't smell the oils, that i can't hear the laughs.

and let's get married under willow trees. preferably in the fall. i'll wear a golden dress, like an autumn chameleon. you can wear black, and shine.

The times we had
Oh, when the wind would blow with rain and snow
Were not all bad
We put our feet just where they had, had to go
Never to go

The shattered soul
Following close but nearly twice as slow
In my good times
There were always golden rocks to throw
at those who admit defeat too late
Those were our times, those were our times

And I will love to see that day
That day is mine
When she will marry me outside with the willow trees
And play the songs we made
They made me so
And I would love to see that day
Her day was mine

Fran Healy plays a girl with lesbian tendencies!

so so hot. watch it!

would you believe this is a love song?

"Stand Inside Your Love"

You and me
Meant to be
Immutable
Impossible
It's destiny
Pure lunacy
Incalculable
Insufferable
But for the last time
You're everything that I want and ask for
You're all that I'd dreamed
Who wouldn't be the one you love
Who wouldn't stand inside your love
Protected and the lover of
A pure soul and beautiful you
Don't understand
Don't feel me now
I will breathe
For the both of us
Travel the world
Traverse the skies
Your home is here
Within my heart
And for the first time
I feel as though I am reborn
In my mind
Recast as child and mystic sage
Who wouldn't be the one you love
Who wouldn't stand inside your love
And for the first time
I'm telling you how much I need and bleed for
Your every move and waking sound
In my time
I'll wrap my wire around your heart and your mind
You're mine forever now
Who wouldn't be the one you love and live for
Who wouldn't stand inside your love and die for
Who wouldn't be the one you love


and he kissed her foot.

Bloc Party- Signs

“At your funeral I was so upset. So up…. So upset.”
Sigh. It has got to make you want to sigh. Heartbreakingly beautiful.

He is one of those musicians who have voice as instrument. Others include Thom Yorke, M.Nasir, Isaac Brock, Greg Paquet, Hamilton Leithauser, John Frusciante, Ian Curtis, Kate Bush, PJ Harvey, Sarah McLachlan, Regina Spektor, Jeff Buckley, Glen Hansard, Paul Banks, Caleb Followill, Julian Casablancas and a never-exhausted-list of them. Listen as the high pitch music opens the song and later his low tone voice enters. As the song progresses, he weaves in his high tone with the music. It could not have been more pretty or clever.

I have to say the highest point of the song is when he sings the line that I have quoted above. It most definitely will do something to your heart.

Listen here on YouTube


** Names added after Kye's comment =)

Gotta love them Swedes

Even if their lyrics sometimes sound funny. Okay, maybe the chorus (the most blatant lines) were so frickin cliched. But I checked out the lyrics properly just now, and the other parts weren't so bad. Still pretty corny. But her voice and the guitars and all that Swedish goodness makes up for it.


Fine Line



I love her voice.

Without a doubt, Coldplay's not-so-new-but-new-enough-for-me (isn't it amazing how we can invent pseudoadjectives by merely stringing a group of nonadjectives with dashes?) Viva la Vida is a great album, challenged only by the classic greatness of Parachutes, but my favorite song that I play on loop in the car, and in my head, on my lips, and under my breath to freak out nearby train passengers remains the ever uplifting Strawberry Swing. A catchier song never sounded more sincere.

They were sitting
They were sitting on the strawberry swing
Every moment was so precious

They were sitting
They were talking under strawberry swing
Everybody was for fighting
Wouldn't wanna waste a thing

Cold, cold water bring me round
Now my feet won't touch the ground
Cold, cold water what ya say?
When it's such…
It's such a perfect day
It's such a perfect day

I remember
We were walking up to strawberry swing
I can't wait until the morning
Wouldn't wanna change a thing

People moving all the time
Inside a perfectly straight line
Don't you wanna curve away?
When it's such…
It's such a perfect day
It's such a perfect day

Now the sky could be blue
I don't mind
Without you it's a waste of time

Could be blue
I don’t mind
Without you it’s a waste of time

Could be blue,
could be grey
without you I’m just miles away

could be blue
I don’t mind
Without you it’s a waste of time

Nothing like a group of little words to say the biggest things.

