This was a defining song of the summer of 1989 – and while that summer comes and goes from my memory all these years later, I remember this song playing on the radio waves, along with the waves of the ocean, and the waves of heat that beat off the sand, off the pavement, off the stone and tar of our garage roof. Such heat coming amid such a sick beat.
Only summer could handle a banger like ‘Express Yourself’.
Listen to Laufey and see if you’re obsessed about this as a lovely summer soundtrack for a summer that will be dreamy and blue and sadly whimsical. Fittingly entitled ‘From the Start’, this is actually an echo of a previous post, so it’s more of a continuation of things pink, and a little pointer of where things are headed. Our official summer theme is about to be revealed – and if you know (and a few of you already do) then snap your fan and keep it secret, keep it safe.
Don’t you notice how I get quiet when there’s no one else around? Me and you and awkward silence Don’t you dare look at me that way I don’t need reminders of how you don’t feel the same
These lilies have been getting in on the act, splashing their flashy selves across the garden centers, and completely out of place at this early stage of the gardening season. Still, they are pretty, and prettiness is its own mystery and solution.
After what seems like a lifetime of delicious teasing, Jim Verraros releases his new single ‘Pyramid’ today, making this a day worthy of celebration, continuing the splash he made with recent hit ‘Take My Bow’. From cuts like ‘ Go Deep’ on his debut album ‘Rollercoaster’ to much of the ‘Do Not Disturb’ era, Verraros has often offered cheekily unabashed musical takes on gay love and life. Sprinkling in enough skin and spiciness to the proceedings to visually entice viewers, Verraros is also making music that moves the masses. ‘Take My Bow‘ charged across dance floors around the world, and ‘Pyramid’ aims to erect a similar trajectory.
The tantalizing possibilities of a song named ‘Pyramid’ have had all fans of Jim Verraros salivating and waiting with properly-baited breath for the arrival of his new single, set to debut May 10. The promotional artwork and video clips are scintillating, and only hint at the follow-up to his worldwide smash ‘Take My Bow’. Like many, I’m hoping this is the beginning of an entire album of new work, as the world seems poised and ready for someone who once trail-blazed his way onto the music scene and never quite got the credit he deserved for it. Get ready to be dazzled all over again as ‘Pyramid’ gets its long-awaited release this week.
With all this talk of flowers, let’s add a little music into the mix for a relaxing Saturday night. Windflowers are aptly named and full of all expected charm. They dance in the slightest breeze, and positively go bonkers when the wind is strong. (Makes for a fun bit of macro-focusing, and part of the reason you don’t see any close-ups here – sorry Norma Desmond.) Anyway, here’s a mellow piece perfect for a Saturday night in spring, when blossoms are on the breeze and hope is in the air.
While Mercury in retrograde wreaked its customary havoc, mostly it was about dealing with bothersome people not knowing how to drive or dropping things like the pictured vase here. During all of this, Taylor Swift released her latest – ‘The Tortured Poets Department’ – a surprise double-album that I’m still digesting. Overall, I dig it, as it feels like a combo of the ‘folklore‘, ‘evermore‘ and ‘Midnights‘ albums, which are the ones that brought me into the Swifties club. This song stood out from the rest, and is delightfully indicative of the mess that Mercury and full moons can bring into existence.
I can read your mind She’s having the time of her life There in her glittering prime The lights refract sequined stars off her silhouette every night I can show you lies (one, two, three)
‘Cause I’m a real tough kid, I can handle my shit They said, baby, gotta fake it ’til you make it and I did Lights, camera, bitch smile, even when you wanna die
I was grinning like I’m winning, I was hitting my marks ‘Cause I can do it with a broken heart (one, two, three)
I’m so depressed, I act like it’s my birthday every day I’m so obsessed with him but he avoids me like the plague I cry a lot but I am so productive, it’s an art You know you’re good when you can even do it With a broken heart
This one goes to anyone who’s ever gone into the world and put on a brave face when everything else is crumbling to the ground. It’s never good to keep things like that inside for long, but sometimes you have to do it – for work, for school, for family, for survival. Some people can’t do it – they can’t soldier on, they have to pause and break down – and my heart breaks for them a little. It breaks more for those of us who carry the weight and move forward with a brave, unbothered face.
