You know, Simon & Garfunkel's (well, I'm pretty sure it's purely Paul Simon's creation actually!) "A Simple Desultory Philippic" really surprises me. I always knew that Paul Simon was an exceedingly interesting lyricist, but I always pictured him as a soft person, never the kind to write something like this, (what seems to be) a somewhat harsh Dylan parody (see here for someone else who thinks so!). If one believes that it is in fact a parody, then what's strange to me is how they covered "The Times They Are A Changin'" on Wednesday Morning, 3AM with perfect sincerity - I'm trying to think whether something Dylan did in between the two abums is what ticked Simon off. Mayhaps he didn't like his new direction with Bringing It All Back Home, although I don't know why that would warrant such a reaction.

I remember reading an interview with Simon where he laughed off the rumour that "The Boxer" was about Dylan (it's one of the many interviews on this neat little page). It's quite a quirky rumour, actually, for it claims that the "Lai lai lai" chorus is in fact "Lie lie lie", referring to the fact that Dylan's not Bobby's real name. You sort of wish that this were true, 'twould take one whacked out lyricist to come up with that...anyhow, in the interview, I remember Simon saying that he wouldn't write a song about Dylan because he didn't know anything about his personal life. I'd like to believe him, really, but you listen to "Phillipic" and tell me what else it could be about! I suppose it's quite possible that it's more an attack on the kind of snob who sneers whenever he talks to someone who "...when you say Dylan / He thinks you're talking about Dylan Thomas / (Whoever he was)". But, the Dylan parody, whether it's meant to be teasing or biting, is certainly there - it's hard to interpret the vocal delivery style, the overt Dylan references ("It's alright ma / 'Cause everybody must get stoned"), the harmonica snippets and the closing "I lost my harmonica, Albert" as anything other than poking fun at Dylan!

There is the view that Dylan retaliated to this insult with a cover of "The Boxer" (hmm interesting that I should be perfectly ok with Dylan's "spoof" yet write this long post in Simon's case!). My own reaction to it is rather funny - initially, I loved it, and thought it must be better than the original (which I don't remember hearing in its entirety at this point). It was as though I thought "Covers of Dylan songs aren't as likeable as the originals, and so Dylan's own covers must be better than the originals" (of course, after really hearing the original since then, I think it is the surely the stronger song, though the cover suits a particular mood). It is only when I read that the song was supposedly a parody that I started to see where these people were coming from - I'd never considered the delivery to be sloppy previously, but on reconsideration I guess it is, almost purposely so. I always took it to be part of the idiosyncratic charm of the song! As for whether I think it a parody or not, I am really unsure. Sometimes I hear it and think it's just too quick and subdued to be a serious take, but then other times I take this to be a very legitimate interpretation, if only for a different mood and time.

Whether Simon harboured resent over the idolization of Dylan by the masses, I am not sure. I got the feeling that there was an undercurrent of this amongst people who saw the case of Lou Reed as being one of "Take Reed if you want a real poet, and Dylan if you want some phoney for the masses" - it isn't exactly jealousy, but there is the feeling that one's favourite artist has been unjustly overlooked in favour of a less deserving one. Simon, in his early days anyway, definitely seems more like a poet of old than Dylan, simply because of the choice of imagery and the general thematics of the lyrics. Whether he's more of a poet full-stop is another question (My answer? The question has none). Yet I'd be disappointed if Simon saw Dylan as a faux-poet or something of the sort. One can certainly accuse "Subterranean Homesick Blues" (which, incidentally, "Phillipic" is supposed to be based on) of being nothing more than a mish-mash of random words. But as rock's most charming poet* would say, "People see no worth in you / But I do". I dunno, I think there's something more than that to the song. It isn't just the lyrics, great as they are** - it's just the fact that it's a short punch of the surreal, what with the frantic guitar (what an unforgettable opening to the song!) and the very style of the delivery. Maybe the lyrics don't mean*** anything, but I don't think I'm kidding myself when I say that it somehow works.

I guess I wouldn't say that Dylan is about the lyrics, and the lyrics alone. For the songs that really work, it's his delivery of said lyrics that will probably win you over. I have a book of the man's lyrics, but simply out of homage to him, as I really don't see myself pulling the book out anytime soon to bask in the words. The reason I say it's not just the lyrics is that I'm not particularly fond of The Byrds' cover of "Mr. Tambourine Man", nor am I in awe of Hendrix's "All Along The Watchtower"****. The originals are far more moving, where Dylan seems to find just the right way to speak those magical lines of his ("Yes the dance beneath the diamond sky"...).