Guilty Pleasures

...out of that dark place in my closet where there's a community of dust bunnies picking their nose in public.

Many of us secretly lace ourselves in the poisonous. In the ridiculous. In the embarrassing. Often times we do it behind closed doors, in dark alleys or behind big oak trees. Within the company of the silent walls, taciturn pets, oblivious parents and stale dust passing by. Some of us embrace our hidden skeletons, take them out to lunch and do the salsa with them in public. Here’s a less torrential alternative. Share it here on The Loop. Because amongst friends, who can really play the fool? Amongst friends, we’re all just fools with our guards down at a higher percentage than you’d allow in the presence of monster in-laws. If you’re going to tell me you’ve never listened to anything shameful before, then I’m going to go over there and talk to your mother. I’m sure she still remembers all those hours you spent listening to N’Sync/Westlife/Spice Girls and staring lovingly into the eyes of Lance. Sure, at that time you didn’t know he was gay. At that time you didn’t know that gay meant not in love with you…because you had the wrong genitalia. At least at the time you weren’t sure of the human anatomy nor did you have proper taste. C’mon, Lance? He didn’t need a press conference, it was pretty obvious. He was eurotrash bleached blonde!
AND he didn’t sing. He just danced around. WITH OTHER MEN. Hm…

Anyway, I’m going to share with you today something I found way back when embarrassment was acceptable if you’re trying to be your own mind, body and soul. And trust me when I say that at that time, society still mattered, school girl crushes were still being conjured by the sight of boys and hope was a compound found in breathing air. Something from the past. Something that hasn’t been in rotation for many years. I don’t even have it in my computer but I’m sure there’s a copy in one of my old back up CDs somewhere. It doesn’t matter because we won’t be needing the mp3.

Now, this is going to be emo. This is emo. This is blistered-pieces-of-a-broken-heart emo.
However, there’s no beware-of-screaming-feral-vocalist warning here. This is Butch Walker’s Mixtape. It is a guilty pleasure I’m foisting upon your innocent ears because it is so teenage poetry. Lost love being the subject matter. Pounding fists and breaking things being the actions taking place. Moping insides included.

I don’t remember how I came about it. I don’t remember what I felt about it. But I do remember that it was just something that latched on to me like a 10 feet long tape worm. I remember it playing in the dark as I tried to fall asleep and always thinking my god, is he going to strain his heart? This is cacat.

But c’mon! It was…it is emo catchy, mixed with boo hoo sorrow. Butch Walker delivered it with all that he had in him. I’m sure he tore opened some stitches and even BLED.

I didn’t listen to it on loop back then and I’m not asking you to either. I just want to share this little slice of disconcerting music that once upon a time I thought was ok to listen to. Butch Walker is whiney, lame, pathetic and appalling. The song and lyrics is whiney, lame, pathetic and appalling.

Example:

You say hello, inside I'm screaming I love you
You say goodnight, in my mind
I'm sleeping next to you
You drive away from my car crash of a heart
And I don't know.

You’re in for some bad music. This comes from a guy who did pretty much everything Avril Lavigne has ever put out. I know. I can feel the tumult of all minds from here. If you’re wearing white, change first before your brain explodes. It’s to be kind to your mother.

Maybe it is best that I just throw fecal matter at your bedroom window instead of making you read this. But where’s the fun in that?

And yes, with all that you’re permitted to laugh at me.

Rest assured I’m not listening to it anymore and it actually ceased being a guilty pleasure way back when it came up and I felt my ears being sexually assaulted. Like being licked in the lobe by some pervert. Or Richard Simmons. Or Gay Aiken. That was how unnerving the realization that this guilty pleasure is now dead and buried. Not of course until you suffer too.

As if we needed a creepy video to prove my point but let’s go all out for the experience.

There goes my unsullied reputation for good music =) I do it all for you.