He said he’d love me for all time But that time was quite short Breaking down, I hit the floor All the pieces of me shattered as the crowd was chanting, “More” I was grinning like I’m winning, I was hitting my marks ‘Cause I can do it with a broken heart (one, two, three)
I’m so depressed, I act like it’s my birthday every day
I’m so obsessed with him but he avoids me like the plague (he avoids me) I cry a lot but I am so productive, it’s an art
You know you’re good when you can even do it
With a broken heart
You know you’re good when you can even do it
With a broken heart
You know you’re good, I’m good
‘Cause I’m miserable
And no one even knows
Try to come for my job
I never meant to cause you any sorrow I never meant to cause you any pain I only wanted one time to see you laughing I only want to see you laughing in the purple rain
I met my friend Ann way back in 7th grade, circa 1987, and a year later we had hit it off, sharing most of the honor courses in middle school and high school. We had similar senses of humor, finding the ridiculousness in so much of life, particularly the life of a teenager, and we held onto each other in the kinship of misfit outsiders. Life wreaked its ruthless havoc on us, and as the world pummeled us for not seeming to belong, we found safety and security in one another. Our friendship was a life-sustaining force for me during my late teenage years, and she would be there when no one else could. That laid the history and groundwork for a lifelong friendship, and though it’s been about a decade since we’ve seen each other in person, through letters and texts and correspondence, we’ve kept in touch, and that friendship has never wavered.
“The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what you share with someone else when you’re uncool.”
The last few times we’ve seen each other have been for funerals, and that’s no way to see a dear friend. This reunion was a very long time coming, and as Ann would later point out, it was precisely what we needed without realizing how badly we needed it.
Honey I know, I know, I know times are changing It’s time we all reach out for something new That means you too You say you want a leader But you can’t seem to make up your mind I think you better close it And let me guide you to the purple rain
We spent the day catching up and talking, shifting our little groups as Andy joined in after a Lowe’s grill mix-up (still awaiting a call back from that manager, days later) and soon – too soon – it was time for bed. There’s no way I can properly convey how lovely this weekend was for us – as our world grows ever dimmer, simply being with good friends is good for the soul. Both Ann and Josie have been two of those ‘safe’ friends whom I consider family – the very few people I trust implicitly and around whom I can completely let down my guard and entirely be myself. Those friends are few and far between, but whenever we get to share time and space, it reaffirms my hope and faith in the world.
“It’s all happening!”
Having reconnected, and introduced Ann and Josie officially to each other, we are looking ahead to doing this again sooner rather than later. We’ve all lost people near and dear to us, and I think we feel the precious passing of hours, aware that time together is more important now than ever.
So when you call up that shrink in Beverly Hills You know the one Dr. Everything’ll Be Alright Instead of asking him how much of your time is left Ask him how much of your mind, baby
‘Cause in this life Things are much harder than in the afterworld In this life You’re on your own
And if the elevator tries to bring you down Go crazy!!!
Setting up our Purple Reign weekend was a labor of love, designed to be the first meeting of two of my besties who had become friends in their own right, and the first time I’d seen Ann in what may well be over a decade. It all felt too good to be true, and so we charged ahead, hyping it with purple boxes announcing the Purple Reign theme, with loads of lavender, lots of purple love, and a soundtrack largely by Prince (with some healthy doses of Madonna and Bon Jovi thrown in for 80’s pleasure).
We would spend the weekend defying the notion of the opening intro that ‘in this life, you’re on your own’ – because on this weekend, we were in it together. More to come…
Dr. Everything’ll-Be-All-Right
Will make everything go wrong Pills and thrills and daffodils will kill Hang tough, children He’s coming
He’s coming
Coming…
It is a moment where tears fill the eyes but never drop.