I sometimes think that Dylan suffers from people like me who gush about him and then go on about his lyrics. The problem is that people can go into it expecting an actual poem or something of the sort, but it's not quite that. Poetic, no doubt (at least to me), but there is still a ways to go before we call him a poet. Rock's poet-laureate, maybe, but like I've said before, I don't think one should necessarily consider this to be the same as a "real" poet. Rock-poetry is a different beast, and if you can take the good with the bad, it's ultimately very rewarding.

At any rate, I have a CD of a Simon/Dylan concert that was held sometime in the last ten years, so I guess any problems they had in the past are for the most part resolved. There's an interesting article about these concerts here. There is the interesting point made that Simon was not part of Dylan's 30th anniversary celebration, but perhaps that is not as surprising as it is on first mention. After all, Simon's writing style is a fair ways away from Dylan's, so it's hard to call Dylan a direct mentor of Simon. Whether or not Dylan opened the doors for Simon's own instrospective writing I am not sure - Simon's writing is clearly in a niche of its own by Sounds Of Silence, which is what, 1965?

But, all that aside, even I have to admit that "Phillipic"'s riff is insanely catchy, as are the lyrics themselves. "I've been Norman Maillered, Maxwell Taylored" indeed!

* Shucks, Morrissey comes awful close to being a poet, don't he? One cannot measure the worth of "Reel Around The Fountain" in gold.

** Once you start singing, it's hard to stop - but it's very easy to get breathless. In my youth, I've tried and failed several times to match Dylan's delivery, but it was just too much. Someday.

*** And when do lyrics "mean" something? Oh my, deja vu...

**** I find it interesting that so many people refer to Hendrix's cover as being clearly better than the original (some going so far to assert "We all know that Dylan's songs are better when they are covered by other people". Wow!), again simply because I like how people can see things in such different ways. To me, the original is far more ominous and powerful - "Let us not speak falsely now / The hour is getting late", then that harmonica. Ooh, don't make them like that anymore.

Baby director

Seeing a story on a ten-year old film director automatically put me in a bright mood. It's so disarming, what can one do? Merely hearing him shout out "Action!" is enough to clear the mind. What it also does is put the lines "They call me baby driver" in my head. But then I am then instantly reminded of A singing "You Can Call Me Al", and the world seems complete. Everything fits and makes sense for a brief instant - impossibly fantastic when it happens.

I'm sorry, but in seeing my joy at this, I cannot resist mentioning the fact that I see yet another connection - namely the question of "Lightness or weight, which is better?".

The Window People

It only took a second - I merely looked at their reflection in the window - but it was enough for me to forget it all. I saw nothing of particular relevance or importance. People talking is all that was there, but for reasons that escape me, it provided a brief glimpse into a different world. Heck, what if it all was like this? Looking into the windows of Bangalore to see those around us and their lives. In fact, as I turned back to those sitting beside me, I spent a moment wondering who they were.

I knew it then - I want to be a window person.

The Daughter

It started off with me in a loose shirt and cargo pants, sifting through the buffet. I saw her standing there with a friend, and when I found out who she was, I knew I should've gone to my room and changed before breakfast. It was stupid, oh so stupid - what was I thinking? I quickly dumped whatever I could find onto my plate and rushed on in. I thought that I heard a word of denouncement pass between them, but I can't be sure. I ate in silence, feeling very small indeed. I didn't dare look to see if they were smirking at me, it would have been too much. I was turning red, but I knew a good shower would change things.

It was much later that day that we had our second encounter. It seemed like a fair guess that no-one would be up and about on New Year's Eve, certainly no-one queuing up to use the internet. A quick pop out to check wouldn't hurt, though. As for why I went out in those bright white socks instead of putting on shoes, I'll never know. But it just had to be that way, I know it did. As though I foresaw what was to happen, yet welcomed it! She had to be there, of course. I was greeted by a small contigent of people waiting for her, and immediately I knew this would not end well. I pretended not to see her, but who was I kidding? Her friend was there as well. I walked by them all in silence, yet I just knew their eyes were focussed on those white feet of mine.

And as I wandered around shoe-less, I discovered that there were plenty of people very much interested in the internet, even on New Year's Eve. Maybe it was stupid, but I felt half-naked to be strolling around, and could feel their curious gazes layering up on me. I pretended to look for a pizza in the fridge, and rushed back to the safety of my room. Once I was back in, I knew that it was my sanctum sanctorum, and there was no leaving it anymore, for whatever reason. I took comfort in the fact that I would be remembered, even if it was for being the uncouth gent in the bright white socks.

