Ours
Precious

THE REVIEW

Ours – "Precious" (2002)

Feathers of a bird on open arms, golden lips and a mouth open to the sky as if asking for food or letting out a liberating cry and maybe I'm mistaken, but it's flying, or so it seemed to me. Yet it looked like an angel, like Jeff Buckley or like Bono suspended above Berlin. Or maybe it was a woman? No, it can't be. But does gender matter? No. What matters is the falsetto, the hysteria, the slow rises and falls, the moments of rupture, and the final recoveries. Take "Leaves" and try to chase the guitars that dance in the void. You won't be able to, they are too light. To catch them you have to become air. And then "Femme Fatale" seems familiar to us, but it's not Lou Reed: it's a man singing like a woman making us believe such a woman truly exists. And did The Cure serve a purpose? Didn't they teach you that being alone and thinking too long can make you wither? "If Flowers Turn" seems not to demonstrate it. Big mistake. Another mistake to not put "Broken" at the end, too hard to continue after it. By now you think you're in orbit, taken too far to go back to Earth and listen again, but "Chapter 2 (Money)" grabs you by the hair, pulls you down, and slaps reality in your face. The pigs surrounding you and all their filth break your spirit, but it’s just a matter of minutes, and soft thoughts envelop you under the sheets while you sleep. You think of her, count the stars burned by your mistakes, which you've set aside, and you swear to yourself not to do it again.