It is sad in its way, but the overriding feeling is one of happiness, and a joy in that it all happened.
A happy almost-cry, if you will.
It’s the quiet and stillness when dear friends who have been visiting for a weekend depart – usually in the morning – and it always strikes me with its return to silence. The beauty and contentment of a newly-made memory…
It’s a time when remnants of dear friends still linger – the faded scent of their perfume, the last glass of water they used, the silly trio of heart-shaped sunglasses that sits on a spent table scattered with birthday cake crumbs.
At such a moment, when Ann and Josie had just left after a ‘Purple Reign’ Birthday weekend that was ideal in just about every way, I stand in the living room, watch the sunlight of a brilliant spring day, and this song comes over the radio – a piano arrangement of Debussy’s ‘Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun’ – fittingly capturing the very start of something, even as it’s the very ending.
As I watch JoAnn pull out of the driveway and give a little beep, I wave, holding my hand up even after she is gone, and I remember that last episode of the ‘The Golden Girls‘ when Sophia is looking at photo of Blanche and Rose and quietly says, ‘Goodbye my girls‘ after they have decided to stay together. (And you didn’t think this blog could get any gayer.)
This music feels right, because while the beginning of the piece perfectly captures that quiet and stillness, the rest is all about setting the scene for an entire new story to come, and a tale to be told that brings back decades of friendship and history. For now, I take in the beauty of the moment, the promise of a spring day, and the memory of some very dear friends.
Whenever I think that I’ve grown too old for music to touch me in the magical, primal, soul-wrenching way it did in my teen years, I’ll happen upon something like the new Cigarettes After Sex song, ‘Tejano Blue’ and suddenly the world feels fresh and exhilarating and gorgeously terrifying in the best way. Many a ‘Cigarettes After Sex’ song has had a similar effect, from the very first time I heard ‘Apocalypse‘ to the latest peek at their upcoming ‘X’s’ album. Drummer Jacob Tomsky is largely the reason I became aware of them, as I was a huge fan of his ‘Heads in Beds’ book; when I discovered he played for the band, I gave them a listen and music was once again that thing that gave me inspiration and hope in a world, and an age bracket, where those things were largely gone.
Way back then, the band wasn’t as big as it is now (they are set to play the TD Garden and Madison Square Garden on their forthcoming X’s Tour) and Jacob was kind enough to invite a swooning fanboy like myself to meet him backstage before one of those early Boston shows. Suzie joined me and we fanned out like we were teenagers again – the best thing music can bring out in anyone.
Headed by Greg Gonzalez, Cigarettes After Sex often sounds like it could be the love-child of Angelo Badalamenti and the ‘Laid’ album by James – two of my very favorite things in the whole world. And while this sort of exquisite, dreamy music doesn’t seem to rely on the drum work to make its statement, it requires the sort of consistent precision and controlled innate rhythm to potently cast its hypnotic spell. Credit Tomsky with the latter, and you have one of the many reasons he is our Dazzler of the Day.
A year or so ago, my niece Emi, by then already a teenager herself, marveled at the fact that I knew about the new favorite band she was listening to: Cigarettes After Sex. Happy to pass the torch of musical fandom to someone who shares a special and, pardon the hubris, spectacular taste in music, I shared my history of loving the band, and how one day I got to meet them before one of their early shows – and how they were just as cool as you’d want them to be. She’s going to see them in New York on their MSG date, while I’m looking into seeing them in Boston again. The world is growing up, the world is growing darker, and the world is growing older, but through it all the good music will keep us going. Thanks to Jacob Tomsky for reminding me of that.
