CrowleyHead
Well-known member
7)
It's an old cliche but the idea of music on record being a summoning spell never gets old truly. We don't buy songs, what we buy is means of access to provide us with the stimulation of this temporal existence. Radios, Streaming Subscriptions, CDs, whatever. All these simply become gateways to a phantasmal existence.
When my mother drove, she made a point to depart from the rap music that was consuming my father's life and made him inaccessible and unreal(istic). For whatever reason, a frequent go to was early 60s or late 50s pop type stuff. "The Wanderer", "Tell Him", and this one particularly. There's a manic quality in the songs of this period that often gets ignored. For every sedate note, there's an underlying tone that seems haunted or off, a creepiness to this dream-like centering.
The world outside the cars that'd play this song were always real, alive, chaotic, full of din. This felt like death.
It's an old cliche but the idea of music on record being a summoning spell never gets old truly. We don't buy songs, what we buy is means of access to provide us with the stimulation of this temporal existence. Radios, Streaming Subscriptions, CDs, whatever. All these simply become gateways to a phantasmal existence.
When my mother drove, she made a point to depart from the rap music that was consuming my father's life and made him inaccessible and unreal(istic). For whatever reason, a frequent go to was early 60s or late 50s pop type stuff. "The Wanderer", "Tell Him", and this one particularly. There's a manic quality in the songs of this period that often gets ignored. For every sedate note, there's an underlying tone that seems haunted or off, a creepiness to this dream-like centering.
The world outside the cars that'd play this song were always real, alive, chaotic, full of din. This felt like death.