(no subject)
I know it’s an odd thing to complain about, but I’ve always been the slightest bit annoyed by gender-specific song lyrics.
Since I was old enough to understand and appreciate lyrics, and it’s been a long time, I’ve always tried to apply them to my life and situations.
But nearly almost as long, I’ve been frustrated when love songs (or really any song, for that matter) have pointed lyrics. She did this, he said that, I love her, he makes me smile.
The rub comes because I nearly exclusively listen to songs written and sung by males. (I don’t know why, but there are very few female singers I enjoy.) So, whenever I really enjoy a lyric with “her” in it, I always hesitate to quote it, or put it in an away message, or an email, or on a mixtape. It’s not that I’m worried what people will think or anything like that, it’s just not *quite* the perfect expression of my feelings that I want it to be. That’s all.
This came to my attention again just now when I was listening to “Album of the Year” by The Good Life. I think it’s one of the damned sweetest/saddest/truest songs I’ve ever listened to, but it’s all about HER. ugh. Here’s the lyrics, so maybe you get an idea of my predicament....The first time that I met her
I was throwing up in the ladies’ room stall.
She asked me if I needed anything,
I said, “I think I spilled my drink.”
And that’s how it started...
(Or so I’d like to believe)
She took me to her mother’s house
Outside of town where the stars hang down.
She said she’d never seen someone so lost,
I said I’d never felt so found,
And then I kissed her on the cheek,
And so she kissed me on the mouth.
The spring was poppin’ daises up
Around rusted trunks and busted lawn chairs.
We moved into a studio in Council Bluffs
To save a couple bucks...
Where the mice came out at night,
Neighbors were screaming all the time.
We’d make love in the afternoons
To Chelsea Girls and Bachelor No. 2.
I’d play for her some songs I wrote,
She’d joke and say I’m shooting through the roof.
I’d say, “They’re all for you, dear...
I’ll write the album of the year.”
And I know she loved me then,
I swear to God she did.
It was the way she’d bite my lower lip,
And push her hips against my hips,
And dig her nails so deep into my skin.
The first time that I met her,
I was convinced I had finally found the one.
She was convinced I was under the influence
Of all those drunken romantics.
I was reading Fante at the the time,
I had Bukowski on my mind.
She got a job at Jacob’s
Serving cocktails to the local drunks.
Against her will, I fit the the bill,
I perched down at the end of the bar.
She said, “Space is not just a place for stars...
I gave you an inch, you want a house with a yard.”
And I know she loved me once,
But those days are done.
She used to call me every day
From a pay phone on her break for lunch
Just to say she can’t wait to come home.
The last time that I saw her,
She was picking through which records were hers.
Her clothes were packed in boxes
With some pots and pans and books and a toaster.
Just then, a mouse scurried across the floor...
We started laughing ‘til it didn’t hurt
We started laughing ‘til it didn’t hurt
We started laughing ‘til it didn’t hurt
We started laughing ‘til it didn’t hurt
We started laughing ‘til it didn’t hurt
Since I was old enough to understand and appreciate lyrics, and it’s been a long time, I’ve always tried to apply them to my life and situations.
But nearly almost as long, I’ve been frustrated when love songs (or really any song, for that matter) have pointed lyrics. She did this, he said that, I love her, he makes me smile.
The rub comes because I nearly exclusively listen to songs written and sung by males. (I don’t know why, but there are very few female singers I enjoy.) So, whenever I really enjoy a lyric with “her” in it, I always hesitate to quote it, or put it in an away message, or an email, or on a mixtape. It’s not that I’m worried what people will think or anything like that, it’s just not *quite* the perfect expression of my feelings that I want it to be. That’s all.
This came to my attention again just now when I was listening to “Album of the Year” by The Good Life. I think it’s one of the damned sweetest/saddest/truest songs I’ve ever listened to, but it’s all about HER. ugh. Here’s the lyrics, so maybe you get an idea of my predicament....The first time that I met her
I was throwing up in the ladies’ room stall.
She asked me if I needed anything,
I said, “I think I spilled my drink.”
And that’s how it started...
(Or so I’d like to believe)
She took me to her mother’s house
Outside of town where the stars hang down.
She said she’d never seen someone so lost,
I said I’d never felt so found,
And then I kissed her on the cheek,
And so she kissed me on the mouth.
The spring was poppin’ daises up
Around rusted trunks and busted lawn chairs.
We moved into a studio in Council Bluffs
To save a couple bucks...
Where the mice came out at night,
Neighbors were screaming all the time.
We’d make love in the afternoons
To Chelsea Girls and Bachelor No. 2.
I’d play for her some songs I wrote,
She’d joke and say I’m shooting through the roof.
I’d say, “They’re all for you, dear...
I’ll write the album of the year.”
And I know she loved me then,
I swear to God she did.
It was the way she’d bite my lower lip,
And push her hips against my hips,
And dig her nails so deep into my skin.
The first time that I met her,
I was convinced I had finally found the one.
She was convinced I was under the influence
Of all those drunken romantics.
I was reading Fante at the the time,
I had Bukowski on my mind.
She got a job at Jacob’s
Serving cocktails to the local drunks.
Against her will, I fit the the bill,
I perched down at the end of the bar.
She said, “Space is not just a place for stars...
I gave you an inch, you want a house with a yard.”
And I know she loved me once,
But those days are done.
She used to call me every day
From a pay phone on her break for lunch
Just to say she can’t wait to come home.
The last time that I saw her,
She was picking through which records were hers.
Her clothes were packed in boxes
With some pots and pans and books and a toaster.
Just then, a mouse scurried across the floor...
We started laughing ‘til it didn’t hurt
We started laughing ‘til it didn’t hurt
We started laughing ‘til it didn’t hurt
We started laughing ‘til it didn’t hurt
We started laughing ‘til it didn’t hurt