Walking around in white socks, searching for a pizza - it sounds ridiculous! Just like Stalin's son, eh...

The Unbearable Hardness Of Testing

I had once planned to mention that the one good thing that I got out of validation was being introduced to, of all things, The Unbearable Lightness Of Being. I had planned a witty post that took this curiosity and peppered it with some hyperboles about how the other aspects of the subject were vastly disappointing. Such a post would be out of place today, though, for a couple of reasons. I think it might've been the night before the exam that I finally got the subject. Listening to James talk each week, a lot of things seemed to pass me by. It's easy to find problems with my approach in hindsight, of course. Try talking to me when every week it seemed to get worse, as I continued to fail to grasp the contents of lecture after lecture, despite my efforts to read through the lengthy slides on those Friday train rides. But towards the end, I seemed to get it. Or at least I think I got it. Testing is hard. Unbearably hard. Those lectures spent going through lists and lists were in some sense excessive, but arguably necessary to really convey that idea.

It's probably the last time I'll see James, too, and that makes me sad. Should I have put more effort in? It's easy to say yes, but looking back at some of the lectures and tutorials, well...there was something missing, and something I felt I couldn't make up with extra effort. Was it perhaps that I was overly fixated on test-driven development, thereby left perpetually waiting for unit-testing and the like? Possibly. A bit of everything is the easy answer, but I suspect it's also the correct one. It's painful thinking back on these things. They are filled with regrets, blurry memories of sitting in a lab on Friday evening, week after week not knowing what was going on in the subject. And yet, in the end, it all got magically resolved - by which I mean I managed to pull through with a decent mark. Invariably, I leave it at that, but this time, I feel as though I let an opportunity by.

But I can't lie I say that I don't think that he couldn't have done more; no, that would be a complete lie. Throughout semester, I felt as though there was a lack of effort on his part, and looking back on it, well, yeah, I still feel that way. The knowledge was no doubt there, but I don't think it was presented in any sort of accessible manner. But I can empathise - whenever I have taught, there have been moments where I have skimped on details or been unable to produce a nice enough picture of what something is really about. Whether he feels the same, I'll never know. What really gets to me is the feeling that the knowledge was there if I had chosen to take the initiative. If you ask me why I never approached him with one of my many questions on XP, such as its viability, the role of YAGNI, and what have you, I don't have much of an answer. I remember asking DB many C++ questions, though - which leads me to think that maybe it was the perceived difference in standing. I may well have been slightly intimidated by him! But why idolize someone, why paint grand pictures and yet never look to talk to them?

It seems that the lingering memories I will have are that of the book, and the nagging question of whether I wasted a golden opportunity. Not every lecturer is as experienced in the real-world as James is! And none nearly as erudite, 'twould seem...!

As for the book itself, my immediate reactions to pages were interesting. I started off with a sense of wonder and curiosity, and in doing so the book itself seemed to radiate magic, with an unknown mystique that added to its charm. Yet midway, things started to give way. Suddenly there was no magic, and words seemed fake and construed. There were several times that I felt tempted to put the book down, claiming it to be pretentious nonsense and leaving it at that. Yet I persevered, and towards the end things evened out. No genuine magic, yet no distate in the mouth either. But what is stronger that the book itself is the memory of that Friday lecture when this name, unusual and intriguing, was thrown in the unlikeliest of contexts. (Incidentally, as I write this, what else comes to mind but "Thursday doesn't even start / Because Friday, I'm in love". In some sense, perhaps this is the lightness of my being - the song captures a mood that seems so totally out of place and, well, weightless at the moment)

The Critique Of Hesse

When I was 20, I heard of Hesse the poetic master, and when I was 21, I heard of Hesse the Nietszche-with-sugar hack. It's funny, I thought I would've taken the critique of Hesse far worse than I actually did. But the way it was done just seemed so peaceful that it didn't matter. When I read N&G part of the beauty was just the coziness of my surroundings at the time. It was somehow the same here. Out in the open, the cool breeze blowing through our cornflakes and all that. If only all criticisms were so nice! It's funny that I should like this conversation more than most of the other things that have gone on. What does it say about me? Perhaps not all that much, except that I enjoy it when things that seem to be out of a book magically come to life.

Musical retrospective 2005

Is it about time for a retrospective for the musical year? No? Oh well, I really don't feel like writing anything else at the moment, so this will have to do.

