My 24th Favorite Song of All-Time

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…and my 24th favorite song of all time is:

“Be Safe” by The Cribs

The Cribs are a weird band, which you might have guessed, since their name is The Cribs.  They are virtually unheard of in the US, but they are one of the more popular bands in England (where they are from) because, as usual, England has a higher tolerance for outside-the-box kind of stuff.  Granted, a large portion of their music is very straight-forward indie rock, but they often veer into Avant Garde.  The song that got me into them is a piece of pure pop perfection called “We Were Aborted”.  Go figure.

Their best song, and a song that affects me highly every time I listen to it, is “Be Safe”.  It is unlike anything you have ever heard.  It is a long poem (a terrific poem) being read not by a member of the band, but by legendary rock innovator Lee Ranaldo of the band Sonic Youth, who is a kind of mentor to the members of The Cribs.  Underneath this poem is some sonic-boom style grunge rock, and some moaning, dirge-like choruses sung by all the members of The Cribs.  This song can come very close to literally changing your life.

There was not a satisfactory rendition of this song for streaming online, so I made one specifically for this blog entry.  Please watch it below.  The lyrics stream along with the song in the video.  Trust me folks, this was not easy to make, so do this blogger a favor and watch it.  I don’t ask for much.  If  it doesn’t blow your mind, I’ll refund your money.

Jeremy, Where Have You Gone?

Jeremy, where have you gone?  It’s been so long.  I suppose in high school, you think you’ll know your friends forever, and I suppose that is foolish.  But Jeremy, you were a counterpoint to my soul through the roughest, most awkward young years, and then we immediately parted ways for no stated reason, never so much as a phone call ever again.

Jeremy, where have you gone?  In this day and age, we stay in touch with people we barely know, forever.  I know more about how my minor friends from middle school have turned out than I know about you, and where you are, and what you do, and how you’re doing.  It seems nobody else I know knows anything much about you, either.

Jeremy, where have you gone?  Did England break your heart?  Did you find God in a jet plane?  Does the sound of approaching thunder terrify you, or ominous rain clouds make you smile?  Are you a farmer, with overalls to your chin?  Do you have a beard?  What happened to your parents?  Do you shiver in an unheated room in the winter with a wife who loves you?  Do you wonder about me, and how I’m doing?  Do you ever feel completely alone?

Overcast on Top of Overcast

In the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy, the sky has been a constant rippling gray, for days now.  It’s not simply the flat, featureless gray of most overcasts; it is as if somebody laid down one layer of pure, solid gray, and then came after it and blotted on bushy, billowing slate cottonballs.  The sky has never looked so huge, while simultaneously enclosing us, pushing down, making clear that us humans are smaller than we’d even suspected before.