This is a hard song to write about without sounding like I’m gushing, but here goes:
I first heard it while driving through Kentucky at night with a girl who would become the love of my young life, at least for a while. We had set our sights on Florida as friends, knowning that there would be a stop somewhere along the way to sleep, and knowning that something was probably going to come of it, but knowning absolutley nothing at the same time.
This song is unknown. It builds, it pumps, it pounds. Its dark. Forboding.
Windows down and the radio up, it played. Highlights on the highway and the temperature climbing as we moved further south. The smell of the air in a new state. Vines appearing. I had never seen them before.
This is a story, some kind of a story
this is a story about about a boy and girl,
a girl and a boy, a boy.
Sometime later, she left. Sights set on some other kind of life. I hated her for it.
One thing she said about that journey was “It was so beautiful that it hurt. It hurt because that experience can never be felt the exact same way again.”
Yeah. I suppose that’s true.
Though Andrew Bird’s “The Trees Were Mistaken” instantly takes me back there. To Kentucky. To a shitty motel. To vines. To roadside attractions. To Tennessee, Georgia, and Florida. Its a time travel song that when I hear it, I see everything, I feel everything, I taste it in my mouth, and its vapors burn my eyes. Who doesn’t have a song like that? We all have them.
this is a story about the memory of water
translating the sound of the traffic.
remember the traffic?
it’s making you carsick all along southfield freeway.
A time travel song.
Someday I’ll call her up. Someday when time travelling stops being enough.