Mika, "Grace Kelly." summer. hanging out with my best friend. doing our best, most faaaabulous impressions of Mika doing his best impression of Freddie. dancing and shouting like absolute fools with the window open.
Joe Anderson and Jim Sturgess, "With a Little Help From My Friends". February. driving, parking, stopping, falling out of the car still singing, shambling across the parking lot shouting, falling over couches, throwing our arms around each other.
Joe Strummer, "Johnny Appleseed." June. driving from the Colorado mountains into the New Mexico desert, watching the horizon slowly flatten out, watching the land turn from gray to reddish brown, watching the road open up ahead of us.
The Clash, "Safe European Home." anytime. crashing out a song in the basement with my brother, my drummer, trying to strain and roughen my voice into an instrument capable of a respectable punk-rock shout, alternating lines at the end, stopping together in perfect unison.
Filter, "Take a Picture." February. a loss that meant a lot more to me than it logically should have, a boy from Edmonton getting on a plane to Atlanta, leaving his home in Pittsburgh forever.
Radiohead, "Jigsaw Falling Into Place." November. 6 AM, on the way in to school early for a journalism field trip, station 91.3 WYEP on the radio and a voice I only recognize as my beloved Thom Yorke as the song is fading out and my goosebumps are finally subsiding.
Smashing Pumpkins, "1979." October. the drive between Delmont, PA and Greensburg, PA, and a strange kind of peace that's eluded me for the last few weeks, somewhere between exhaustion and understanding (but closer to the former).
Green Day, "Jesus of Suburbia." February. a hotel room in Philadelphia with my new lyric booklet for American Idiot in front of me, studying, memorizing, absorbing, rewinding, replaying, turning up the volume, falling in love.
Simple Plan, "You Don't Mean Anything." September. saying "fuck self-consciousness" and enjoying the French Canadian boys I loved before I ever saw Max Talbot, rocking out like it's 2003 even though it's 2009 and I really should know better, except enjoying music should never be about knowing better.
U2, "Pride (in the Name of Love)". June. a mountain in Colorado with one of my best friends, a waterfall on the right, a cliff on the left, the most ridiculously perfect location for epic, echoing grandeur ever, looking down on the tops of tall trees.
Dropkick Murphys, "Fields of Athenry." July. the actual fields of Athenry, Ireland, on a fast train from Galway to Dublin, everyone around me either listening to or talking about U2, thinking about Oliver Cromwell and growing potatoes and rebellion and love.
Joe Anderson and Jim Sturgess, "With a Little Help From My Friends". February. driving, parking, stopping, falling out of the car still singing, shambling across the parking lot shouting, falling over couches, throwing our arms around each other.
Joe Strummer, "Johnny Appleseed." June. driving from the Colorado mountains into the New Mexico desert, watching the horizon slowly flatten out, watching the land turn from gray to reddish brown, watching the road open up ahead of us.
The Clash, "Safe European Home." anytime. crashing out a song in the basement with my brother, my drummer, trying to strain and roughen my voice into an instrument capable of a respectable punk-rock shout, alternating lines at the end, stopping together in perfect unison.
Filter, "Take a Picture." February. a loss that meant a lot more to me than it logically should have, a boy from Edmonton getting on a plane to Atlanta, leaving his home in Pittsburgh forever.
Radiohead, "Jigsaw Falling Into Place." November. 6 AM, on the way in to school early for a journalism field trip, station 91.3 WYEP on the radio and a voice I only recognize as my beloved Thom Yorke as the song is fading out and my goosebumps are finally subsiding.
Smashing Pumpkins, "1979." October. the drive between Delmont, PA and Greensburg, PA, and a strange kind of peace that's eluded me for the last few weeks, somewhere between exhaustion and understanding (but closer to the former).
Green Day, "Jesus of Suburbia." February. a hotel room in Philadelphia with my new lyric booklet for American Idiot in front of me, studying, memorizing, absorbing, rewinding, replaying, turning up the volume, falling in love.
Simple Plan, "You Don't Mean Anything." September. saying "fuck self-consciousness" and enjoying the French Canadian boys I loved before I ever saw Max Talbot, rocking out like it's 2003 even though it's 2009 and I really should know better, except enjoying music should never be about knowing better.
U2, "Pride (in the Name of Love)". June. a mountain in Colorado with one of my best friends, a waterfall on the right, a cliff on the left, the most ridiculously perfect location for epic, echoing grandeur ever, looking down on the tops of tall trees.
Dropkick Murphys, "Fields of Athenry." July. the actual fields of Athenry, Ireland, on a fast train from Galway to Dublin, everyone around me either listening to or talking about U2, thinking about Oliver Cromwell and growing potatoes and rebellion and love.
you make me happy, love.
ReplyDelete:) I'm glad.
ReplyDelete