I GUESS WE'RE TUNING TO YOU

Not for me the weight of nine to fourteen songs cracking open the hour. Not for me sixty or seventy minutes with Led Zep out in the garage, lifting those old Shur Grip weights, rolling the heavy disks across the floor and bolting another fifteen pounds on the bar. Or, in my case, five pounds. Not for me the ritual of the album, the sitting on the couch in a silent house, evening drawing on or a low dazzle of afternoon sunlight, maybe a favourite drink on the table, dense and bubbling in a tall glass with a few thick-rinded slices of lime under the ice cubes. I look for gemstones, not piled treasure, the Koh-i-Noor and not some sloppy shipwreck off Sicily or Spain. Nothing lasts forever. Nothing is perfect. Only moments matter.

"Corazon" + Bishop Allen Bishop Allen is a singles band. Like The Beatles and every other band on the side of pop music—as opposed to flat-out rock—Bishop Allen is concerned to make every second of a song cedar-scented with emotional impact. "Corazon" is my favourite of all their singles. The first time I heard this song I wanted to cry big fat salty stupid tears. Even now, when the lead singer unregretfully sings, "I guess we'll tune in to you," I can feel my heart turn around and put a hand on its forehead. I can't control my heart because I don't know my heart. Bishop Allen doesn't know this piano, either, but they sense the strings and the pulse in the abandoned beast, they sense the valuable heart's blood and great rusty worth of the discarded instrument, maybe not yet knowing what they sense. As the song progresses, the singer realizes he is not some noble hero swinging above Alphabet or Empire City, but an unknowing unknown victim, like the piano is an unknowing victim, and that he will have to relearn everything ever all over again and what he will learn will come from what he was rescuing.

For piano, of course, substitute girlfriend, boyfriend, old neighbour, angry teacher, anything at all that was ever important.

[photo source]