9.24.15

There's something about the music that Deb Talan and Steve Tannen make. Collectively they're known as The Weepies and, I don't know, maybe it's because I've listened to their songs too many times while getting over another rejection or another move or another life change, but I feel like their music—not necessarily them—gets me. Like somehow it's part of me.

I guess, in a way, it is. It's become part of my experience. Or experiences, really. The melodies and harmonies—especially the harmonies—have intertwined themselves with the ethereal matter of my memories. Right alongside the images of that one guy I liked so much and that one autumn when my hair was on point and that other thing that I can't quite remember but it's fused into my soul just the same—there, alongside all those things and more, is the music.

You know those times when you get a whiff of something and all of the sudden, like that scene from "Ratatouille", you're back in your childhood home and it's 1997 (or '87, or '67) and you're wearing that horrible purple corduroy dress you're mom forced on you? It's like that, with me and this music. But for some reason, instead of being transported to another time and place, an invisible pair of arms reaches through my ribs and wraps itself around my core. I'm not sure if I want to laugh or cry or fall asleep.

Ah, man. Good stuff.

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