Before the tour begins, Id like to address the audience and make a few announcements. Or, rather, one very big Thank You. Thats for everybody who has e-mailed. It all counts; every word chisels a little inch of pain from its holding; a lyrical suture closing the exposed wounds. So, yeh, basically thanks. Thank you. Anyway, I suppose I should commence on my World Tour of Americana songs, which nestle comfortably in my upper echelons of Songs Which Evoke Extreme Emotion. Anyways: Jim White, Christmas Day. Taken from the album No Such Place. A breaking down motorcycle pulls up into the drive, the wrong-eyed Jesus troubadour sits on the backdoor porch. Stepping off the motorcycle, the bruised lover yields to the front door: no-ones in. Jims on the back-porch, picking his favourite notes in sequence: lilting acoustic guitar wanes under the bursting sun as it splits the clouds, sharing its heat with a V of swans. White launches into a love song, and is able to hit the feeling of love right on the head; Bang: Mallet. Simple Things adopts a jealous look. The burden of love is the fuel of bad grammar. You stutter and stammer what a bitch to convey the crux of the matter, when the words you must utter are hopelessly tangled in the memories and scars you show no one. My hearts slow-ache crescendos into consummate yearning. White recognises that, as is the case with most things in life, as regards Love the devils in the detail. Amen. Willard Grant Conspiracy, The Beautiful Song. Taken from the album Everythings Fine. The Conspiracy are miserable buggers; finding solace in the little things in life. The minutiae of existence over-looked by the self-serving glamour of the famous and the general populace as a whole. Chasing the next dollar, no-one cares for the skewed beauty of the rusted cars, the battle scars a twisted fence, a swinging gate The overarching philosophy of this song is: Hey, slow down, smell the fuchsia. But theyre minging. Yeh, mebbe, but think about it. How much time has went into the simple fuchsia; yet you race past it, every morning, cleansed and suited. The deftness of the petals etc. It all looks beautiful to me. Essentially, a paean to being alive; and, thus, exactly the kinda song I need right now. Brimful with mordant optimism (An avalanche couldnt keep me down.) The Pernice Brothers Chicken Wire. Taken from the album Overcome by Happiness. The guitars filter through the speakers cautiously, one chord, a second One fret in front of the other, the protagonist fades away from our sight. Her fate compounded by the opening line: With a drink in her hand, she will start her car and then seal herself for good in the garage. Shes never leaving. The moribund spinster, locked away, beyond the listeners reach in the garage; carbon monoxide, nitrous oxides and sulphur dioxide slowly asphyxiating her. Why is she there, shes come so far. However, her path has not been exhausted, shes left too many things undone. Her love, sour, now leaves her thinking of another. Bereft of her lover; she undoes all the work; the struggles won, dissipate and rest meaningless. And all the walls they fade to black. This gripping vignette of Love gone wrong expresses all that is required in order to get a grasp of how powerful Love may be. The meaning of some peoples lives. Mogadon power-pop at its best. Ron Sexsmith Feel For You. Taken from the album Whereabouts. The criminally ignored cherub of a mind, that provides us with these songs of wanderlust, supplies me with an epochal song: a running commentary on how I fell right now. Im sorry, Kathryn. How I hate to see you in this way Is there nothing I can say, to cheer you up. A letter to a lover torn apart by the others anguish, distress, heartache, and emotional displeasure. The emotion asserted by the verses, aching with regret and forlorn hope, is reversed by the reassuring, rhetorical chorus: is it too late in the game, to change anything? Today, I heard a boy argue that Marriage between gays should not be allowed. His argument sat on the predilection that marriage is the plinth upon which society rests, and the purpose of marriage is procreation. Thus, a marriage which is unable to contribute to the human race is somehow invalid by virtue of the parties non-fecundity. Songs like this make me believe; that marriage is not the fundamental building block of society but: Love. The Shazam Sparkleroom. Taken from the album Godspeed The Shazam. Now, it has been a rather sombre affair up until now. However, a guaranteed heart-starter this gem of a track takes in the Beach Boys, the Beatles, the Byrds etc. You name all the great power-pop acts. Those who could carve four-part harmonies out of the ethos. Give them some more sunshine; blistered green leaves, tunnelling waves cascading over dopey surfers, picnics in Kelvingrove This is a song to hum to. A straightforward love song. And thus harder to write about in awkward prose: treat your subjects in the way they treat you. Straightforward equates with straightforward. Its just a dumb ol pop song. That grabs you by the nipples and drags you into the blazing heat of the California sunshine. Come on surfer [dudes] check out my world Please. Thanks, David. _________________________________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free E-mail from MSN Hotmail at http://www.hotmail.com. +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. 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