Once twenty years or so ago I'd agreed to drive my friend KT to the airport from campus. This was back when they were still building what I assume is now the 105 or something; in any case, there were tons of unfinished onramps and disconnected, elevated freeway sections all over the place. And it started pouring rain, some of the most torrential rain I've ever seen in LA; there were points in the drive where the visibility was so lousy that I was taking offramps into what seemed like the sky and for all I knew I was just going to go flying off of one of those unfinished deals into the pounding wet void. I eventually dropped KT off successfully and was trying to get home; the freeways by now were completely jammed and in places beginning to actually fill up with water, like swimming pools. The wipers on my Mercury Topaz were nothing to speak of and I think it may even have been leaking; it was certainly dark and wet and hellish, and it began to dawn on me that the cassette I'd been listening to the whole time, Underwater Moonlight by The Soft Boys, was if not actually calling the downpour from the skies then certainly making me feel more submerged than I wanted to be, so I decided to switch it out for another one. I popped it out and felt around in all the likely places where I thought any other cassettes might be, but was only able to find one: Black Sheets of Rain by Bob Mould.I think it would be really, really hard to be one of Bob Mould's exes.
Personnel: Rex
That's quite a nicely done little narrative there, Rex.
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