People seem to have to pick a side these days, when everything is a binary choice in a world that was never meant to be about binary choices. Case in point is Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears. It feels like you have to be #TeamBritney or #TeamJustin with nary the room to be a fan of both. I’m not falling victim to making that choice, especially as neither has impressed me for years, but there were many former moments of love for both.
That said, I do love a bit of pop-star trolling, and watching the Brit Stans succeed in pushing her 13-year-old track ‘Selfish’ from the ‘Femme Fatale’ album above Timberlake’s own ‘Selfish’ attempt at a sort of comeback is as amusing as it is enlightening for me (never heard the track, as that’s about the time I started tuning her out – not from ill-will, just from other interests supplanting that brand of dance-pop). So here is her version of ‘Selfish’ from all those years ago.
When pop titans fight for their musical relevance, it’s always a sight to see, and the aural explosions are designed to devastate. As for Justin’s ‘Selfish’, it percolates along at a pleasant pace, but it’s not a banger like former glories such as ‘SexyBack‘. Perhaps he’s banking on this having longer legs and insinuating itself in our heads as an amuse bouche in preparation for when the full album arrives.
{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}
The Madonna Timeline is on a bit of a ‘Madame X’ kick of late, with the most recent entry being ‘God Control‘, and this one moving on to ‘Crazy’. One of the most charming and effervescent tracks of that album, ‘Crazy’ brings me happily back to the summer of 2019, a time that feels more quaint and sunny when you realize it was all in the months right before a worldwide deadly pandemic. In so many ways, that summer feels like one of the last great summers, and all the summers since then have been trying to achieve something similar, and all to no success. Maybe I’ve just grown up beyond having a carefree summer. Maybe last summer simply ruined it for me. I don’t know. What I do understand is that there is power in music – and power in this pretty little song.
I spent all night waiting up It’s gonna be the last night I wait up for you Spent a long time wakin’ up Used to think that I was not enough for you
Now I see that I’m just way too much You got your hands full, I’m misunderstood Now I see that I’m who I can trust And you got a lot of room, you tryin’ to make it good
But if you think I’ve been foolish and you only fool me once I guess it’s shame on you Say now if you think I’ve been foolish and you Keep on trying to do it, baby, Imma switch the plans on you
‘Cause you’re driving me crazy You must think I’m crazy
The start of the summer of 2019 was spent in gleeful anticipation of the ‘Madame X’ album – one of the first true summer albums released by Madonna since I can’t remember when (perhaps the most notable one being ‘True Blue’). The magic had begun with ‘Medellin‘ and while some of the album was gloriously experimental, Madonna still knew her way around a heady hook and a magical melody, which she melded with some strong Portuguese influence on ‘Crazy’.
And I won’t let you drive me cray-ay-ay-ay-zy And I won’t let you drive me crazy Você não vai me por tão lo-o-o-ouca Você não vai me por tão louca
Starting the season as early as possible, I remember painting some of our worn backyard plant stands and furniture a bright yellow, unifying the accents with the curtains hanging from the canopy that year. They would be excellent foil for the garishly-colored pots I was using, forming a vibrant fiesta of color and bold hues that would help to make a celebration of summer. All the while, I played the ‘Madame X’ album on repeat, burning these beautiful songs into a summer memory.
I’m a force that I won’t tame, babe Can’t go through this and stay the same, babe I’ve seen a lot of stranger things, babe And I’ll never look at you the same
‘Cause you’re driving me crazy You must think I’m crazy Você me põe tão louca Você pensa que eu sou louca
And I won’t let you drive me crazy-ay-ay-ay-ay-zy And I won’t let you drive me crazy Você não vai me por tão lo-o-o-ouca Você não vai me por tão louca
Once the patio was put together and looking pretty, the canopy assembled and providing some shade, and the pool swirling its chlorinated warmth in circles of wavering blue and aqua, Andy and I would pause and take it all in, enjoying this little oasis in the midst of upstate New York, our own little escape from the rest of the world. His adamant desire to have a pool paid off, and I’ve always been grateful for that. Madonna sang her songs crafted halfway round the world, and they matched the surroundings and the time perfectly.
