I hear the violoncello, ('tis the young man's heart's complaint,)
I hear the key'd cornet, it glides quickly in through my ears
It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast
I hear the chorus, it is a grand opera
Ah this indeed is music - this suits me.
-"Song of Myself," Walt Whitman
(public domain by now, I think)
Prom Sawyer's ready for spring - I can feel the crunch of snow softening beneath my feet. There are afternoons ahead of us on the Electric Mississippi for us to behave like the people we see on album covers, perhaps painting ourselves, flying kites in fields, loving the supersaturated pastoral around us. It really does exist, I'm pretty sure.
Here are the songs that, I think, will help me get to those places. F y f e's recent release "St Tropez" sounds like it might not be the happiest at first, but I guarantee it'll thaw out any winter heart. The tone on that keyboard and the Beirut-esque horn line that comes in during the chorus sound best, to my ears, during the warmer seasons.
"Darling, you know I won't keep you waiting..."
And then there's "Pretty Boy" by Vancouver's Young Galaxy, reworked by Peaking Lights. This is magical - the apt comparison I've heard several bloggers mention is stars and fireworks and glowing little pieces in the night sky. Doesn't this just make you want to run around outside? Two weeks, my friends, and I suspect we'll have the weather for it.
