Monday, April 9, 2012

french fries with pepper.

(post title from this)

I've been listening to Morphine for a few years now. At the end of a movie called
Spanking The Monkey (which I bought sight-unseen, DON'T JUDGE ME), a song called "In Spite of Me" plays over the credits, bringing masturbation insinuations and incestuous plot twists (seriously, it's a weird movie) to a weirdly emotional closing.

I only really recommend the movie to Carla Gallo completists, but it was what actually introduced me to the band, and I would've watched Night at the Museum 2: Go to Hell, but Leave Us Your Money four times before missing out on this band. When we recently exchanged the contents of smutty playlists, prominent blogger/advice giver Jenny reignited my Morphine fire, and sent the spark decidedly aflame.

There's something primal about this band, though. They connected immediately--even though "In Spite of Me" betrays their primary bass/sax/drums configuration--and never rescinded on the bargain that we somehow made, against both of our wills, to keep me company on both dark nights and early mornings. Whatever it was about them hit me like a right hook and sent me back for more.

At the end of a first date about two and a half years ago, we were driving home and I turned on "The Night," and she said "this is a weird song." I should've just let her walk home then and there, and it would've saved me enough bullshit to fertilize a melon farm to world renown, but alas, sometimes we learn things the hard way.

And sometimes, we have dreams about a rope on fire.



Okay, this has been an anthem lately. Lots of rolled-down windows.

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