I put you on a pedestal but statues, they can fall Felt so safe, I let you drive me straight into the wall Paid the hell you dealt me, thought you felt me Was never good at games, now I just forget your name
But if you think I’ve been foolish and you only fool me once I guess it’s shame on you Say now if you think I’ve been foolish and you keep On trying to do it, baby, Imma switch the plans on you
‘Cause you’re driving me crazy You must think I’m crazy
Summer ended all too quickly that year, though we didn’t realize it then. It was just another summer in a long line of summers, and there would always be such summers to come, wouldn’t there? I wish I’d known so I could have held onto it a little longer. Strike that – I’m glad we didn’t know. There was nothing to mar the happiness of the moment.
This Santa took a tumble at Madonna’s latest ‘Celebration’ tour date when a dancer gave hi a bit of a lap-dance that he simply couldn’t handle. All in a Madonna concert, I suppose. The lady herself has never seemed all that big on Christmas, having released but one holiday song, a rather annoying version of ‘Santa Baby’ when she was in full Betty-Boop/Nicki-Finn mode. Still, as the only Madonna Christmas song we have (all stretches of ‘Holiday’ to the side) it has remained a holiday staple, even if nothing could ever come close to the original version by Eartha Kitt. It’s here below because it is, ahem, the season.
Personally, I’m glad we don’t have a Madonna Christmas album, although given her name and religious dabbling, I could see her putting together a majestically sacrilegious romp that might prove very interesting. Until such time, I’ll make do with the songs that remind me of my own personal holiday memories:
{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}
Everybody knows the damn truth Our nation lied, we lost respect When we wake up, what can we do? Get the kids ready, take them to school Everybody knows they don’t have a chance To get a decent job, to have a normal life When they talk reforms, it makes me laugh They pretend to help, it makes me laugh I think I understand why people get a gun I think I understand why we all give up Every day they have a kind of victory Blood of innocence, spread everywhere They say that we need love But we need more than this…
One of the absolute highlights of Madonna’s somewhat-underappreciated (and some might say somewhat-underwhelming) ‘Madame X’ album is ‘God Control’ – a masterpiece of a sonic journey, complete with choir and tongue-in-cheek rapping, that comes with the last great video she’s given us. Give it another listen and viewing below:
We lost God control We lost God control We lost God control We lost God control
This is your wake-up call I’m like your nightmare I’m here to start your day This is your wake-up call We don’t have to fall A new democracy God and pornography A new democracy…
The rise of America’s gun culture, and the apparently unswaying way we are all letting people, including children, just succumb to something that could be so easily stopped is one more tell-tale sign of these changes. Madonna tackled the subject in this song and video, switching out ‘Gun Control’ for ‘God Control‘ because religion plays its part in where we have been, and where we are headed. A hypocritical religion, perhaps, but a religion nonetheless.
People think that I’m insane The only gun is in my brain Each new birth, it gives me hope That’s why I don’t smoke that dope Insane people think I am Brain inside, my only friend Hope it gives me birth each new That dope I don’t smoke, it’s true…
Only Madonna could turn such a controversial topic into a video that is transfixing, enthralling, entertaining, disturbing, and impossible-not-to-watch. At four decades into an unprecedented career of entertainment domination, she’s mastered the art form of the video – hell, she practically invented it – and it remains one of the most vital methods of communicating her message. Images aligned with music, backed with meaning and significance, taking us on a journey of light and dark… this is what Madonna does best.
Everybody knows the damn truth Everybody knows the damn truth (wake up) We need to wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up We need to make up, make up, make up, make up Make up, make up, make up, make up, make up, make up It’s a hustle, yeah It’s a hustle It’s a con It’s a hustle It’s a weird kind of energy A bizarre thing that happens to be An abnormal fraternity And I feel more than sympathy
A message that was depressingly resonant and needed in 2019 has become a message that rings with even greater loss and rage in 2023. Thoughts and prayers have done nothing over the past four years, and will continue to do nothing. Gun violence is the number one killer of children in America. So while you’re worried about drag queens reading books to your kids or an imaginary war on Christianity, ask yourself what Jesus might do when confronted with an epidemic like guns. Pretty sure he wouldn’t be arming himself with an AR-15.
A new democracy!
Everybody knows the damn truth Our nation lied, we’ve lost respect When we wake up, what can we do? Get the kids ready, take them to school Everybody knows they don’t have a chance Get a decent job, have a normal life When they talk reform, it makes me laugh They pretend to help, it makes me laugh…
And so we laugh, and so we float along… In that summer of 2019, my niece and nephew join us for a swim in the pool. Laughing and splashing, the carefree memories of childhood encroach on the present moment, and I remember a time when kids weren’t getting shot in schools. The water is warm, the sun is strong, and, based on all outward appearances, who can tell a summer day by the pool today from a summer day by the pool forty years ago? A disco tune still spins in the background, the gleeful squeals of kids having fun punctuate the beat, and that funny juxtaposition of laughter and tears reminds me that the world has gone mad, and I no longer know how not to go mad along with it.