Apologies for the posting time of this one – it should only be read in the deep depths of night, when the house has gone quiet, when the family has gone to bed, and you sit alone, unable to sleep – maybe because it’s Saturday, maybe because there is something lodged in your mind, or maybe because you are simply too tired to sleep. That happens sometimes. You can push through the tired period when sleep would come easily if you just let it, but you don’t, thinking you might miss something, or pushing ahead to get one more thing done before the day ends. And then it’s too late – you’re up, you’re wired, and you cannot sleep no matter how tired you are. Tricky thing, the arrival and all-too-quick departure of your sleep window. These days I try to catch it by inviting it, welcoming it, and making the conditions hospitable to it. Such as with a song like this – a song that should only be heard late at night. Come revisit this post then.
Lamenting the advance of age, lately I’ve been ruminating on how music and songs and most forms of entertainment fail to elicit the same thrills they did in my younger years. Most of my friends in this same age bracket have voiced similar concerns and realizations, bogged down as we are by the typical traipsing through our middle-aged years with stultifying routine and unsurprising regularity. It does make Jack a dull, dull boy indeed.
Not self-deprecating I hold my head high most of the time Like the candle I lightest of breezes He changes the seasons Is it gettin’ hot in here?
Oh, he’s so attractive, could never be him I think he might break if my hand touched his skin I’ve never been so close to such pretty things And it hurts to be only of earth
Mr. Porcelain doll Mr. Instagram scroll Mr., flatter me enough just to keep me on my toes Does it ever get lonely up there on the wall? To be looked at, but never to hold Mr. Porcelain doll
I could never Oh, I could never Oh, I could never He wasn’t made to hold
I could never I could never I could never
Remembering one’s youth can be dangerously tricky, as it so often comes along with dreams and wishes of recapturing one’s youth, or revisiting spaces and scenarios in order to do them right. That is territory I don’t like to tread. When I see people I know and love wading into those treacherous waters and flailing about in despondent despair, as if held down by a spell, drowning in their own fears of growing old and desperately attempting to hang onto youth in whatever warped way they can, I’m reminded that maybe I should be in my own state of panic. For me, though, that panic takes the form of apathy, and the inability to muster the same passion I once did for songs and melodies and movies and theater. When I mourn the passing of youth, that is the loss I mourn most – more than any physical attributes and ease, more than fitting into a 29-inch pair of jeans, more than staying out all night and not looking any worse for wear the next morning.
He can’t be mine to hold on for a minute
Did he mean to say that? Mistook me for an ex that he meant to text back My heart’s beating out my chest I think he said
You’re so attractive, where do I begin? I think you might break if my hand touched your skin I’ve never been so close to such pretty things And it hurts that you’re so down to earth
Mr. Porcelain doll Mr. 20 years old Mr. Flatter-me-enough as if I didn’t know Does it ever get lonely, a rose on the wall? To be looked at but never to hold Mr. Porcelain doll
I could never Oh, I could never Oh, I could never He wasn’t made to hold
I could never I could never I could never He can’t be mine to hold
At such times, it’s also useful to note that one’s youth is filled with folly and foolishness, and I’m grateful to have always understood this, to be as bothered by all that I didn’t know and understand, which in turn led me to desire something deeper, something more than being young could ever deliver. From my very first memories as a child, all I ever wanted was to be older. Wishes, like beauty and youth, don’t always bring us what we really want.
He’s so beautifully perfect on everyone’s phone To be looked at knowing he’ll never call Mr. Porcelain doll
I could never I could never I could never He wasn’t made to hold
I could never I could never I could never (I could never)
When I pass by a porcelain doll today, all those pretty young things just starting out on their own journeys, making a mess, a muck, and a magnificence of their own youth, I don’t envy them. Envy was never a good look on anyone, least of all me, and happily I have largely been able to avoid it. Perhaps it would have been different if I hadn’t been fortunate enough to enjoy few porcelain years of my own. And perhaps I’d mourn them if I enjoyed them more.
