All I can do is play them over and over, hoping mania will prove my sincerity, hoping mania is endearing, hoping a CD can be so pleased to see me happy that it doesn't think it's creepy that I care what it thinks. My database insists that until eighteen days ago I'd never heard them, but that can't possibly be right. Of course voices are frail, feminine, possessed and serene, and guitars sweep across them like moods through the muscles of a face. Of course drums snap, and the bass twitters like nobody told it it was supposed to supply the low end, and nobody noticed when it didn't. Of course pop and punk are complementary impulses, and bubblegum can be as seditious as plastique.
Life is romantic.
All significant struggles are romantic struggles. This is why people who don't even know you can seem so sure that the answers to your questions are in their books, and if Marx could have phrased his fears about class divisions and economic inequity this cogently, they might have had to tear the Berlin Wall down from the other side. I'm pretty sure it's a harrowingly confused portrait of the narrator's parents' divorce, and any one of the three participants could be the titular villain. Heavenly was more complicated than this, but no more buoyant. Sarge could be what Heavenly would have gone on to sound like, except that most of Heavenly are now in Marine Research, and eventually we'll get an album out of them and find out what they've gone on to sound like.