“Depending on their context and placement in a sentence, ellipses can indicate an unfinished thought, a leading statement, a slight pause, an echoing voice, or a nervous or awkward silence.”
I like the idea of winter beginning with an ellipsis …
So much mystery, so much possibility, so much left out, so much left to come …
So much left …
“An ellipsis may also imply an unstated alternative indicated by context.”
I also like the idea of winter beginning in bright bombast, in the cacophonous tumult and zany, electrified excitement of the holidays. Christmas!! New Year’s!!! And then the inevitable letdown and arrival of the doldrums … that’s what I truly seek this season.
The emptiness.
The aloneness.
When the noise is done, when the parties are over, when the resuming of school and work and life quickly renders this next week or two obsolete and soon forgotten, I will embrace the quiet and the stillness.
The dark night of winter descends – may it also be a cloak, wherein we find healing and growth. I don’t want to pretend the pain away, I want to be fully present, to go through all of the hurt and ache of a winter, the prick of an icy wind, the sting of a frigid morning, the deluge of a winter snowstorm. But I want to do it with a cloak, or at the very least a veil. We all need a little bit of protection, no matter how strong or bullish we might appear.
We have arrived at the end of fall, and so we bracket this day’s end with the same song we played at the beginning of fall. Often, this is the post when we might have looked back at the fall season and all the things we did, but I’m not feeling nostalgic this soon – it’s too fresh, and I’m a bit too tired. If you’re truly interested in going back, scroll all the way to the bottom of the post, and look on the left for the little link labeled ‘Older Entries’. Repeat that until you find something approaching summer, then keep going…
Another compelling reason not to recap anything here is the simple fact that I just don’t remember much of it. That’s a bit of a problem, indicative of my gaining years and losing faculties. So much of this fall has been simply going through the motions, setting myself on autopilot, days moving swiftly by in habitual, ordered fashion, anything to maintain momentum, even if the momentum is the bare minimum required to sustain, to survive, to get up one more time.
I want to drown in your moonbeam…
This fall was partly about faking it, about pretending that I’d made it through the wilderness of this past summer and was beginning again, and that it was ok. But I don’t think things are ok. No. In fact, I know they are not ok, and there’s a likely possibility that they will never be ok again. I wasn’t quite ready to admit that at the start of fall. Leaving the options open for something to change my mind felt like the right thing to do. It gave me the spark of hope, even if nothing ever ignited or came of it. Maybe this winter I will learn to face it, to accept and somehow embrace the predicament of not being ok.
The comforts of fall grow even more scant in winter, but I’m not afraid of that. Discomfort is often the only way to grow, and even though 48 years old feels closer to the end than the beginning, I’m giving myself some room, and time, to get better. Let’s see what this winter will bring…
His smash hit ‘Until I Found You’ harkens to an earlier era, while maintaining the sentiment of love that spans all the ages, and that song alone is enough to earn Stephen Sanchez this Dazzler of the Day crowning. But don’t stop there – there’s a whole new album of material ripe for your listening pleasure, so check out ‘Angel Face’ and all the other offerings on his website here, including upcoming tour dates.
Billy Porter’s latest album ‘Black Mona Lisa’ is giving me some much-needed life right now, and his ferocity will need to be enough for the two of us. With its dance-vibe brilliance, and the hefty power of Porter’s own historical journey in the entertainment world, ‘Black Mona Lisa’ is a testament to his own past – informed by the halls of dance from the past five decades – with a gorgeous and defiant charge into the future.
You’ve been reaching for yourself for such a long time
There’s so much to say, No need to explain
Just an open door for you to come in from the rain
On that first night reunited, Kira and I touched on what had gone on in our lives over the last year. In order to start the next chapter of our friendship, and move into the future together, we needed some reckoning with the past. We’d both been hurt, and we’d both hurt each other a little bit through miscommunication and misunderstanding. Kira had much to explain, and it is her tale to tell, so I won’t betray a trust; for my part, I finally could see a little into what had happened between us, and my expectations for friendship – always too high and too much – were set into a new relief. Too many moments of import had gone down in our lives together to give up now, and with some distance and calm analysis, I realized how much of my own shit had seeped into how we had been relating.
