Skip to main content

Sometimes I Sing on Sundays Too

I have had a lot of conversations in the last few days. A lot of them have been big. And then I have lots more to think through. I like this in my life. Sometimes it is a bit overwhelming though, and then I seek a little respite in music. The following are all tried & true hits in my music library.


Carlyle Lake - Sufjan Stevens

Mmmmm, Sufjan.


Electric Bird - Sia



Such Great Heights - The Postal Service

Hooray for freckles!


and another version of the same song...


Such Great Heights - Iron & Wine

Which is better - acoustic or full rock sound?


Cemeteries of London - Coldplay

Mmmmmmmmmm, Coldplay.



Who Let You Go? - The Killers

I often ask myself this very question...


Time After Time - Eva Cassidy

Can't you picture this in your head while she sings?


Look After You - The Fray

This is one of my favourite love songs. It gets me every time, as soon as he says, "If I don't say this now, I will surely break..."


Stop This Train - John Mayer

This is how I pray some days..."I'm only good at being young!"


Broken - Lifehouse

A friend of mine introduced me to this song when she was going through some major drama/trauma. It makes me think of her. I like her a lot. And now I like this song a lot.


No You Girls - Franz Ferdinand

If you switch the placement of "boys" and "girls" in this song, it would work just as well.

Comments

  1. "Who Let You Go?" reminds me of being 25. Mostly because you sent me that brilliant CD. So it also reminds me of you :)

    Music is my therapy.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Re: A Suitable Boy - that book is a TOME! a door stop! and it would take a normal reader (and you are a speed reader)months to get throught it. Let us know if you do perservere and get it read.

    ReplyDelete
  3. "Such Great Heights" reminds me of Veronica Mars, and feeling asleep in the summer sun. I'd also like it for the first couple's dance if I get married.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Simone Weil: On "Forms of the Implicit Love of God"

Simone Weil time again! One of the essays in Waiting for God  is entitled "Forms of the Implicit Love of God." Her main argument is that before a soul has "direct contact" with God, there are three types of love that are implicitly  the love of God, though they seem to have a different explicit  object. That is, in loving X, you are really loving Y. (in this case, Y = God). As for the X of the equation, she lists: Love of neighbor  Love of the beauty of the world  Love of religious practices  and a special sidebar to Friendship “Each has the virtue of a sacrament,” she writes. Each of these loves is something to be respected, honoured, and understood both symbolically and concretely. On each page of this essay, I found myself underlining profound, challenging, and thought-provoking words. There's so much to consider that I've gone back several times, mulling it over and wondering how my life would look if I truly believed even half of these thin

I Like to Keep My Issues Drawn

It's Sunday night and I am multi-tasking. Paid some bills, catching up on free musical downloads from the past month, thinking about the mix-tape I need to make and planning my last assignment for writing class. Shortly, I will abandon the laptop to write my first draft by hand. But until then, I am thinking about music. This song played for me earlier this afternoon, as I attempted to nap. I woke up somewhere between 5 and 5:30 this morning, then lay in bed until 8 o'clock flipping sides and thinking about every part of my life that exists. It wasn't stressful, but it wasn't quite restful either...This past month, I have spent a lot of time rebuffing lies and refusing to believe that the inside of my heart and mind can never change. I feel like Florence + The Machine 's song "Shake it Out" captures many of these feelings & thoughts. (addendum: is the line "I like to keep my issues strong or drawn ?" Lyrics sites have it as "stro

Esse - Czeslaw Milosz

I'm on a bit of a poetry binge this week, and Monday afternoon found me lying on the luxurious shag rug of a friend's tiny apartment, re-reading some of my favourite poets (ee cummings, William Carlos Williams, Czeslaw Milosz). It is an adventure to re-open a collection and wonder what will pop out, knowing something you've read before will strike you afresh, or you will be reminded of a particularly moving line that you had somehow forgotten. Like this piece from Milosz, which floors me. Every. damn.* time. The first time I read it, I lay in a park with a friend (this same friend who offered me her rug as my reading burrow) and demanded that I share it with her. I spoke it carefully, and then, into the post-reading silence, I slammed the book shut, and dropped it as loudly as I could onto the grass. "I'm never reading anything again," I declared, "What else is there to say?" Esse I looked at that face, dumbfounded. The lights of métro st