I mentioned in an earlier post that a concern this year came with the lack of listening to things I bought, all in the holy name of preservation. There is now anecdotal evidence to suggest that this is in fact a continuing problem, one that I will probably have to solve by putting more worth in singles and listening to tracks in their miscellaneous glory. But even with this issue, there were some nice enough finds which I shall document for posterity's sake.

I'm often amazed by how skimp my collection actually is in terms of depth, for anytime it grows, it seems to be entirely breadth-wise. Why is that? No doubt due to my love of experimentation, eh? Perhaps it indicates that I get bored far too easily with most things, and so most artists see me obsess enough over one album so as for me to buy it, after which no further mention is made. The best example are those crafty LS boys (Lynyrd Skynyrd, doncha know). There was a time where I was hell-bent on hearing every single one of their songs on the radio so as to judge which of their many albums I should purchase. Naturally their first and most famous one would be the start, but "Double Trouble" wasn't on it, so surely there would be many more to follow, right? Haha, surely you jest! For what followed was a paltry two listens to the first album, whereupon I promptly forgot about them completely. As for a reason why, 'twas purely down to a personal whim, borne perhaps out of a disappointment over "Simple Man" or something. It's possible to listen to samples so many times that when the real thing comes on, it seems limp and somehow not nearly as good. I can't rationalize it at all, I'm afraid (after all, there are some mighty good songs on that first album, you know; "Tuesday's Gone", now that is a lost classic). And so it went that I moved on to bigger and better things in my mind...such as, say, that punk-poet Patti Smith, who suffered a similar fate after Wave failed to impress on two (or was it three? It might make all the difference!) listens. It just goes on and on from there, I'm afraid.

The other side to this is that I treat most new music with wary caution. I'll never forget "Send Me No Wine", for aside from being beautiful, it was the song that made me admit to myself "Alright...so maybe these guys aren't so bad after all". I started off treating the Moodies as competitors to the Beatles (and as such constantly rejected their melodic prowess), and so with every song, there was a part of me that went "Bah, that was no good! "Day In The Life", now that's a song!". Insane, no? It's yet more prominent when music is recommended, but I think the underlying issue here is fear of some already existing idol being shown-up by someone "better" - I seem to be saying "No no no, my idol is still the best, this is just a weak imitation!". Fear! A John Cale album, and a probable reason for one of my particularly neurotic tendencies.

So what did we have this year? It's hard to believe that it started off with Unknown Pleasures, because it feels like that one's been around for a long time. This is such a consistent little album it's amazing - there are no major misses, everything is nice and to the point, and it's very hard to feel let down after a listen. Granted, I can't get into the lyrics at all, but it doesn't matter, because it's the actual music that I dig. Some see Curtis as having some of the best lyrics in rock, but me, I don't see it sadly. What he sings is often too abstract and intangible for me to be able to appreciate. The combination of the music and the lyrics works well, of this there is no doubt, but I couldn't like a Joy Division song on the basis of lyrics alone; but like I said, it's not as much of a loss, because the music is nothing short of fantastic. The emphasised bass works surprisingly well, and when the guitar takes center stage, it's usually amazing. Who would've guessed that you could make an album where it's the bass that provides the hook? Certainly one of the best bass lines I've heard in my short musical life is that of "She's Lost Control" (which, incidentally, is a nice of example of the guitar really making itself felt when it bursts onto the scene - a Kinks riff and a mesmerising bass, how can you go wrong!?!). If I had to pick a favourite, it would be "Shadowplay", if only for the intro where the bass is shattered by the guitar. What a moment, and what an album!

What to say about The Good Son? I seem to talk about it every other post. Why in God's name? Heck, who knows, but let me say that the album isn't yet one of my favourites. When I think about the individual songs in isolation, they all seem good, but every listen has left me a little, well, disappointed. As though I'm expecting some great aural revelation or something! It's unfortunate, really, because there's some great stuff here, but alas, I seem to unable to judge it for what it is, instead choosing to pile on unneeded matters of circumstance. My fondest memory of it, though, is coming home tired one evening and then, after listening to this mellow album on my bed, suddenly feeling as though I had been granted a second burst of energy. You know, thinking about "Foi Na Cruz" again just makes me wonder why I don't love this yet. There are many positive memories, but where's the love? Damn, and "Sorrow's Child", that takes a few listens, but man, that hook will reel you in. Maybe I was wrong, maybe this is a favourite, except it just hasn't dawned on me yet.

