you could be laughing 65% more of the time
In defense of the comfort blanket.
Tuesday, June 23, 2020.
I started writing this post five weeks ago but then I got a job so I stopped. I fully intended to return to it in the interim but following the murder of George Floyd in Minneapolis last month, I debated why I was doing it and considered scrapping it altogether. I am grossly unqualified to speak on the issues of race and oppression, especially in North America, so I won’t. Save to say that I have never been more aware of the inherent privilege that the colour of my skin affords me.
Tuesday, May 19, 2020.
I went for a walk yesterday and listened to “GMF” by John Grant nine times. The only other song I played during my hour outside was “Anywhere Is”, Enya’s 1995 smash hit. I didn’t set out with that goal in mind, nor was it a premeditated attempt at cultivating inspiration for a maiden newsletter post I’d been putting off writing for months - SWEAR. But it did get me wondering.
At first, I debated whether the ten weeks I had spent quarantining in semi-isolation had finally quenched my thirst to discover new bands that I could then gloat about on Instagram. Then, I queried whether or not this act of serial repeating might have been a subtle cry for help to our Spotify overlords. While both of these options were plausible, the truth was far more predictable.
After spending the vast majority of my adult life yinging as others yanged, it came as no real surprise to the carefully cultivated contrarian in me that I would swim against the tide during the lockdown as well. Thanks to the wonders of social media, I knew that some of my friends were using quarantine to bake the perfect sourdough bread, while others endeavoured to drink a half-gallon of purified water daily. Unsurprisingly, I reverted to my comfort blanket of consuming a two-litre bottle of Coke and multiple Nutella sandwiches each weekend, re-watching Season 5 of The Sopranos from start to finish (pour one out for Ade), and listening to a select number of tried and trusted alternative pop songs on repeat during the rare occasions that I ventured outside. Enter “GMF”.
Before we go any further, you need to know that I don’t even really like John Grant all that much. Sure, I listen to other tracks from Pale Green Ghosts from time to time (here’s looking at you, “Black Belt”), and enjoyed Queen of Denmark when it came out. But I don’t go back to him like I do Vampire Weekend for instance. That said, “GMF” holds a special place in my heart, and COVID-19, along with the side salad of forced-introspection it came with, has only further reinforced this feeling.
“I am the greatest motherfucker that you’re ever gonna meet,” could very possibly be one of the top three lyrics of the past twenty years, and it’s such a shame that it will never be given the opportunity to be massacred by teens in school choirs across the world like “Hallelujah” or “Time of Your Life” have been. Their loss I guess.
While writing this post, I worried about running out of gas halfway through and having to make some ham-fisted segue into another song or facet of Quar that I found interesting, but the fact of the matter is that I should never have even entertained such misplaced concerns as this song has it all. “GMF” combines the most acerbic lyrics with a simple verse-chorus combo so effortlessly, it’s as if the robots wrote it so that we could survive the pandemic in one piece. It really has something for everyone.
“I’m usually only waiting for you to stop talking so that I can,” should be a mantra that all pseudo-intellectuals are forced to recite before going on Twitter. While, “Half of the time I think I’m in some movie, I play the underdog of course,” is a personal favourite that resonates on so many levels it barely bears thinking about. Finally, if there is a line in any song (from The Ronettes to The Beach Boys to Karen Carpenter to D’Angelo) that more accurately sums up the essence of a couple forced into co-habitation during Quar more than “You think I hate myself but it’s you I hate because you have the nerve to make me feel,” then I want to see it.
I suppose what I’m really trying to say by writing this post is that it’s OK to not have all the answers, especially during a global pandemic. It’s OK to Google how to spell facetious every time you use it incorrectly in a Whatsapp message; it’s OK to post on Instagram bemoaning Bleacher Report’s unbecoming response to the return of the Bundesliga while still liking their stupid Zlatan-themed five-a-side teams; it’s OK to want a double-rum and coke more than wanting to see your family, and it’s definitely OK to listen to “GMF” by John Grant nine times in a row as you struggle to suppress the desire to shout at the two boomers who wouldn't share the footpath on Hutchinson last Thursday.