Started by SueC, January 26, 2020, 02:58:00
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QuoteTHEY say: "Show us your tits!"YOU say: "You can always tell a bottle-fed baby!"THEY say: "You're fat!"YOU say: "I'm me-shaped!"or - "Anything else? Perhaps you could write it down for me so I don't forget."or - "Why don't you grab your bottom lip and pull it over your head?"etc etcTHEY say: "You've got no tits."YOU say: "Well, they're bigger than your brain."or - "Your fly is undone."or - "Am I supposed to care what you think?"etc etc
Quote from: SueC on January 06, 2021, 06:35:45When I first listened to this song, I thought that the narrator was being manipulated by a friend/colleague/manager to do something he didn't really want to do (have a drink and talk to people instead of going to bed - knowing where it leads in this case) - but that's not clear-cut; the words in quotes may be uttered either to the narrator, or by the narrator.
QuoteAnd the way the rain comes down hardThat's how I feel inside...
QuoteDoing The Unstuck is an odd one, to me. Elements of it I like, others I don't. The thing I like best about it is the music starting about 45 seconds into it, and for about a minute from there; then it crosses in and out of borderline headachy for me. The topic isn't bad, the presentation of it just a bit Playschool though - remove the mild sexual references, and you can have preschoolers bopping along to this and singing the words. Brett doesn't like this one at all, and when I talk about the Playschool vibe, he smiles and says, "Well, guess who is the Dark Wiggle!"
Quote from: MAtT on August 17, 2020, 08:49:27For me, in the grand scheme of things for me, HOTD is a lower tier Cure album. It's better than the post 2000 offerings and (maybe) WMS, it's up there with Three Imaginary Boys & Wish, but (just) below The Top. And it's nowhere near the fantastic, mature diversity of Kiss Me, the mature class of Disintegration and Bloodflowers, or the ultimate raw genius of Seventeen Seconds, Faith, and Pornography.(All subjective I know!)
Quote from: SueC on January 10, 2021, 11:45:45How would you arrange your Cure album groups? Or do you actually number them from most favourite to least? I can't do that ...
Quote from: SueC on January 11, 2021, 10:02:02Occasionally Robert Smith is a bit screamy on this record
Quote from: SueC on January 12, 2021, 11:39:27Here's the song that leaps out at me the most - one I'd not heard before.
Quote from: SueC on January 12, 2021, 11:39:27...Bloodflowers is Bloodflowers, it's a one-off, unique album, and it would be rather sad if a band just turned something unique into a formula, and played it to death.
Quote from: Ulrich on January 12, 2021, 15:17:50Quote from: SueC on January 11, 2021, 10:02:02Occasionally Robert Smith is a bit screamy on this recordWhich is, I think, because they recorded the vocals while the band were recording their instruments (i.e. "live", with a few overdubs of course), so he had to make himself heard (as compared to those albums for which he sang in a booth with headphones on).
Quote from: Ulrich on January 12, 2021, 15:17:50I like this one too and it's quite different from the others on that album, less guitar-driven, less "screamy", with more synth on it (might have to do with Perry Bamonte being composer of the music, so it has been said)!
QuoteYOU CAN TRY TO COVER UP depression in various ways. You can listen to Bach's compositions for the organ in Our Saviour's Church. You can arrange a line of good cheer in powder form on a pocket mirror with a razor blade and ingest it with a straw. You can call for help. For instance, by telephone, so that you know who's listening.That's the European method. Hoping to work your way out of problems through action.I take the Greenlandic way. It consists of walking into yourself in the dark mood. Putting your defeat under a microscope and dwelling on the sight.When things are really bad - like now - I picture a black tunnel in front of me. I go up to it. I strip off my nice clothes, my underwear, my hard hat, my Danish passport, and then I walk into the dark.I know that a train is coming. A lead-lined diesel transporting strontium-90. I go to meet it.This I can do because I'm thirty-seven years old. I know that inside the tunnel, underneath the wheels, down beneath the sleepers, there is a little spot of light.It's the morning of Christmas Eve. For several days I've been gradually withdrawing from the world. Now I'm preparing for the final descent. Which has to come. (...)I've prepared myself by not eating breakfast. That expedites the confrontation. I've locked the door. I sit down in the big chair. And invoke the bad mood: Here sits Smilla. Starving. In debt. The morning of Christmas Eve. While other people have their families, their sweethearts, their blue-eared starlings. While other people have each other.It proves effective. I'm already standing in front of the tunnel. Ageing. A failure. Abandoned.The doorbell rings. It's the mechanic. I can tell by the way he rings the bell. Cautiously, tentatively, as if the bell were screwed right into the skull of an old woman he doesn't want to disturb. I haven't seen him since the funeral. Haven't wanted to think about him.I go out and disconnect the mechanism. I sit down again.Internally I begin to invoke the images from the second time I ran away and Moritz came to get me in Thule. We were standing on the uncovered cement apron that you walk on for the last twenty metres out to the plane. My aunt was whimpering. I took as many deep breaths as I could. I thought this might be a way to take the clear, dry, somehow sweet air back to Denmark with me.Someone is knocking on my door. It's Juliane. She gets down on her knees and calls through the letter box. "Smilla, I'm making fish ball batter!""Leave me alone!"She's offended. "I'll tip it in through your letter box."Right before we climbed the stairs into the plane, my aunt gave me a pair of kamiks to wear indoors. The beadwork alone had taken her a month. The phone rings."There's something I'd like to talk to you about." It's Elsa Lübing's voice."I'm sorry," I say. "Tell it to somebody else. Cast not thy pearls before swine."I pull out the phone jack. I'm starting to feel rather attracted to the thought of Ravn's isolation cell. This is the kind of day when you can't rule out the possibility of someone knocking on your windows. On the fifth floor.Someone knocks on my window. Outside stands a green man. I open the window."I'm the window cleaner. I just wanted to warn you, so you don't go and take off your clothes."He gives me a big smile. As if he were cleaning the windows by putting one pane at a time into his mouth."What the hell do you mean? Are you implying that you don't want to see me nude?"His smile fades. He pushes a button, and the platform he's standing on takes him out of reach."I don't want my windows cleaned," I shout after him. "At my age I can barely see out of them, anyway!"(Peter Hoeg, 1992)