By far the biggest surprise of the year was Roxy's For Your Pleasure. When I first listened to it, I was left wondering "Where the hell did that come from?"; I didn't expect that something so amazing could come from people I hadn't heard of at all; clearly, I still over-estimate my still fledgling knowledge of rock. From the moment the main hook of "Do The Strand" hit, I could tell there was something here, and chided myself for letting this album sit in my house for a year, unlistened to. It's true, with repeated listens, you tend to pick out a few weak moments, but I miss experiences like this. I went it having no idea who these Roxy guys were, having no idea what this album was or what kind of music was played, and when the music played - damn. They don't make moments like that anymore. Funnily enough, even though the follow-up, Stranded, is easily more consistent on a song-by-song basis, it's definitely not as enjoyable to me as this one is. You can sit down to Stranded and be entertained the whole way through. "Street Life" features a pretty synth riff, and a catchy melody, and "Mother Of Pearl" is one funky tune, but it isn't quite the same. The mood isn't there - when you start off FYP with "Do The Strand", you know there is nothing else like this. And "Beauty Queen" comes on, and there is hope for the world! And of course once "Editions Of You" takes its turn, you're in space, and everything starts to make sense. Damn, I'm forgetting what I was talking about, but this is great stuff.

Skylarking gets the most rewarding whim-purchase award, what with its collection of immaculate pop songs. Loose conceptuality is something I'm always game for, but I mainly went in expecting some strong hooks, and was not disappointed. The opening combo of "Summer's Cauldron"/"Grass" is the most charming one I've heard all year (although "Foi Na Cruz"/"The Good Son" may be the one that puts me most at ease). I remember that at the time I bought it, I was a little tired of experimental and revolutionary rock. I wanted something simple and melodic, no doubt feeling the dizzying after-effects of Ram. I didn't know much about XTC, but a positive review or two was enough for me. I chanced my hand and was duly rewarded. I wouldn't say this has great (pop) songs - nothing in the vein of "Uncle Albert", say - but it is chock-a-block with many very good ones. "That's Really Super, Supergirl", for instance - the heck!?! Why is it so likeable? Ahhh, music, the most mysterious of masters...

Somewhere in between the first and second half of the year, along came Quadrophenia, making a dramatic return. I heard it late 2004, but was so disappointed that I included it on my RYM list of albums I haven't been able to appreciate, much to my chagrin. I decided to give it another shot, and I think it was a gloomy Saturday morning that I gave it another spin. I set aside a good hour to let the album sink in, and the result was fantastic. Perhaps it was just the mood I was in at the time, but the experience was like no other. My memories are too complex to be put into words, but I do remember reeling from the bass-lines on a couple of the songs, and just totally digging the synths that Townshend uses with great success. I can't say if it's the rockers like "The Real Me" or the denser numbers like the title track that I appreciate - all I know is, the sign of a great album is when it is able to make you feel like no other can make you. Sometimes, you can't even put into words what this feeling is. It doesn't make for particularly interesting reading, I'll admit, but how is one supposed to accept the burden of putting into words something so other-worldly? Let me at least say that when the crescendo of "Love Reign O'er Me" hits, I really do feel like I've been through an opera. I have no idea if this is the height of art-rock, but to me, this is as good an example as any of a rock album that is perfectly on-par with a piece of art in terms of the feelings it can get out of me.

The second half of the year belonged to Morrissey, of this there can be no doubt. There's a review of Hatful Of Hollow that is yet to be completed, but I love that the album reintroduced me to the power of the single. It's funny to think that a single album could cause so much adulation on my part, in fact I can't quite understand it myself. On the basis of this alone, I proceeded to get most of the Smiths' catalogue within the next few months. Put it down to the power of the Morrissey - that guy can write. And sing, incidentally - there's nothing quite like Morrissey crooning on "Reel Around The Fountain".

