Endlessly

I have to get my hands on Lee Brice's new album, Hard 2 Love.  The "2," of course, a not-so-subtle reminder that it is, in fact, his second album.  (Personally, I think it's dumb - it kind of underestimates, undervalues his audience.  I much prefer the use of Roman numerals, such as with Trace Adkins' tenth album, X; I wonder how many people asked themselves why his new album was called "ex.")  Aside from that, from what I've heard when I looked it up on Spotify, it's an amazing album.  What's so great about Lee Brice is the way his voice wraps around his songs, the ballads in particular, and really fills them up with life, light, and magic.  The first cut off the record was "A Woman Like You," which I absolutely adore.  I saw the music video once (for the first time) when I was vacuuming over the Christmas holiday - without sound, mind you - and bought it immediately.  The second, "Hard To Love," has really great syncopation in the chorus, which I really like.  But I also don't quite understand this trend of songs which make the women out to be ridiculously amazing for loving their troublesome men - saints vs. devils, kind of; they're basically the only types of songs which Tim McGraw sings, and it kind of gets on my nerves, no matter how good the songs are.  (Dustin Lynch's "Cowboys and Angels," however, is an exception - that song is absolutely tremendous in every way, and I do highly recommend it.)  There is nothing wrong or unappealing about being a well-behaved, good-natured, mature man.  It's not like we like you any less for being what mainstream media would term "boring."  It's actually sexier. Way sexier.  Commercials, too, showing incapable men/fathers/husbands/people also annoy me.

But that's not the point.

The point, of course, is that I really want the album.  The song, "I Drive Your Truck," which I discovered on Spotify whilst researching Lee Brice, is enough to make me want it.

Also.  I turned on CMT one recent morning while unloading the dishwasher, because I do that and also because I really wanted to buy another song on iTunes but I didn't know what and wanted inspiration, and a few videos came up.  The first was Scotty McCreery's "The Trouble With Girls."  (I stay away from his stuff, usually, but I kept it on and actually watched the video, instead of saying dismissively, as I normally do, "Dude, you're twelve.  What do you know about girls?")  I never really thought about it, because I'm out of high school (thank goodness), but watching it made me kind of sad.  I've always loved the idea of high school sweethearts.  I don't know why, but I've always felt as though that must be the sweetest kind of love.  And something about it made me kind of mournful of the butterflies I would never know.  Innocent, and lovely.  There are different kinds of butterflies once you're grown - it's never innocent again, really, even if it's still for the first time.

But anyway, the next song was Kix Brooks' "New to this Town," which is a really good cut off his first solo album.  It's funny, but after Brooks & Dunn split up, both Kix's and Ronnie's solo albums have been great.  The same way their collaborative products were.

The video which followed, however - holy cow.  It was Phil Vassar's "Don't Miss Your Life."  Now, I've always known Phil Vassar has good songs: "Just Another Day in Paradise" and "Last Day of Your Life" are excellent indications of that.  But, WOW.  I was not expecting to be reduced to overwhelming tears before the end of the first chorus.  Thankfully, I had put down the plates I was holding at the time and managed to hold onto the edge of the counter, because otherwise I would have been on the floor surrounded by shards of porcelain in seconds.  It may sound odd to you, but I've always LOVED songs which have made me cry.  And there have been many - some particularly memorable ones have been, "You Can Let Go," by Crystal Shawanda (one of my absolute favourites); "Stealing Cinderella," by Chuck Wicks; "The Baby," by Blake Shelton; "I Loved Her First," by Heartland; "Never Grow Up," by Taylor Swift; "Just Fishin'," by Trace Adkins (this was another automatic video-song-tears connection); and "Who You'd Be Today," by Kenny Chesney.  Of course, I am limiting this to country songs I can remember at the moment, but there have - of course - been others.  There's a distinct, none-too-subtle, theme running through all of these examples, but I don't know if you are well-versed enough in them to pick up on it.  But anyway, the Phil Vassar song fits perfectly in with all of them - thematically, and my-reaction-wise.  This is real.  I mean, this man GETS IT.  Every reason why I know exactly what I want to do when I have kids - and every reason why having kids is my greatest dream and my most-wished-for aspiration.  He sounds as though he has all the sands of time in his voice, with every sentimental feeling ever felt, combined with nostalgia and beauty and a little forlorn-ness.  Plus joy and regret and wisdom and simplicity and tenderness and conversationality.  And it's not just his voice, but it's the melody (syncopation, AHHH! so amazing!!) and the words.  I just...I can't say enough about this song.