It’s a long road when you’re on your own
And a man like you will always choose the long way home
There’s no right or wrong, I’m not here to blame
I just want to be the one to keep you from the rain, from the rain…
Friends will have disagreements – it’s a sign that they mean something more to us – and the best ones get caught up in blame and hurt and pain like the closest family, because that’s what they are. Though I don’t have many fights with friends these days, I’ve always been one to be all right with them as they arise, because I trust that my best friends know that we can fight and still be friends the next day. At least, I hope they know that.
Friendships also change and evolve through the years, as we change. Long-distance friendships morph in ways that might feel more dramatic and dangerous – the buffer of time and distance working their insidious trouble without the reassurance of a shared daily existence. There is just so much a text or phone call can convey – and quite frankly I’m quite exhausted with both means of communication. Give me a handwritten letter over that nonsense any day.
As we wound up our Friday re-entry into Boston, and into a renewed friendship, the coziness of the condo took over, warming our hearts as we celebrated a weekend of Friendsgiving – a weekend of gratitude and thankfulness that we were still here, still together, still alive in this wild and wayward and wonderful world.
And it looks like sunny skies now that I know you’re all right
Time has left us older, and wiser, I know I am
Well hello there, good old friend of mine
It’s so good to know my best fiend has come home again
And I think of us like an old cliche
But it doesn’t matter ’cause I love you anyway
Come in from the rain
The first hints of holiday music played over the stereo, and I put up most of the Christmas decorations for the month to come. We gave in to the early indulgence because, well, we needed it a little earlier this year. When morning came, the sun was strong, the day looked promising, and everything was as if we never said good-bye – because we never did.
As the first female rapper to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Missy Elliott adds another trailblazing first to her long-record of astounding the world with artistry and talent. She’s been doing this for years, and I still remember songs like ‘Get Ur Freak On’ and ‘Work It’ (which played a part in this magical Madonna moment) which formed an integral part of anyone in the world at that time. She continues to influence and drive pop culture, and is finally getting the rightful recognition she deserves. Here she earns her first Dazzler of the Day crowning.
A mystical moment is at hand, night sprinkled with the astral dust of the moon and stars. The veil of October behind us, the crisp chill of November tearing the leaves and the last of the summer from the air – there is no pretending that any vestiges of summer might linger.
You can ride high atop your pony I know you won’t fall ‘Cause the whole thing’s phoney. You can fly swinging from your trapeze Scaring all the people But you’ll never scare me
Bella Donna, my soul
The demo of this Stevie Nicks song speaks to me more than the finished version – I like its rawness, the way it speaks directly from one soul to another, searching for a connection, for understanding. It is the search of an artist ~ the search for the purpose of humanity. More often than not, it is the search for love.
No speed limit this is the fast lane It’s just the way that it is here And you say I never thought it could… Come in out of the darkness
Bella Donna my soul
You are in love with And I’m ready to sail It’s just a feeling
And we fight for the northern star
Bella Donna my soul
The moon seems to play hide and seek with a nearby star, ducking behind a cloud, peeking around a tree, though it’s only our fanciful imprint of imagination. The moon and the stars take no real notice of our clouds and trees, nor are they bound behind or before them – it’s all our perspective. We want so badly to have such power, to name and decipher the motives and motions of the moon, to harness its power and energy and magic. In the end, all we can do is watch and hope and dream.
And the lady’s feeling Like the moon that she loved Don’t you know that the stars are A part of us
The parade that my Dad took me to see when I was a little boy was a parade of ducks that made its way around a tiny pond near the place at which we used to have Sunday breakfast. Faded, faint, and vague, the memory of those Sunday mornings is shrouded in the mist of time – and well over forty years have passed since those days – yet remnants of it remain. Whether from my mother’s retelling of how much I loved to see the cleaning supplies in the back kitchen of what used to be the Windsor Restaurant, or my own indelible mental imprint of Dad bringing me to see the ducks, just the two of us – it remains a vital memory.
