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