The Magic of Music – Ryan Adams

I realize I’m not unique in saying that I’ve always had a strong love for music. All kinds of music. It’s something that runs in my genes, I think. My father was a very serious listener who spent the bigger part of his salary on expensive stereo equipment and albums ranging from Metallica and Prodigy to big band jazz and my uncle has more CDs than most libraries (slight exaggeration, but he has a LOT of CDs!). Naturally, I got a wide variety of artists and styles to listen to early on.

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Sweden: what the fuck happened

swewhathappened

It’s a strange headline I know. But it’s there simply  because that “Sweden What the fuck happened”  is the entry page for many of my visitors to this blog although it only contains the now almost legendary image of Stellan Skarsgård as a viking and some nightclub kids with 80s hairstyle, androgyne faces and lots of bronzer in their faces.

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Ryan Adams and The Cardinals: III/IV

People who follow this humble blog know I’m a fan of Ryan Adams and his band The Cardinals. Adams is a very prolific songwriter so it’s remarkable his output can be of such high quality. This year he released an album consisting of “leftover songs” called III/IV and it’s absolutely amazing.

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Infinity Blues – Blue Wars

InfinityBlues

the cars up on the lake
I’m only joking
there is no lake
only a street
and on this street
we live alone
I have a room
I keep a picture
by my bed
of the war
I need to talk and not with my mouth
I need to feel and not with my felt
I need some security
fuck
my youth is over
the ending is coming
all the stars are burning out
not growing
but idiots with guitars are strumming
I am one of them
out of tune since yesterday
as if it was the 1800s
and
as much as I would like to be in love
I am not
punk is dead
and my best friend says
“oh well, let’s fuck”
and
I just, you know, puke – throw up
what’s more important –
first kiss or last?
you have to know these things nowadays
because
it will not end well
and that is how we are taught
latch-key mall rat from the ’80s or not
I wrote a melody once
in an elevator at 6 a.m. for booze
and prospects
I got scars and civil war artifacts
and clues
bar napkins stuffed into my pockets
scratched into them like they were arms
and I was a cutter with terrible blues
from blue wars

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