Edit: Whoah, whoah, whoah. How could I forget? Eno's Another Green World should've been the first album that came to mind when I compiled this list. This is a great album. In fact, it's one of the greatest ones I've heard in a while. Were it not for For Your Pleasure blowing me away the first time, I would have no qualms naming this the best album I've heard all year. Again, objectivity be damned - yes, like Pleasure, towards the end it loses its bite. Much as I like "Everything Merges With The Night", I can't argue that it is anywhere near the same level of, say, "In Dark Trees". Oh man, what a song. I can't think of talking very much about the songs themselves, because this is going to be my reaction. "In Dark Trees", "St. Elmo's Fire", and, perhaps most of all, "The Big Ship"? Achingly beautiful, each of them. I've never listened to ambient music, well, ever, but some of these make me want to change that. I hear it sometimes said that the pop songs are out of place here, but I lurve "I'll Come Running" - I read somewhere about how Eno mastered the pop-format by this stage, and it seems rather apt! What a perfect little pop song! I think the pop and the ambient pieces work together nicely; after all, it gives one the opportunity to go from the blissful "St. Elmo's Fire" to the gloomy yet beautiful "In Dark Trees". It's fitting that Eno played a big hand in For Your Pleasure as well - perhaps the second half of the year was Morrissey's, but the year itself was Eno's it would seem!

Who to look out for next year? Ween are very much on the top of the list, simply because of GS's reviews. I can't help myself, I have to see what the fuss is about. The Cocteau Twins, even if it's just because of "Carolyn's Fingers". Perhaps Sparks and Steve Harley, if I can find them, but at the moment nothing else seems to come to mind. Thankfully, when I'm armed with money and go inside a music shop, potentials come out of every corner, so here's hoping that the coming year isn't a dull one musically.

Bah, I can't resist, pointless list time:

Best album I heard: Roxy's For Your Pleasure. I can't help it, this album just totally overwhelmed me. Like I said in the edit, Another Green World comes pretty darn close to winning this award, but since FYP was what immediately came to mind, I'll take that to mean that I somehow have a deeper reaction to it. Objectively, it tapers off to the end, but as an experience, I can't get away from those first six songs. The last two don't grip, but I need a bit of a breather and a light let-off. Those harmonicas on "Grey Lagoons" are cool enough.

Best song I heard: I don't like this award, it's way too difficult. If I must choose, it would have to be the Smith's "This Charming Man". I have no idea why, but this song really seems to resonate with me. I haven't been able to rationally analyze it, but after a point I've just given up and marvelled at how something could affect me so. If I were to debate on whether a single can be a piece of art, perhaps this would be my choice. The opening, with the beautiful jangly guitar that seems to bring the imagery of the words to life ("Punctured bicycle / On a hillside desolate"), is one of the finest things I've heard in a while.

Then again, there is "The Big Ship". I don't even bother rationally analyzing this one, it's simply the greatest instrumental I've ever heard. Soul-cleansing.

Edit from the future: Uhm, hello, "Editions Of You"? It still is one of the most unique and friggin' brilliant songs I've ever heard. Perhaps now you see the problem with trying to choose a best song, there simply are too many of them!

Most neglected album: The Kinks' Arthur. I didn't even mention it here, even though "Some Mother's Son" was the focus of a post earlier in the year. I don't know why, but something just hasn't clicked with this. But there are moments, there are moments that make me think that there really is something great here. "Shangri-La", for instance, ooh, now that can give you goosebumps. I owe it to myself to hear this more often.

Best song by an artist I thought I knew all about: Simon & Garfunkel's "Leaves That Are Green". As for why I thought I knew all about S&G, despite only having listened to Bridge Over Troubled Water, well... A charming little song with lyrics I wish I wrote ("I was twenty-one years old when I wrote this song"...!).

Song I should love more, but don't: Cave's "The Weeping Song", no doubt. Great lyrics, catchy melody, what's not to love about it? I like it, I like very much in fact, but I somehow don't love it, and to me, this is a mystery.

Favourite Morrissey moment: Hey, the guy deserves a special place all for himself. Hard to pick, but have you heard "Panic" lately ("Hang the DJ!")? There's something about the "And I wonder tooo myself" line that I just love - somehow sad, yet the delivery cannot be matched. To quote a fellow blogger, unbelievably profound.

Song that made me wish I heard the album earlier: Strange award, but it would probably be "As I Sat Sadly By Her Side", off Cave's No More Shall We Part (review pending!). I was tentative of the album for no particular reason, but then as this opened up proceedings, I was left rueing that I doubted the Cavemeister.

Spoorloos

Headlights cut through the foggy night
Asleep in India, awake in Tibet,
For a moment in between
I saw the golden egg.

Venus in furs

"What is there to do this afternoon?"
Thinking about this, I lay down and tried to plan something interesting.
Instead I slept, and it felt like a thousand years.

Postmodern highrise tabletop stomp

"...Yes, yet I don't quite know that you exist"
He blinked slowly. "Turn on your television, my son", he said.
"'Tis done"
"And what is it that you see?", he said.
"...Reach out, touch faith".
He smiled.