OK, I know what you’re thinking. How do I know?
Because I’m just that fucking awesome. You’re thinking:
“It’s Friday night and I’m at home, drinking alone, and though I cannot
be partying with Bradley Wik, I want to listen to the same music as he so as to
feel closer to his majestic ass. I
want to dance to the same rhythms and sing the same choruses, full tilt and
off-key and fucking hammered. I
want to occupy the same mental, and metaphysical, plane as this exulted
mutherfucker. I want to dance as
he dances, full of spirit and without inhibitions, mesmerized by the music, my
hips in sync with the bass, my body moving so effortlessly with the melodies,
wholly enveloped in the magical, mystical and pseudo-religious manner in which
music can possess us. I want to
feel as Bradley feels and see what Bradley sees and hear what Bradley
hears. I wish that someday I might
physically reconcile these sensations with the actuality of his presence,
though undeserving I may be. I
would be made whole by such a divine meeting as this. I would then be afforded the luxury to die, contented,
unlike so many of my brethren (and sisthren?). My time on earth will have come full circle and I should
pass ever so fulfilled, ready for what may lie beyond our feeble
comprehension. And when Peter
should ask “Are you ready?” I will
know I am complete and satiated with my earthly existence, with nothing left to
look back on and wonder about. I
will know the apex of joy and relish in the knowledge that I reached the
highest of highs. There is nothing
left on earth for me, should I be allowed to ingest, for one night, the same
musical epiphanies, at the same moment in time, as Bradley Wik…” Or, something like that, I’m sure…
So, without getting into my infamous verbosity on subjects
which seem to interest no one but me, I present you (three scotches in, mind
you; catch up fuckers) my playlist for tonight:
- Bruce
Hornsby and the Range – Every Little Kiss
Gotta start out light and
fun. I could listen to this whole
album every time I put it on, but, alas, I need to move on to:
- Cyndi
Lauper – She Bop
Keep the rhythm moving
forward. The bass line alone is
worth the price of admission
- Phil
Collins – Sussudio
Don’t even get me started on how
much I love this song… Thanks for
not getting me started. Watch the
damn music video which will help explain the inexplicable love I have for Phil
and this tune
- Steve
Winwood – Valerie
I hemmed and hawed between this
and “Talking Back to the Night” landing on the better chorus
- Yaz –
Only You
This song breaks my fucking heart
every time. And now, thanks to
Ricky Gervais, I can’t help but think about “The Office” special every time I
hear it. Of course, I’m referring
to the orginal and not that bastardization, “The (American) Office”
- Luke
Bryan – Country Girl (Shake It For Me)
Now, four drinks in, I can’t
resist the lunacy and sheer, manic fun of a Luke Bryan song; “Strip it Down”
excluded
- Florida
Georgia Line – This Is How We Roll (feat. Luke Bryan)
Seriously, what is better than FGL
AND Luke Bryan… I’m fucking
serious, what is?
- Modest
Mouse – Talking Shit About A Pretty Sunset
As every drunk knows, eventually
the sentimentality bug will get you.
This is what that little fucker wanted today
- Angel
Haze – New York
Enough of that sentimental
shit. Fuck, this a sick beat with
one of my favorite MC’s lighting it up, rough…
- The B-52’s – Quiche Lorraine
I am getting pretty drunk, after
all
- Bob Marley – Redemption Song
Seriously, try and outrun the
sentimentality bug. It’s seemingly
everywhere after five drinks. This
song always reminds me of High School and speech class and, of course, smoking
lots of, err, “cigarettes”
- Fiona Apple – Hot Knife
Just… What the fuck?!… Every damn
time, unbelievable…
- Kanye West and Jay-Z – Niggas in Paris
This would be the most fun anyone
can have with music, except for:
- Dexy’s Midnight Runners – Come on Eileen
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