All I ever wanted was a window in a room where any voice could reach me. Where I could take notes and diagnose the night. Where I could finally get some sleep without disturbance. Where I could wait for you to arrive.
Before Lou Reed became known for songs that declared heroin was his life and his wife, or a double album of feedback that sounds like seagulls dying in a casino (I happen to love the album, btw), he dabbled in pop music, recording first with a vocal group, then solo, then as a songwriter and artist at Pickwick.
Pickwick released a lot of cheap knock-offs where the goal was to emulate popular artists and music trends of the day.
Reed can be heard singing and playing on a few Pickwick releases that he wrote, or co-wrote, including this, Cycle Annie:
from this window, i cannot see the stars. only the dust of industry. maybe another room might greet me more warmly. but here, i can be the stranger i always meant to be, here i can live a life uncompromised by being known.
Every once in a while, I remember I was going to make this blog about music.
So in that spirit, let’s talk The La’s.
Formed in the early ’80s, the band knocked about for a year or so until Lee Mavers joined the lineup.
Mavers would go on to be the de facto leader and principal songwriter for the group.
He also essentially was the undoing of the group.
By 1987, the band had issued its first single, Way Out, a single that garnered some praise from the press and Morrissey, but it barely charted.
One day, i will stop this. I will give my health to charity. I will return every gaze i was accidentally given because i looked familiar. I will find an epitaph that fits me. And i will not move around so much. Until then, i will continue doing what i have always done. I will write prayers for those who do not know they need them. I will write prayers for those who yearn to be adored.
for the dreamers
who never once
closed their eyes
all the lovers
who have no use
who became legends
without so much
for all of
who never once
called in favors
and for those
who are strangers
in spite of the dangers
of being unknown
for so long
have a place
in my song.
in a climate of hunters we became prey. out in the headlights we lost our way. did you not see the signs. did you see the threshold. once we were crossed, we forgot we were bold. time was much louder then. as were we. could nothing restore what we meant to be. no escape. no remorse for our public display. living. working. dreaming. the hunters are on their way.