Along with Judy Garland, Billie Holiday has one of the most poignant, powerful, and moving voices in musical history. Both women were dealt difficult hands in life, and both seemingly did the best they could do with their immense talents, outrageous expectations, and the basic impossibility of being a woman at any stage of our human existence. To palpably convey such heartache is an art in itself – to do so with the exquisite gorgeousness that an artist like Billie Holiday can conjure is the stuff of the sublime, and we are all blessed for having heard it.
Here she sings ‘Some Other Spring’ and it’s the vibe of the week now that we’re in season.
You are invited to pause in whatever you’re doing, take a minute or two for yourself, and listen to this spring song. Make it a mini-meditative moment, the way any pause in the day can be if you focus and allow the worries in your mind to pass, even if it’s temporary. Put a pin in them – they aren’t going anywhere – and allow your mind and body to relax. With practice, this can happen at any point, under any duress. When the spring storms arrive, because they always do, you will be ready.
Thirty-five years ago Madonna unleashed the iconic ‘Like A Prayer’ album upon a somewhat-suspecting world – a majestic and monumental album that has remained one of her most powerful musical statements all this time later. It formed an integral backdrop to some of the most formative years of my life, coming out at a time when I was thirteen going on fourteen – which is a key portion of life when music is often what matters most. I was lucky in that respect – lucky to have been alive and fully aware in the era of ‘Like A Prayer‘.
While that feels like a long time ago, it’s testament to Madonna’s enduring relevance and power that her recent take on the title track is still a compelling watch – see below before we go back in time…
In March of 1989, I was but a wee 13-year-old at Wilbur H. Lynch Middle School in Amsterdam, New York. It had been a school year plagued with illness – the wreckage and remaining lung function of a difficult turn with asthma left me drained and often gasping for breath, while a burgeoning and debilitating onset of undiagnosed social anxiety kept my mental engagement removed and woefully private from my classmates. I was looking for a source of power in every sense, and my thirst for such inspiration was satiated as Madonna released the ‘Like A Prayer’ single.
It was, and likely remains, the best kick-off single for any of her albums (with the possible exception of ‘Vogue’) and it was a critical, artistic, and commercial smash. In my life, I was equally thrilled and terrified by it – the flirtation with blasphemy, the undeniable pop-hook mastery of Patrick Leonard’s music, and the assertion of this woman as artistic provocateur proved impossible to resist. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was that spoke so deeply to me, I just felt its power, physically pricked by its heat, and the abandon, when I fully gave in to it, was like some spiritual orgasm that shook my entire body out of its teenage trappings. (And at that point in my life the only kneeling I had done had been at church, serving as an altar boy.)
The entire album was filled with sonic surprises, perhaps because Madonna was finally going deep, as she explored her imploding marriage on ‘Til Death Do Us Part‘ or the death of her mother on ‘Promise to Try‘. There were some light-hearted moments, such as the whimsical ‘Dear Jessie‘ and lushly-romantic ‘Cherish‘, but the main themes were family (see ‘Oh Father‘ and ‘Keep It Together‘) and religion (see ‘Pray for Spanish Eyes‘ and ‘Act of Contrition‘). It was a combustible combination, and a musical collection that stands up to the ultimate test of time.
Three and a half decades later, I still find inspiration and strength in listening to this album, and music that manages to last that long is an artistic achievement. I leave you with this performance of ‘Like A Prayer’ from her 1990 Blonde Ambition Tour. It’s the stuff of immaculate pop icon history, and set the stage for a few decades of indelible ‘Prayer’ performances. Only the most powerful remain.
Our opening days of spring have been rather chilly, but the sun has been about, and the world seems to be moving in the right direction. A spot of spring music, then, for the afternoon hours, to celebrate the ‘Bluebird’ of this song’s title, and to celebrate the triumphant arrival of spring. Winter be banished!
Afternoon siestas pass more beautifully when something like this is playing in the background, or the foreground – choose your own volume and choose your own adventure. Spring demands we take charge and take control, if only because there is about to be much to do. On that clunky sentence, I’ll leave you to the music.
