1) The Triffids, "Wide Open Road". Sometimes I listen to a song after a long time, and I try to remember the initial thrill I had on first hearing it. In general, I find this impossible, even by my obsessive life-cataloguing standards. There is a class of songs for which I can do a bit better, which are ones that prompted me to write a response, or at least an acknowledgement to them on first listen. Here, that urge is not only remembered, but resurrected. It reminds me of how remarkable it is that we have have these catalysts for either germinating or awakening certain strands of thought and feeling within ourselves. The former is rarer, and the latter involves a complex marshalling of moods, ideas and emotions that would otherwise pass us by, drowned as they are in the sea of consciousness. Any form of art, but in this context lyric or song writing, is all the more remarkable in how the artist finds a way to capture these delicate, gilded things, and hold in their hands an artifact that stands firm against time and its servants, one which divines these same truths for anyone else privileged enough to get the chance to hold it.

1) The Triffids, "Estuary Bed". I don't know how it is possible for music to induce nostalgia for times I haven't actually experienced. You could call such songs "evocative" and leave it at that, but there is something more. The narrator of the preceding "Seabirds" may have departed in despair, but the one here possibly knows more pain, by virtue of being on the wrong side of forgotten affection and having to live with that as years tick by. Forster said "Cattle and Cane" was a key progression where McLennan managed to dig up the past, and so too here. When that happens, it does not matter how tangential or disconnected your personal experience is to what is literally expressed; the heart will find a way to make a connection. Which is another way to say, this is a perfect song.

Unsurprisingly for a band whose lead songwriter can safely claim spiritual lineage from the Dylan/Cohen family, for every of the Triffids' moments of obvious brilliance (see my previous song list) there is a often a late bloomer. I hadn't seriously pondered on any of these tracks, and one by one they revealed themselves in a moment of complete surprise. A pleasant experience: it's so easy to forget a crucial lyric that's just over the horizon, and when it arrives, the reaction is purely visceral. It's like the first listen all over again!

As for their whitewash of the last two couple of lists, the phenomenon is akin to what I experienced with the Doors, all those years ago. There's a superficial similarity in the singers' tenor, of course, and you might say in their general lyrical style. But there is something else that causes its complete domination of my musical landscape, and the thrilling feeling that this is the only music I ever want to listen to. (Time was that I couldn't imagine another band having as cohesive a catalogue as the Doors.) I suspect it's the songwriter's belief in the music, of every song feeling like another piece towards understanding a certain philosophy. And quite simply, some philosophies are more exciting than others. Not more valid, or honest, or mature. Just exciting. McComb isn't nearly as seriously infused with Byronic fury (a wonderful Xgau phrase) as Morrison, and comes across as less of a mystic and more a poetically inclined soul trying to balance the pain with pleasure. Ok, so maybe some philosophies are more personally incisive than others.

1) The Triffids, "Stolen Property". The most stylish send-off of its kind, but who is it really directed towards? Himself? If so, by implication others like him, leading one to conclude that this is really an accusatory song for the right kind of listener.

2) The Triffids, "A Trick of the Light". I don't doubt that there's a prurient undertone to the lyrics, but speculating on this is rather tiresome. My initial reading, which is the one I'm sticking by, is far more powerful anyhow. I imagine the middle-eight as being an accurate depiction of the mental anguish the recipient of the song must feel, her image being summoned so many times to fulfill some moment of shared affection that has long passed.

3) The Triffids, "Save What You Can". I think it's pragmatic rather than mournful that good times have passed. It's also quintessentially McComb in its combination of tired defeat and resolute faith. There's the right amount of pain to convince us he knows what he's talking about, and yet enough hope to convince us he knows the limits of what pain can teach you.