Talking Shit About a Pretty Sunset

For some reason the shins make so much more sense to me in the context of a car. It's probably because that's really the only place I have listened to them over the years. I have a very limited CD collection, you see, so the shins get a lot of play, and after having beaten them into a bloody pulp while driving back and forth in everyday life, I really have no desire to listen to them at home or on my ipod. Anyway, I have been listening to Wincing the Night Away a lot the past few days and being like meh, it's pretty good. But last night while driving around with Josh it was so much better.

As far as I'm concerned, some songs just need some scenery in order for you to understand them. Like one time I was listening to Saeglopur by Sigur Ros while walking across campus on a grey afternoon and watching everyone's faces go by, and suddenly I fell in love with the band, so much so that when my TA happened to ask us in class that day about our favorite music, I almost raised my hand and said Sigur Ros. I had to remind myself that for one thing I would sound like a pretentious asshole, and also that I had only heard two songs by them. Or the time when I sat on a rock at Windansea beach watching the sillhouettes of a father and son play in the waves at sunset, while listening to Anthems for a 17 Year Old Girl by broken social scene. I always liked the song, but at that moment I felt like I got it. Not the lyrics or anything, but something about that banjo and the violins and the way they make you feel.

Or take America by Simon and Garfunkel. It's a great song no matter when you hear it, but doesn't it's greatness just increase exponentially the second you put it in a car? I could be sitting at the intersection next to vons, and suddenly everything becomes so beautiful. All of a sudden those SUVs aren't going to Taco Bell or the ATM. They're looking for America! Aren't we all? You picture yourself on the trip they're describing, Michigan really does seem a dream, you really are empty and aching, and you really don't know why. But it might have to do with you sticking some cheesy mix CD entitled "Crusin Music" into your dashboard.

And then there are the songs that need air. The ones where I feel this inexplicable need to roll down my window and scream out the lyrics to the world. This most often occurs with El Scorcho by Weezer. It just feels so good. And there are songs that sound better driving at night time. The ones that need the contast of the bright lights against the darkness and the speed and the recklessness of the night. I am thinking specifically of Did You See The Words by Animal Collective here. It sounds good right now, but last night, driving, it sounded really good.

It's kind of strange that music should be this way when one considers that it's usually made within the confines of a recording studio. I mean you can't exactly write a song in the fast lane of the 5, and you can't make a decent recording on the beach at sunset. So how do they get that stuff in there? It's a mystery to me. Maybe the song itself is like an empty vessel that we fill up with our own meanings and associations. But I like to think that maybe if the people who made the songs were to see the things I see, they might feel the same way.

So I guess what I need to do is burn myself a copy of wincing the night away, put it in my silly sun visor CD holder thingy, and never bother listening to it in front of this computer screen ever again.