Music Monday | Friends – Michael W. Smith

Suitcase wheels whir and grate as I haul the rollaboard along behind me, running for the train. Two minutes to departure. And I still have to make it up a level, over the bridge and down an escalator to platform 15A. A lyric pops into my head as my feet beat against the white polished concrete floor of the bus terminal.

And friends are friends forever.

Conversations play out in my head, both real, and imaginary. Constantly. Mostly, I let them create scenes of their own accord and don’t pay much attention. But as I run, I replay the discussions I had over the weekend. I’ve been in Newcastle and Sydney for four and a half days, and due to my recent engagement, most of my talks with friends have centred around relationships, dating and marriage.

A question I used to ask prospective dates, I said to the friend I grew up across the street from in high school, was “How many close friends do you have, and how long have you known them?”

The answer was often indicative of how well a person could create and maintain relational bonds and boundaries. How well they could manage a relationship over time and all the challenges that came with it. How good a friend they could be. No close friends was always a worry. Short-lived friendships were a worry. But not making new friends was a worry, too.

Of the people I connected with this weekend, the range of time for which I’ve known them is between eight and twenty-eight years (or my entire life, if you count my parents). Long-term friendships require work from both parties; they need trust, respect, vulnerability, kindness and love to flourish. And I’ve always found that if you can be a good friend, you can be a good partner. But most of us don’t consider what makes us a good friend, nor what makes a good friend to us in return.

Although I don’t resonate with all of this song anymore in the same way I used to, it’s the one that popped into my head as I ran and the message is still meaningful.

A lifetime’s not too long to live as friends.

And I’m exceedingly grateful for mine.

Music Monday | Anthem – Leonard Cohen

We are just into our fourth week of travelling with one more to go. It feels both long, and short. I miss friends at home, and those living in places I’ve already been. But I can’t be multiple places at once.

Or maybe I can.

Today we were here, though. A little park in Montreal across the road from Leonard Cohen’s former residence. I loved Leonard Cohen but I don’t grieve for him. I don’t need to. Because he already knew what life was about.

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Don’t dwell on what
Has passed away
Or what is yet to be
There is a crack, a crack in everything That’s how the light gets in

Music Monday | Smells Like Teen Spirit – Nirvana

In a darkened hall, the DJ on stage is pumping out tunes. Video clips play on a huge screen behind him. Coloured lights flash. Smoke hisses from the machine out across the dance floor and I bounce with my friends in a circle in the corner. You wouldn’t call what I’m doing dancing. I tug my ruffled denim skirt toward my knees. My purple shirt is knotted at my waist barely exposing my midriff but everyone is staring. She shouldn’t be wearing that.

Katie glides into the centre of the circle, arms swaying above her head, her gold sequined halter top creating our own mirror-ball. Years of dance training have given her rhythm and confidence both of which I lack. My feet remain glued in place to the floorboards and the only movement I can muster comes from bending my knees and bobbing jerkily. Sometimes I kick a foot up behind me. I have no idea what to do with my hands so they swing stiffly by my sides. Everyone else is doing the actions to Vogue. The Year 8 school dance is three hours of embarrassment. The only thing worse than looking awkward is not being seen there at all.

Dancing is of the devil, my church would say. As it would turn out, most fun things are “of the devil” but I’m less scared of going to hell and more scared of not fitting in. The DJ announces he’s about to play something new. The swarming, sweaty, teenage mass stops moving momentarily as he loads the next song. Then, there is a shift. No more melodic pop. Instead, a guitar-heavy grunge blares into the hall. The drum beat thumps through my chest cavity. I can’t understand what the hell they are singing but I know what they are feeling. Swinging my head and swaying in the dark to Nirvana is the closest I will come to rebellion at 13.

***

My dancing improved with practice, and the realisation that no-one is looking at me, judging me or criticising me more than myself.

A few weeks ago, a friend stripped back Smells Like Teen Spirit into a modern re-interpretation that gives us resignation instead of rebellion and defeat instead of defiance. My 13 year old self and my 39 year old self know each of these feelings equally.

***

Load up on guns, bring your friends
It’s fun to lose and to pretend
She’s over-bored and self-assured
Oh no, I know a dirty word

Hello, hello, hello, how low
Hello, hello, hello, how low
Hello, hello, hello

With the lights out, it’s less dangerous
Here we are now, entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now, entertain us

A mulatto, an albino, a mosquito, my libido
Yeah, hey

I’m worse at what I do best
And for this gift I feel blessed
Our little group has always been
And always will until the end

Hello, hello, hello, how low
Hello, hello, hello, how low
Hello, hello, hello, how low
Hello, hello, hello

With the lights out, it’s less dangerous
Here we are now, entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now, entertain us

A mulatto, an albino, a mosquito, my libido
Yeah, hey

And I forget just why I taste
Oh yeah, I guess it makes me smile
I found it hard, it’s hard to find
Oh well, whatever, never mind

Hello, hello, hello, how low
Hello, hello, hello, how low
Hello, hello, hello, how low
Hello, hello, hello

With the lights out, it’s less dangerous
Here we are now, entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now, entertain us

A mulatto, an albino, a mosquito, my libido

A denial, a denial, a denial, a denial, a denial
A denial, a denial, a denial, a denial

Music Monday | Slow Fade – Casting Crowns

Content warning: This post contains discussion of sexual assault and rape culture.

Locker-room talk.

That’s how Republican presidential nominee, Donald Trump, describes his lewd conversation eleven years ago with Billy Bush.  In this conversation he brags, in vulgar and de-humanising terms, about kissing and groping women without their consent.

Let’s be clear.

Kissing and groping women without their consent is sexual assault.

Bragging about kissing and groping women without their consent is bragging about sexual assault.  Continue reading