The Cure
The Lovecats

“I think it’s impossible for anyone to hate this song,” comments miss Tilda on the tube, a sweet girl full of smiles, a woman with a very teacher-like style and very much the girl next door.

And I, I too am one from next door, and perhaps the one next to hers, agree, absolutely agree.

This is one of those songs that, if you’re grown up, make you feel like a child again. Then, of course, no one is truly grown up. Especially not if you only listen to “highbrow” stuff,

And even being male doesn’t help… Because males are either stupid or desperate (obviously except you, basic male who is reading this).

I imagine Tilda as Stefania, the one who the other day stopped for an hour to chat with the Chinese seamstress, just because she liked watching her sew…

Tilda and Stefania are two creatures, one-third cloud…

And this song is also one-third cloud. But it’s especially the song that made it clear to me (way back in 1983) that you can’t be without pop.

Anyone can complicate their life, anyone can add strangeness to strangeness to make it stranger. But to make strangeness seem like nothing, to make strangeness a light gas, few succeed at that. And may God bless those few…

Give me some little songs, damn it…