I spent Sunday afternoon swapping out music on my MP3 player; this is evidently what passes for entertainment in my household. Despite my nerdiness (or maybe because of it) I was most eager to listen to all the freshly loaded music on the van this morning.
When I arrived, they seemed to be battening down the hatches despite the fact I had a full two minutes left before our scheduled departure.
Fall is truly the best time for sad bastard music. Around this time every year I dust off The Cure, Mazzy Star, Galaxie 500, and Bauhaus and settle in for a good mope.
Twenty some minutes into my commute, hovering between sleep and ennui, this song crept into my head.
This song, which has been sending chills down the spines of movie goers ever since we first saw Buffalo Bill cavorting in his boudoir in his homemade skin suit, really is quite catchy.
If you can let go of the context (which, let's face it, is nigh impossible) it's got all the makings of a moody classic: Droning? Check. A little too long? Certainly. Unintelligible lyrics? To be sure.
So, as we move toward Halloween and into prime mopey music season, I can't think of a spookier cut.