When I was a young boy My father took me into the city To see a marching band He said, “Son, when you grow up Would you be the savior of the broken The beaten and the damned?” He said, “Will you defeat them? Your demons, and all the non-believers The plans that they have made? Because one day, I’ll leave you a phantom To lead you in the summer To join the black parade”
Watching the ducks waddle from their wooden house to the water, I am entranced by their feathers, especially those on the ducklings, which look so much fluffier and softer. It must have been spring, lending the morning a haze that a summer sun had not quite started to burn away. Such a haze adds to the clouded aspect of the memory, cocooned in the gauze of weather and atmosphere and the love a boy felt for his father. To my side, Dad watched the parade of ducks, as gleefully enrapt as me. Catching the gleeful side of my Dad wasn’t always easy, but it was such a joy to behold that we all chased after it.
Sometimes I get the feelin’ She’s watchin’ over me And other times I feel like I should go And through it all, the rise and fall The bodies in the streets And when you’re gone, we want you all to know
We’ll carry on, we’ll carry on And though you’re dead and gone, believe me Your memory will carry on
We’ll carry on And in my heart, I can’t contain it The anthem won’t explain it
Tracing the line from that little boy to the man that types this today is not easy. It is not even particularly linear – there have been fits and stops and stalls along the way, restarts and rebirths and re-dos that make it impossible to easily track the journey of a life. Death seemed to be the ultimate halt to that journey, or so I used to think, but maybe life isn’t a line as much as it is a circle, or some infinite, undulating curve. My geometry skills were never stellar, especially when the graphing went off the page with an arrow. I needed some control to the chaos, some finite sense of completion, but that’s not how it works.
On my last visit home, those ducks were still there at that little pond. Well, different ducks, but ducks nonetheless, still marching in their little parade. There is even a duck crossing sign near the road that runs dangerously nearby. If I didn’t know better, I might believe that those ducks never left. And in some way, aren’t they still there? If I were to bring my godson Jaxon to see them, his memory of them would be the same one I had, and forty years from now he would look back with the same experience. Maybe the ducks never truly leave. Maybe death doesn’t halt life.
A world that sends you reelin’ From decimated dreams Your misery and hate will kill us all So paint it black and take it back Let’s shout it loud and clear Defiant to the end, we hear the call
To carry on, we’ll carry on And though you’re dead and gone, believe me Your memory will carry on
We’ll carry on And though you’re broken and defeated Your weary widow marches
On and on, we carry through the fears Disappointed faces of your peers Take a look at me, ’cause I could not care at all
Ducks are a far cry from my Dad. They may be imperceptibly reincarnated to the effect that I cannot tell they’re missing, but my Dad has physically departed from this world. The first three months are done, and the holidays are coming up, so this will likely be a tricky time. There are days when the struggle is barely perceptible, mostly because other things take over – the cadence of work, home maintenance, and friend obligations. I try to immerse myself in the daily meditation and exercises in mindfulness, the writing of this blog, the attempt at a new recipe, or the simple sustaining of any meal. The motions of making a cup of tea on a rainy day can, when done carefully and mindfully, be enough to see you through to the next moment.
Then there are days when I feel agitated and annoyed by everything, when the slightest inconvenience or ordeal takes on a magnified feeling of being absolutely unbearable. At those times I feel like one more setback or mishap will have me pick up and leave town without a trace, disappearing with nothing but cash and an untraceable burn phone. My social media accounts would dangle there untended, this blog would be stuck on its last programmed post, and my whole ridiculous online existence would slowly be buried by all the nonsense piling up on the internet. Part of me quite likes that idea of being buried that way by technology, slowly ticking down on some search engine ranking, gradually disappearing until all the links are broken, until the trail has gone completely cold. No one asks ‘whatever happened to…’ when they never knew you in the first place.
Do or die, you’ll never make me, because the world will never take my heart Go and try, you’ll never break me, We want it all, we wanna play this part
I won’t explain or say I’m sorry, I’m unashamed, I’m gonna show my scars Give a cheer for all the broken, Listen here, because it’s who we are
Just a man, I’m not a hero Just a boy, who had to sing this song Just a man, I’m not a hero I don’t care
We’ll carry on, we’ll carry on And though you’re dead and gone, believe me Your memory will carry on
You’ll carry on And though you’re broken and defeated Your weary widow marches…
When the struggle bears down, and the world turns dark and cold – as it’s doing with the onslaught of proper fall – I seek out more than the making of a cup of tea to get me through it – and I cannot say that I’ve been very successful thus far. Some part of me knows that the mere questioning of this – the very acknowledgement of not knowing what to do or where to go or how to make sense of it – is the main key that will unlock wherever I’m supposed to be going. A larger part wants the answers yesterday, and finds frustration so great it brings me to tears. The smallest part, one that I hear in the quietest whispering voice, believes it is enough to simply carry on.
