“I can taste the ocean on your tongue”

Can’t let it go, one more time for the hard of hearing... Province begins subtly enough as an aside then goes for the build, hits on a precious and in-the-mood chorus, it comes pouring out like molten excellence--totally untouchable and a sign of the intensity to come, all the love spun around and taken as a breath, as nourishment, standing tall and proud, courageous, “stand steadfast erect and see that love is the province of the brave,” hearts left out in the open for all the right reasons... then Playhouses comes down the tube all discordant and ominous, like spinning wheels on a dark, forgotten stretch of highway, getting the fuck outta here, chasing memories, being chased by memories, it’s all past times backfired, seen through the back of a head, eyes up and to the left towards what had transpired but punches in and drops one of the best lines of recent memory, “I can taste the ocean on your tongue,” (dammit, why didn’t I write that line?) as the frantic and determined beat kicks from one side to the next, yeah things were good, then great, then down the shitter, but this is where we stand now, all aflame and full of wonder, against a wall and around a corner, all we’ve got is the now but the then has a bit of influence on all things great and small... Wolf Like Me explodes like a well crafted bomb, all intense and in your face, pulsing and taking over insides, you can’t sit still, deep breaths and clenched fists, aimed towards the stars and spinning like you could reverse the Earth’s rotation, no one can stop as juices overflow, possessed and everything that absolutely has to happen does, no fucking about anymore, act now or forget it, then you get a breather, the beat drops out, gives you a chance to tie your shoes, fix your hair, grab someone, anyone, hold their face gently yet urgently in your hands and tell them that they are everything that means anything, that they are the fulcrum of your universe, “when the moon is round and full gonna teach you tricks that’ll blow your mongrel mind,” that said, another detonation and you orbit, make desperate and frenzied attempts to relay what you just said, what you feel and long for, into motions, eschewing all the pretentious trappings of modern dance, this isn’t dance, this is survival, and survival blasts out of the heart like a broken steam valve, all burning and desperate and completely beyond control... only the brave venture this close...

-in response to the steps,
the progression,
the greatness,
between tracks 3-5
on the new TV on the Radio.
9/25/2006