Kurt Cobain's voice is incredible, and somewhat painful to listen to. When I'm depressed, this is the first thing that I play.

From a recent cd re-issue of a for once real lost classic from the enigmatic but well connected Mr Lincoln. This sort of mines the same seam as Syd Barrett but this is psyche pop firmly rooted in English folk/folkloreand the joining of a collage of three different song parts,what some would refer to as an opus or epic.Haunting nursery rhyme intro makes way for weird fairground interlude and lysergic distraction before concluding with the painfully beautiful intro section,before finishing way too early for its own good.They dont make them like this anymore and couldnt if they tried this is from a different time and place.

Ugly Cassanova made its mark in my soul with this track. Combining Isaac Brock's brilliant song writing with the painfully sweet voice of John Orth from Holopaw, this song sweeps in and out of beautiful melodies in such a way that leaves me absolutely awestruck. It's too bad they couldn't make the rest of their debut this good... the album itself has it's moments, but besides a few standout tracks, fails to completely fulfill my hopes for it's potential with such a star-studded line up. Nothing, however, will ever take away from the solid truth that this song is absolutely stunning, and as far as my opinions go, it's an instant classic.

This song is a little lighter and more fanciful than a lot of Tom Waits songs, which makes it good because it's delightful, as opposed to his usual "good because it's painful/ dramatic/ really bizarre."

This song is stone-cold, ultra-serious, odd, and mesmerizing. It's James Brown recounting a strange, anecdotal poem about a dream, in which he experiences the personification of heroin delivering a sermon. He rhymes accompanied by a subdued and melancholy backing band, playing lingering horn drags, and slow, lazy bass and drums. This is not your typical James Brown material, but it has an powerfully surreal and painful effect.

Memory's a funny thing. Especially romantic memory.
The first time I heard this song was two days after the first time I fell in love. Everywhere I went, I sang its earnest chorus "And you are always on my mind" in my head, thinking about the one I was in love with. In the shower staring at a bottle of hair conditioner, I sang, "You are always on my mind". On the subway, trying to ignore a potential fistfight about to break out, I sang, "You are always on my mind". In the supermarket produce section, holding the perfect shape of a lemon in my hand, I sang, "You are always on my mind". I was giddy and happy and the song understood. "Hey!" the song said, "Hey!" Will Oldman sang, "I got a new partner now!"
But jacket weather set in and things grew colder and we broke up and I was miserable and I stored the CD away on a top shelf with other memorabilia of that love who's happy power was really freakin' painful for me to think about now.
Things weren't always so bleak and I got me a new love and some years later, when I listened to the song again, I noticed something about the lyrics I hadn't before. See, in reality, the song isn't joyous at all. Will Oldman is singing about a past love, a love who is always on his mind when all the time he is seeing another girl, a different girl from the one always on his mind. He can't be with that girl. He has a new partner now. What I thought was a song about new joy was a song about nostalgic loss.
I didn't see how it was possible that I had suppressed that true meaning for as long as I had, considering how often I sang the song and how much it meant to me at the time. I knew the lyrics like the back of my hand and when I listen to music I dredge up all I can get from the lyrics like I'm a devout scribe interpreting the bible.
One of the beauties of pop songs is that they take on the flavour of your life at the time you listened to them and carry that flavour on to whenever you listen to the song again, while meanwhile you're morphing and changing and discarding what songs you don't want to remember that you loved and making mixed Cd's for long cartrips of the songs you do you do want to remember. This song is weird in that IT seemed to be the one that was morphing the next time I heard it and not me, like it was a person that had changed over time that I was encountering again.
Besides which, what a fucking lovely song it is.

This unique song, unique to the whole body of work by the obscure Asylum Party, unique in every sense... If anybody ever wanted to create the sound of pure nostalgia in itself, this is the closest anyone ever got. I wonder what other people feel when listening to this song. I get utterly and hopelessly nostalgic, even though I don't know what for. It's not that I'm particularly old and know many times and eras, it's not that I have to dig particularly deep into my memory to get to that one dark part that's so irrevocably gone it makes one's heart ache and break. I don't know what it reminds me of, if of anything at all. It seems to be simply the soundtrack of some good times, times much better than the one you're stuck in right now, the soundtrack of reverie and the painful awareness that nothing will be the same again. I sometimes think it reminds me of beautiful summers I've known, the heat and sun that burnt my eyes, but then it seems just as fitting for a summer night at an open fire or an autumn window blurred with falling rain. The initial beats sound as if they could lead to anything, they even sound deceptively cheerful until the first melancholic screech of a guitar... "Feeling that hole that is just my soul..." Yeah, that must be it!

If the sun would rise in a minor key, this is what it would sound like. The shadows dissolve around you in warm harmony, even death sunbathes here, in a song ripe with hope and humanity. It is a misnomer to 'Fade Out' when we are held not by darkness, but by light. The paralysis of a dreary existence is manifested in the 'Street Spirit' where 'cracked eggs, dead birds scream as they fight for life' and 'machines will not communicate these thoughts and strain I am under.' If we were to stifle the creative spirit all we would need to do is look down a suburb and notice the lack of aesthetics and individuality of the homes. 'Rows of houses all bearing down on me...all these things will one day take control and fade out again.' This is the prelude to the bigger picture found in Radiohead's songs. Sure they dwell on the robotics of Orwell's '1984', and at times they are tedious and painfully accurate, nevertheless they leave us with an indelible desire to survive. 'Immerse your soul in Love' wags it's tail at the end of the song to insure a new beginning, much like the death of night. When sung, it is a very exciting moment as Thom's voice soars above the convolutions of the incessant guitar picking and synth-strings. Not the most popular Radiohead song, but their brightest moment to be experienced.

Shoot me up! My lungs fill with air and let the loudest sigh leave me as guitars roar and layer themselves one on top of the other. Hear the words flow along Kim's bass. Somekind of painful, somekind of brilliance. My heart pounds.
Again the Sonic Age to pierce the little headphones. Blast!