What is it about The Kinks' "Some Mother's Son" that makes me so emotional? I've rambled many, many times about music and the powerful emotions it manages to trigger, never managing to put into any coherent form the precise wonder and awe at the power it almost effortlessly manages to exert. A lot of the time, there is some formless beauty that I can't help but bow down to - these cases usually lead to posts like this one. But this song is different, in that it seems to cast a pebble into the placid ocean of memories within me, a relative rarity among songs I've never heard before (of course, some manage to powerfully connect with times in my life, and future listens evoke this initial period) - the resulting ripples cannot be expressed in words. Like most art, music can sometimes seem like it was intended specifically for onesself, and I suppose that's the case with this song. (Ironically, it's probably true that thousands of people feel the same way..!) There is really no point in analysing lyrics or the nature of the song, as is often the case with anything really personal. The song inexplicably takes me back to my own childhood, and makes me remember the people and places I used to know. The most powerful image of all is to be found in one particular line, and it is truly a marvel that that's all it takes to bring me down to my knees. Aside from chronicling the inscrutable beauty of the song, this post is just me saluting Ray Davies. When I read George Starostin's review of The Kinks, and saw him agreeing with the assertion that Davies was one of the greatest songwriters ever, I was initially sceptical. Back then, my knowledge of The Kinks was solely confined to "You Really Got Me", after all. Now, well, I can't say I've heard enough to agree with the assertion, but anyone who can write something like this deserves special respect. There may be no end to the amount of magic in this world, but it is not everyday I come across something so tender and tragic, yet which leaves on a note of hope ("some mother's memory remains").

Oh, and the rest of the Arthur album isn't too bad either; maybe not the masterpiece Starostin, among others, claims, but very impressive nonetheless. The purchase it was part of probably ranks as the best one I've made for at least a year. XTC far surpassed my expectations, and Nick Cave was, well, Nick Cave. Darn, now I feel the urge to listen to The Good Son again; see what blogging does to you? Foi na cruz, foi na cruz...

I wonder how many times I have used the word "beauty" these last few months. At any rate, it is better than the bleak and sometimes frightening haze of last year. I just remembered that I once said "If the past week was my Tender Prey, let this one be my The Good Son"; turns out my wish was fulfilled, although maybe not as soon as I had anticipated.