Log in

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Progress, Regress....

To me there is always something very satisfactory about listening to good demo's turn into better songs. This evening I returned from work and a play (or work and play, although I rather think my work might be play too) to listen to a particularly long awaited song on my equally long awaited record player (I love birthdays, don't you?) Its such an incredibly luxurious experience, somehow. The song has mellowed from when I first met and loved it, but then so has both the actual and my own, personal imagined context surrounding it. The singer's voice, meanwhile, has noticeably and beautifully matured, although I am certain that I would know it anywhere. At once I feel contented, protective, loving and overwhelmingly sad for some unknown, and probably inexplicable, reason. But then, this is how it works

The song? Scalleywag

The artist? Lily Rae

The record? Right here on the interwebs.

I think that this stanza will, somehow, always be linked to her

We keep our youth inside our dreams, and mark
Out days to remember on the calendar in the hall,
Beside the barometer, set to storms.
At times, after the autumn evening drags her footsteps
Wearily to bed and board, and
Lost, listless dreaming of a child unborn, we linger,
Beneath the hazy headlights of the Volvo parked next door
And whisper ‘she sells sea shells on the sea shore’ -
She sells the stars in packs of five outside the corner store.