Do or die, you’ll never make me Because the world will never take my heart Go and try, you’ll never break me We want it all, we wanna play this part (we’ll carry on) Do or die, you’ll never make me (we’ll carry on) Because the world will never take my heart (we’ll carry on) Go and try, you’ll never break me (we’ll carry on) We want it all, we wanna play this part (we’ll carry on!)
Entering the fall of one’s life is not something that usually happens without incident or reflection, and finding myself not-so-suddenly at the age of 48, I realize that there are probably more days behind me than are ahead of me. Cresting over this hump of middle age is, somewhat strangely, not something that has caused much consternation or worry. In a number of distinct ways, the overriding feeling is one of gratitude. Honestly, I never thought I’d make it past thirty – there were so many moments fraught with willful self-annihilation, so many times when I gave up on myself, when I actually set out to destroy the young man I couldn’t quite stop myself from becoming.
A song then, on the piano, for the boy I used to be. (All those years of piano lessons, and still I could never play like this.) A song, too, for the man I’ve somehow become, in spite of my weaker efforts, and because of my strongest.
One doesn’t reach a place of gratitude from mindfulness or meditation alone, or from the luck of leading a very charmed and privileged life. One has to suffer a bit, go through a few things, build some character, and maybe approach oblivion couple of times. The debilitating struggle of not feeling like you belong, of not feeling wanted, of not being understood at the most basic level – those things chips away at the innocence and exuberance of childhood. If you’ve only ever felt you were at the margins of life when you were a kid, you never really quite feel like you belong anywhere – at least, you don’t until you can find yourself, and find your own worth. It’s that shaky and unsteady ground that many gay people feel themselves on at one point or another – that moment when coming out might cost you friendship or love or life.
Such a strange thing, that unsteadiness, and the dizzying lack of some feeling of belonging – and then of thinking you don’t belong anywhere unless you’re there at the center of it all, marching in some grand parade, embraced and hoisted on the shoulders not because different, but because you’re just like everyone else. You belong.
Everyone’s eyes are on the spectacle of it – the music and the pomp and the majesty of a march – and we lose ourselves in watching it go by, not looking around to see all the people next to us – eyes only on the chosen few, missing the real connections, the true threads of life running through our journey. I thought I wanted to be in that parade. I thought that would make me belong.
So I made myself into my own parade – a grotesque, ridiculous, carnival of outlandish proportion compared to my trifling lot in life. It was but one of the many demons I conjured in the name of survival. A celebration of me to mask the utter lack of believing I deserved one.
There came a time when all those demons became my friends, when they stopped fighting me and turned their formidable powers against the outer world. Suddenly I could charge ahead with a battalion behind me, a support system the likes of which I never knew or got when I was growing up.
Like all demons, however, they proved problematic, deceptive in their perceived power, and ultimately deserting me when I needed them the most. Empty shells and vaporous ghosts, the scariest forms of imagined life, they were all in my head, all made-up and false crutches to get me through. Sometimes they did, but in the end they couldn’t do what I needed them to do.
In honor of Taylor Swift’s release of ‘1989 (Taylor’s Version), I’m posting my favorite track from the album (‘Blank Space‘ is a very close second, and on days when I’m feeling especially crazy it might be number one). But I digress, and must remind myself that comparison is the thief of joy. ‘Out of the Woods’ has what I consider to be the greatest bridge of any Swift song, which is saying a lot when you consider the likes of ‘Cruel Summer’. Still, I give the edge to ‘Woods’. And there I go comparing again…
Looking at it now It all seems so simple We were lying on your couch I remember
You took a Polaroid of us Then discovered (Then discovered) The rest of the world was black and white But we were in screaming color And I remember thinking…
In celebration of the woods, we are revisiting the forest, where fall comes into its own with the following links.
Remember when we couldn’t take the heat? I walked out, I said “I’m setting you free” But the monsters turned out to be just trees When the sun came up you were looking at me…
Gloria Estefan doesn’t get the credit she deserves for creating a body of music that has pervaded pop culture more than any of us realize over the 80’s and 90’s and early 2000’s. She’s kept creating music in the first two decades of this millennium as well, as fans and appreciators know, while pushing forth on endeavors like a Broadway musical and various philanthropic enterprises. She earns this Dazzler of the Day for doing it all with heart and soul, and staying true to herself and her heritage before such things were fashionable.
