End Of Night
Maybe they were spending too much time on Justin Timberlake…
Late last night I broke the shrinkwrap on a pair of Sennheiser MM 100‘s. I’ve been evaluating headphones, and nothing came close to my old PMX 60’s until these. You know that feeling when what’s pouring into your ears is music? Not that bottom-heavy compressed sludge, but a sound that is expansive, that breathes, that makes you feel positively alive?
That’s what I’m experiencing.
All my old tracks sound new again. I dialed up my favorites on my phone and…it was just me and the sound, I had a smile on my face, I was a BELIEVER!
Forget Beats. Forget fake response curves. What we’re looking for is accuracy. And warmth. The music needs no tricks if it’s real.
And I’m going through all my old favorites, Wendy Waldman, Bonnie Raitt, stunned how close to vinyl they sound, streamed via Bluetooth, from Spotify to my ears and…I decide to check out MOG, since they say it sounds better.
And that’s where I saw Dido.
Did you know she has a new album out?
I bet not. Her album didn’t even sell 20,000 copies this week. It entered way down the chart.
And I’d be lying if I told you it was a rival to her first two, but it is a return to form, from the Jon Brion abortion she perpetrated upon us back in 2008. I don’t understand the adulation for Mr. Brion, everybody he works with does worse work than they did before. So he’s talented, SO WHAT?
And there are nods to today, with rappers, most especially Kendrick Lamar, and the opening cut, the single, doesn’t resonate, but track two is vintage Dido, “Girl Who Got Away” brings tears to my eyes. She may be beautiful, but deep inside she’s me. And that’s when music works best, not when the “artists” talk down to us, but when they reveal all their insecurities and warts and let us know…they may not be exactly just like us, but they’re just as screwed up.
That’s the dirty little secret of human beings. We’re flawed. The most beautiful model, she’s as poorly adjusted as you are. If everybody stopped saying how fabulous they are maybe kids wouldn’t shoot up schools, if they learned that everyone’s alienated, everyone’s got more questions than answers.
And you see that in “Girl Who Got Away,” I heard it the very first time through.
But nothing else jumped out from the album.
I don’t get it, we had to wait five years for more Dido tunes? Why couldn’t she have dribbled one out every other month or so? It would have kept me going back to her website, it would have kept her in the loop.
And I’m a bit flummoxed, a bit unsure whether it’s thumbs up or down on the album, so I decide to do research, go to iTunes and Amazon and see what the fans are saying. And it’s mostly positive, but there are skeptics. And I don’t want to be on the wrong side of history, yes, you can stick your neck out and get your head chopped off these days, it takes a strong person to go against the tide of public opinion.
And then I’m listening to the album the third or fourth time through and a track jumps out…”End Of Night.”
I got addicted to Dido via radio. Driving my mother’s Lexus back in ’03 when “White Flag” was all over Top Forty and Hot AC. I could ignore her when she got her initial burst of fame as a result of Eminem’s use of “Thank You” in “Stan,” but now I just could not get enough. “Sand In My Shoes” could be my favorite track of the last decade. I went to see her live, and she less than killed, her voice is so thin, but the records are so perfect, not made for everybody, just for me. That’s their magic, they’re not playing to the last row, but you alone. Whew! I love her! And I’ve never even met her!
So I’m answering e-mail and I hear this mellifluous tune in my ears and I say EUREKA! THIS IS THE TRACK!
And I go to Dido’s website and find out it’s the second single. The opening cut, “No Freedom,” is the initial track. Huh? It’s not a hit! You’ve got to lead with your best shot these days. No matter how hard the RCA team works, they can’t make “No Freedom” a hit.
But “End Of Night”… Now that Top Forty is not solely the province of beats, there just might be an open door. It’s not Gotye, it’s not “Ho Hey,” it’s not novelty, but “End Of Night” is so RIGHT!
I feel nothing
When you cry
I hear nothing
See no need to reply
They always ask forgiveness. I don’t believe in it. Of course for minor transgressions, but when they’re lying, cheating scumbags I’m shaken to the core. I’m a PERSON! I know you’ve got desires, I know you’ve got your unhappiness, but don’t you know you’re hurting my feelings, that I will never recover from this? I used to be a trusting person, but after my divorce I became gun-shy. What exactly is your motivation? You can say anything, but is it true? Can I count on you?
And you know what happens? We end up counting on NOTHING AND NOBODY!
That’s the dirty little secret of getting older. The attrition. The bad experiences that make it so you circle the wagons around yourself. We baby boomers are all free, but we’re all screwed up, we were sold a bill of goods, we were told it was better to follow our desires than honor commitments.
Then again, too many enter commitments on a whim.
So what you’ve got is a guy who’s pushing sixty who trusts inert objects more than human beings. They’ve got no agenda. They’re frozen. I can wrap my ears and arms around them and salve my wounds.
I can smile now
And turn away
Come over here
So you can see me walk away
I get it. But I don’t believe it. You can never get them out of your brain, can never forget that you used to lie together, physically and emotionally connected. The burns eventually cause you to separate physically, but inside you still long for the other person. Don’t believe conventional wisdom, you never get over ANYBODY you have sex with. They’re stuck to you, in some weird twist on DNA.
I go through life living too much in the past, the way it once was, when I still had my hopes and dreams and the healthy body of a twenty year old.
But those days are gone.
And I won’t put my faith in false goods, false answers, false gods. Everybody tells me to lower my standards and embrace that which is nowhere near as good as what came before. We’re living in a golden age of television, but music is a vast wasteland of substandard goods that everybody touts as great because the young are too ignorant to know what they missed.
And then something reaches my ears and rekindles my faith. Makes me want to live forever. To see what comes next. I’m optimistic. Sinews start to reform my trust. I don’t want to go to sleep and can’t wait to get up in the morning. I can’t wait to embrace and eat up life.
That’s the power of a hit record.
And a hit is not something the record company runs up the chart that we listen to for a few months and forget, no, a hit record is something that attaches itself to you and infects you like a virus, something that can’t be shaken, that lives with you forever. Sure, the initial wonderment wears off, but every time you hear the cut it still works, because of its juicy essence and the way it affects you.
And to tell you the truth, “Girl Who Got Away” affects me this way more.
But “Girl Who Got Away” is missing something. It needs another ten or fifteen percent, despite its phenomenal sound and lyrics. Whereas “End Of Night” is fully baked, which is why I’m telling you about it now.
Don’t dial it up and tell me you’re a punk, don’t let me know about your tattoos and piercings, deep inside you’re just like me, little Tommy or Julie on the playground, your look is just an affectation, you’re wearing your alienation as a badge to ward the rest of us away. But the satisfaction and satiation arrives from coming a little bit closer.
If only I could catch you on a late night drive. Slip “End Of Night” in the stream coming out of your speakers. Then you’d get it.
You see, when done right, music brings us together, with the artist and the other listeners who get it. That’s the job of the radio station, of the curator, to find tracks that hit us emotionally, touch something that can’t be described, which is the essence of human life and connection.
That’s what’s in “End Of Night.”
Come on, celebrate! It’s the “End Of Night”!
I feel nothing
When you cry
I hear nothing
See no need to reply
I can smile now
And turn away
Come over here
So you can see me walk away
And celebrate
The end of night
THE END OF NIGHT!
