Words being important to me, yes, but still, how sad to miss the lyrical turns, the clever wordplay, the telegraphic details.
Sheryl Crow says, "He says his name is William, but I'm sure it's Bill or Billy or Mack or Buddy, and he's plain ugly to me." She's showing us what it is to see through the ploys of a barfly trying to get the girl's attention.
So when Ms. Crow goes on to announce that all she wants to do is have some fun, we can see it's not so easy –– even while drinking beer at noon in a bar that faces a car wash.
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Of course, maybe the words and story is what appeals to me. They are kind of my things, after all.
Like this song from Bree Sharp.
Granted, it's a ballad, which would lead anyone to expect a narrative, but she paints a noir, Bonnie-and-Clyde picture of the end of a spree.
But why oh why does Lipton Iced Tea snip a bit of Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweat's SOB in their television ad campaign?
Yes, the hand-clap is catchy, but there's a jarring cognitive dissonance when one pairs this particular song with a hearty recommendation for something to drink.
Someone at the ad agency must have had a sense of humor.
(Says she, making up a story.)
The words are so indistinguishable that you can put whatever comes to mind into those slurred lines, and all you are left with as a listener is a passionate understanding for the need to leave.