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Sunday, February 13, 2011

332. "A Month of Sundays" by The Church

In case you were worried that I'd forgotten the other album I'm covering in its entirety, here's another step toward the completion of Remote Luxury as reimagined (<-barf term) by Skates & Rays. There's another one partially finished as well... this will get done.

Hearkening back to my conception of the record as a "coming of age" type deal, this track is one of the key elements in that theory. The scenario is sort of the thing I liked to daydream about as one of those weird loner kids: meeting an exotic woman who not only validates one's romantic self but also opens the door to a new and invigorating social world. Although on some level I recognized the druggy implications of the friends as having "good things to add to the blend", I seem not to have registered at the time that the whole thing is a sham, that in the end the woman seems to be trying to take something from the narrator, and certainly using him somehow... she is, after all, a "bad man's woman", probably sent to seduce the singer for unclear reasons. It's all there, but what I heard instead was the chorus's insistence that the singer had felt as if he belonged with these new people, departing slowly and hoping to be asked to stay. I tried to put some of that earlier, naive perspective into my performance of it, vocally, but the arrangement is supposed to suggest the creakier, more world-weary viewpoint: this is now not what happened yesterday, but a long time ago, the bitterness now difficult to sort out from the rush of discovery felt at the time.

SKATES & RAYS as embodied by just Rex this time

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