So, duh, my dilemma was solved and I knew what to buy on iTunes.  Of course, as with all of my songs, I had to listen to it twelve times, and by then it had lost some of its tear-inducing power, as repetition is wont to do, which was good because then I could listen to it in public and not break down.  (Which, funny story, is what used to happen the fall Speak Now came out and I listened to "Never Grow Up" on repeat - I would be walking down the street and just start crying.  Not a good thing to do.)  But I've already listened to it at least thirty times since last weekend.  It's just that amazing.  You might not think so, but I love it.

Anyway, moving on.

Oh!  But first.  I finally looked up the typical plural of "magnum opus," and wanted to report it here.  It can be either magnum opuses, or opus magnum, but I like magna opera the best.  Granted, I doubt anyone is supposed to produce two of these things in his/her life, but there you have it.

So, this song you're about to read is absolutely hot off the presses.  I've been mulling it over in my head ever since meeting up with the boy from ages ago, because it seemed the right thing to do.  Of course, I hate to keep writing songs about this topic, but this, I promise you (and myself), is the last one.  It sucks, because, you know, worse things have happened, and they haven't been nearly as fruitful as this one could-have-been-but-maybe-dodged-a-bullet-here thing.  But this is the last of the David songs.  I can't forever be in high school.  And that, I think, is addressed here.

Endlessly

can I forgive you for being in my past?
only if you can forgive yourself
I'd forbid every word, if I had it my way
so then you would never know what to say
those days wouldn't haunt me like they like to
and maybe I could look not to you, but beyond
but as your ghosts swirl around you,
can you find one that you never wronged?

CHORUS:
I never wanted to be
something you'd regret endlessly
I never wanted to make you feel bad
from now on you'll seem to me
simply a memory, just like I'll forever be
your one that got away and shouldn't have

can you forgive me for being in your past?
only if I can forgive myself
sometimes I forget that silence is golden
and I learned too late not to get caught up in the moment
now, if only I could set your conscience free
and we could both let those old ''what if''s die
so you wouldn't have to feel so guilty
and I wouldn't have to change your mind

CHORUS:
I never wanted to be
something you'd regret endlessly
I never wanted to make you feel bad
from now on you'll seem to me
simply a memory, just like I'll forever be
your one that got away and shouldn't have

BRIDGE:
now I don't want to be strangers,
but I'm afraid to get too close

CHORUS:
'cause I never wanted to be
something you'd regret endlessly
I never wanted to make you feel bad
from now on you'll seem to me
simply a memory, just like I'll forever be
your one that got away and shouldn't have

oh, I'll forever be
your one that got away and shouldn't have...

I may go back and finesse some of the wording, but there is so much in this song that is golden to me (is that conceited to say?).  So much truth here, it's ridiculous.  How sad is it, really, that the entire time he kept saying he felt bad, I kept saying not to?  I kept apologising, for things he did (or didn't do)?  I kept saying it was my fault (but was it, really? I shouldn't have to answer for the way my heart beat at the moment, all four years' worth of them)?  It's messed up, but this is my way of letting it all go.  He may still be haunted by the dumb things he said, and the moments of openness from me he simply shut and locked down, but hey.  I'm done.  We're friends, and I happen to like him so much better that way.

Much love, however pensive today, and thank you for the musik,

Just Another Ordinary Girl

'Cause I'm moving on with the rest of my life, / and I'm not sure if I can make this right.  And it's too late, we went a little too far / and now I have to live with us broken apart / and I already gave another man my heart.  Oh, I'm already gone and I'm moving on.