Apparently Jackson Browne was only sixteen when he wrote this song. WTF!
Strange how circumstances coalesce — me reading Joel Lane's short story, An Uknown Past in which the protagonist becomes obsessed by Nico, and then watching The The Royal Tenenbaums and this song barreling over me like a freight train.
a nickle bag... a nickle bag...dp's always hit you with a nickle bag...
the sun, the kiss, the funk for a bliss
the lips with the soul and some jazz for ya hips...
Say. Her. Name.
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Me and Alexa had a falling out last night. Maybe she didn't like the way I'd just wired her up my antediluvian hi-fi. After all, audio bondage should always be consensual. Those two speaker towers set either side of the chimney breast are a relic — an object of desire from another aeon. She had expected a soundbar and found herself shackled to antiquity.
Or maybe my northern accent encouraged her to spite me in the way she did. Why else would she offer me a track by Car Seat Headrest when I merely had asked for The Cars's, Just What I Needed?
But it seems the virtual tease knows me better than I know myself. My God! What a revelation The Ballad of the Costa Concordia turned out to be. From its opening — those deep and resonate chords filling the room — I became transfixed, shushing my wife and her protest of, "What's this crap?"
Anyhow, I pass on to you, dear listener, my find. If you already know this piece, consider yourself fortunate among men. If not, stick with it to the end, the subtlety of its pace and tempo; then the shift, the emotional intensity of the words deepening exponentially.
The lyrics are on YouTube a little way down the page. Read them as you listen if you have a mind to; they will not disappoint.
Not sure which version I like the best so have posted them both (Acoustic below). The song has profound emotional resonance with me just at the moment.