Sometimes, when reading of other people's lives, and contrasting them to my paltry existence, there is a resurrected fear that whatever consolations I've tried to offer myself as to why things have turned out a certain way - that things being any other way would involve choosing to forsake some things very important to me - are simply baseless. Where that leaves me, I don't know.

The first time I saw Morrissey perform, I was reminded of the classic line from "Rubber Ring" and felt lucky that such music existed. This time, it was more "Crashing Bores" and a general disaffection with the world. Not that Moz himself didn't try - on paper, he did play many strong songs - but this time I felt like there are some things that are better when they exist only inside your own head. Seeing them interpreted by other people, instead of making me feel not alone in being alone, produced the opposite effect.

To elaborate, the one characteristic of Moz songs is that they are emotional, and the reason that I was drawn to his songs that they expressed certain facets of my thinking very directly and eloquently. This time, I realized that not everyone takes the songs as seriously as I did, and largely still do. Which is not to say that I am a better listener or fan, because heaven knows my interpretations of what things mean is as unreliable as anyone's; but having placed so much faith in these songs, seeing them treated so frivolously makes me feel somewhat foolish. Maybe that's all they were meant to be, after all? What that makes of the hours spent in their company, I can only guess.

Of course, listening to the songs again, the answer that screams back regarding their frivolity is an emphatic No. (If otherwise, Moz would have to be one of the greatest emotional frauds that lived; an interesting proposition, and a lifestyle interesting to contemplate, but not one I could fathom being true!) But I do wonder how Moz himself takes to the crowds of people cheerfully asserting their heritage from a criminally vulgar shyness, for example. Quite possibly he's learned to move on from expecting everyone to be and think like you, a state that is childishly naive at best, dangerously solipsistic at worst. Isn't that how people grow up?

1) Grant McLennan, "Haven't I Been A Fool". I'm now a devotee of his facile melodic gift, which lends an initial familiarity to all his songs. His lyrical gift operates in both an apparent and subtle manner, I feel; he can turn a phrase when he's so inclined, but even otherwise, there's a delicate cohesion between the words and the music, to say nothing of the delivery. (Regarding the latter, I've realized that in particular I like his mild Anglophonic touches. The August moon never sounded more romantic to me.) In short, someone who seems to have intuited the secrets great songwriters possess. If this group accepts members less by the votes of the masses than by affection amongst those who care about this sort of thing, long may his reign be in the tower of song.

2) The Go-Betweens, "Quiet Heart". Does the fact that you can place the commentary above next to this one suggest that Grant was a one trick pony? Or that his consistency is something we must all bow down before?

Every time I've silently taken his casual put-downs, I've promised myself there would come a time when I would speak up and at least make him realize that words have meaning and consequence. Today, in a moment of bravery, I finally made good on this promise when one of my oft-abused arguments was presented back to me. As curtly as I could muster, I pointed out the deep hypocrisy in his logic, hoping that it would make him realize that years of offhand criticism could so easily be turned around. And what should happen but my wretched heart sorry for him at that moment. Years of quiet preparation amount, as ever, to nothing.

She strode over, wide-eyed innocent, gentle subject of gentler ribbing between perennial adolescents who meant no harm. Confronted with (as the ribbing would have it) the object of each of our affections, who did nothing more than look at us good naturedly, I dare say there was a collective sense that in every joke there is more than a sliver of truth.

If I looked into your eyes,
I might disappear,
But what better way to end;
Wrapped in your warm ray,
My mind scorched,
My heart beating once again.

Melodic numbers with something more under the surface? Or is that just me over thinking again?

1) The Seekers, "Georgy Girl". I've always liked the sweet '60s melody, but I used to feel the lyrics were uncomfortably misguided. But five years on, they seem wiser than I remembered, and unusually empathetic. Whether this is justified, I don't know. Certainly any insight you get from this type of music is largely from personal projection, but that's more than you can say for most things. And to me that's cause to smile, a little bit.

2) Cockney Rebel, "Tumbling Down". Harley has the gift of making otherwise absurd lyrics seem like the most important words in the world. It's true that this time you can read a little bit into the final chorus, and his vocal passion is characteristically brilliant, but additionally, for mine, the melody is worthy of any early '70s peer. In a sense this is a swansong for Harley as mirror freak, but I hope this is a period that will be given its due more in the years to come.

3) Elliott Smith, "Waltz #2 (XO)". With my newfound belief in pre-internet era indie idols, I've corrected what in hindsight must seem like an embarrassing oversight. I'm not too old, and likely will never be, to appreciate a good lyric of remorse, and that's a gift Smith seems deservedly praised for. But honestly, it's that melody that keeps lingering in mind.

Having not written one of these in a while, and having thought of a theme, I thought just this once you'd pardon me if my judgement on these tunes isn't final or convincing.

1) Supertramp, "Gone Hollywood". Prindle said that he hadn't heard a song with a fade-in intro that was ever less than excellent. (Even better when said song kicks off an album. Like Sparks' "This Town", this reminds you of one of the joys of listening to an album.) There may be only a few hundred people who listen to Supertramp and find an emotional connection to the lyrics, but by God I'm now one of them. In its non-specific dissatisfaction and disappointment with a particular stretch of the land of dreams, I see a bit of myself. Plus the sax is neat.

2) Jackson Browne, "Running on Empty". This hits a spot not unlike the one tapped by other emotional favourites from the late '70s by the new Dyland crowd - Rust Never Sleeps and Darkness on the Edge of Town, in particular. Earnest and dissatisfied enough to get my vote. And if I'm being honest, more than a little of my appreciation comes from nostalgia for the first time I heard the previously mentioned albums. Which is oddly fitting: in 2001 I was 17, and all the rest.

By default, nowadays I basically sit around expecting disappointment. You'd think being prepared would help, but it doesn't. A particular source of anguish is being walked over by people who are unanimously praised by everyone around me. This has happened so many times that it seems like character doesn't matter anymore. But since that seems like an extreme possibility, I must consider the alternative, namely that my reading of character is based on a meaningless code of conduct. This code is nothing that others seem to be aware of or care to find out, and yet it's how I thought we were supposed to be living all these years. That's great.

Moving about on desolate strips of land, as the sun beats down and the big cars roll by. Yup. Life is going nowhere.