So I tracked down an online version of Josh Rouse’s ‘My Love Has Gone,’ which I mentioned the other day in my tirade about YouTube’s copyright Nazis.
I found it on Tudou.com, China’s version of YouTube, which apparently serves up five times the volume of video every day than YouTube. Gotta love the Chinese.
So I’m looking up the lyrics to today’s song, The Kinks’ ‘This Time Tomorrow,’ on songmeanings.net, one of my favorite sites for such things. The site invites readers to post interpretations of the lyrics and often the comments are quite astute.
And right at the top of the ‘This Time Tomorrow’ thread is the following comment from a person calling himself Jason Bourne:
i bet a bunch of n00bs will comment on this once Darjeeling Limited comes out.
Bite me, Jason Bourne.
I’ve always heard what an amazing live performer Bruce Springsteen is (particularly when backed by the E-Street Band) but last night’s Super Bowl halftime show was the first time I got to experience it… televised, at least. And the rumors of his greatness were not exaggerated.
Alex, never a huge fan of The Boss, turned to me after the show and said “We have to see Bruce Springsteen live the next time he comes down here” and I was right with her.
I’m using this space today for a rant.
I had written a nice long post on a Josh Rouse song called ‘My Love Has Gone,’ which appears on his outstanding Nashville album. It’s one of my very favorite songs by anybody, and I gave it the royal treatment. But when I previewed the post I saw that the YouTube video was no longer valid due to a copyright infringement.
The same thing happened yesterday with my David Byrne post, forcing me to feature a video of him in a skirt — nobody needs that!
David Byrne is one of the most talented and eccentric artists in my collection, and I own about 15 of his albums by now (including his work with Talking Heads). And yet I can’t say that I love his music the way I love stuff by, say, Paul Simon, Elvis Costello, Lyle Lovett, Lucinda Williams, and on and on.
I certainly appreciate his music, and when I listen to it I enjoy just about every minute. But I don’t find myself reaching for his CDs when loading up my car stereo.
So you’re probably wondering… why do you own 15 albums by somebody whose music you aren’t compelled to listen to very often? And that’s a fair question for which I don’t have a great answer.
Meet Me In Montauk 