Imogen Heap Day?

Mainstream indie.
Sure to put you in a gemutlich mood.

If you've lain in bed wondering what obscure holiday you share your birthday with, rejoice, you no longer have to wonder. I found it particularly relieving that September 22nd is not only Dear Diary Day, but also Hobbit Day. The 22nd always nags at me, like there's something I'm missing. Maybe it's hobbits.

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Gemutlich (adj. Warm and congenial; agreeably pleasant; comfortable.)

250th

Happy Birthday, WA!

A Reflection on...Country?

Recently, I've been listening to a new country station on the radio. I have never been too big a fan of hardcore country, although I've been learning it possesses some believable songs. However, for those of you who would deny that this genre dwells primarily on certain subjects such as dysfunctional relationships, alcohol, and redneck women, I would submit the song "Drunker than me" by Trent Tomilson. True, it doesn't contain any grief-stricken or resentful lyrics about divorce or burrying one's dead dog; but it is, unarguably, one of the unintelligent songs that makes the genre's stereotype well-deserved.
But like I inferred earlier, among the myriad of doleful songs contributed to mankind's cache of art by country singer-songwriters, I admit there is also a greater variation and deeper soul than you would find in, say, the pop category. There is more freedom and honesty in country than some other genres. This honesty allows for some fairly gormless songs, like the one mentioned above, but also very sincere and eloquent tunes (as far as eloquence can coincide with twangy guitars, that is...). And, as the lyric-freak that I am, country is generally quite clever, even when the subject is not.

Bada-bada-BING!

Forget Sinatra--Bing Crosby rocks my socks.

A Fighter by his Trade

I am recalling the opinion I gave on Fib's site about the S&G lyrics to "The Boxer." After reading through the entire song, the meaning has become quite apparent, indeed. Meh, it's SO freakishly clear, I don't know how I missed it. But to explain it coherantly...*laughs grimly*: The boxer is a semblance of who the singer was--a fighter. As a boy, he resisted ridicule (for being poor, maybe, or whatever), possibly verbally, possibly physically, what have you, until he "squandered his resistance for a pocketful of mumbles." Instead of continuing to resist the ridicule, he just mumbled a response and stopped fighting; he accepted the opinion of the unnamed antagonists. He walked away. The singer is lamenting for the fighter he knows he still is, somewhere deep inside (I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains/ Yes, he still remains). It's a brilliantly coined line, really.
How did I miss that?

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peccadillo (n. A slight offense; a petty fault)