As another sun sets on one more dreamy - wet summer, the time for us mammals to hibernate is almost upon us: time for gsm meals and fistfuls of Doritos’s, watching celebrities dance for their supper on BBC whatever; sat on couches, girl in one hand and the remote in the other. But, sometimes, usually, the winter lays itself across the land with no-one on the horizon. And with every cliché and platitude you throw at a victim of a savage loving, the truth has already been sung, or written, or played in one long note. So when the heartbreak starts and your guts slide out your arse and the crack of another pulmonary vein bursting, veils the sound of nothing more pertinent than the fizz of another bottle opening, try these tracks...
Beatles: Something. The sonification of teenage love - or hippy love, which is just as fey and twee, but more annoying cos they should know better - where optimism is still squatting on the face of infant pessimism. This is love before you’ve heard each other pissing and before you’ve heard your steady shag farting in their sleep. When there is still something in the way she moves that doesn’t annoy or just bore you, now. Its like that day-dreamy moment when you see a girl in the high street and have dated, taken her croissants in bed, smiled and laughed with her all day, even before the linger of her perfume has faded. Or maybe when you’re still in that honeymoon period, before you’ve spurted out your love for them after twenty beers and a cheeky half. Don’t want to leave you now, but you know what, you know I believe in how, so no farting yet. Romantic, yet realistic. Love in the naughties; excuse me while I dab a solitary tear from my cheek with these panties.
Eric Clapton: Wonderful Tonight. An odd choice, but for me this has an underlying sense of tragedy. Yeah, yeah he’s thanking her and all that shit, but the gin soaked bar room boy knows she deserves more than he can give her and the sorrow he knows she feels as she wipes the puke from his mouth and goes to sleep on the other side of the bed after being shunned again is, truly heartbreaking. This is a man who knows the theory from books and empirical studies. He knows he’s a fuck up, yet this “beautiful lady” wants to be with him, loves him enough to stoically put up with his bullshit. Now, that’s marriage material incarnate; course in real life they divorced etc etc, but for one moment…it felt wonderful that night.
Gram Parsons: Love Hurts. Now this boy could sing the Chinese alphabet and make it sound like a tragedy. Couple it with Emmylou Harris and suddenly we’ve got a scenario from an Alabama Hollyoaks, but with real young people who fart and have periods and forget to close the door when they shit. Two star crossed lovers, too in love to be apart, too incompatible to be a part of each other; too love wary not be scared shitless. Some fools think of happiness, blissfulness, togetherness. I’m not sure anymore who they’re convincing; each other or themselves or sending a dire warning to us all: love hurts, wounds and scars those not tough or strong enough. Course he also sang Sweep out the ashes - about not giving a fuck till tomorrow morning.
Fleetwood Mac: Why? I remember driving through the small winding back-roads of North Norfolk. A heavy, blue icicle hanging in my chest. Too anxious and bruised to be anywhere where you could see people who cared about you. Thoughts stuck like an elephant in a toilet roll tube, aching and tearing and brutal repressed violence standing over me, scythe in hand. And I was listening to a guilty pleasure of mine and this song came over the speakers. “There’s no use in crying, it’s over now. But I know there’ll also be another day and my heart will rise up with the morning sun and the hurt I feel will simply melt away”. And it asks those questions everyone asks: why don’t you love me; why is it all wrong; you don’t have to give up… breathtaking, and contrary to the lyrics it made me feel like I could carry on. And I’ll always be that way… oh and btw I have a huge crush on Stevie Nicks.
Elvis Presley: Always On My Mind. Love is a sentimental game and this is about as sentimental as a blue collar pen pusher can get. Maybe (I didn’t) treat you quite as good as I could have, maybe (yeah, I’m pretty sure) I didn’t love you quite as often as I should have… I just never took the time, you were always on my mind. God damn it Elvis, I need you to fucking hug me right now. Thanks, now be a darl’ and tell her where she was all that time, what I knew all the fucking time but was to contained in my ego to do and say, and just too damn proud to admit. And of course by this time, you’ve fucked it all so hard by now, her sweet love is decomposing and another chance is… oh well, my round.
And obvious hand claps to:
Moldy Peaches: Nothing Came Out. What it’s like for us socially retarded, neurotic freak outs. Sang with the voice of innocence. Kimya Dawson is what my girlfriend sounds like - not the one sitting next to me watching pop-factor though, the one in my dream-time, obviously. Oh and Anyone else but you, too, from the album.
Will Young: Leave Right Now. Another guilty pleasure, but great words and sung well. “I do like you, I’ve always loved you, but I’m gonna leave right now because I can’t stand the bullshit we’ll end up throwing at each other, again,” said the vicar to the priest.
Stars: Your Ex Lover Is Dead. About an old extinguished flame. Worth it for the lines: “All the time you thought I was sad, I was just trying to remember your name” and “I’m not sorry I met you. I’m not sorry it’s over, I’m not sorry there’s nothing to say”. Aces in the hole.
Concretes: New Friend - but the whole of its parent album’s just beautiful music to hang with. This is about having the new love of your old boyfriend answer the phone, and having the dignity not to call back. Words: Paul Crompton
