Ideally the contributed tracks should represent you, or reflect the personality of your weblog [if any], or somehow summarise the last six months of your life. That sort of thing.

Given that this was my idea, I’m somewhat embarrassed (and by somewhat embarrassed, read: totally mortified) that I’ve been completely and utterly paralysed with indecision this week.
This mortification is only slightly lessened by the realisation that I’m in good company.
Just one song. One song, to represent me, my weblog or my last six months.
Crikey.
All that, into just one song?
So, I had to break it down, into shortlists, and of course, I started with the easy one, my blog, or rather, my not-a-blog-right-now-because-my-life-is-too-complicated-to-write-about [deep breath] and-I-can’t-ignore-it-and-just-be-funny-instead [another deep breath] so-i’ll-just-post-pretty-pics-until-i-sort-out-my-photoblog.
Not much to go on there but the name, and the only diva song I know is Don’t Leave a Diva by Velvet Chain.
As for the last six months?

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I cannot think of my song.
I have tried, for days upon days, but I cannot think of a song that reflects my blog.
It has, I admit, come to me in this time (and I admit, I may have been procrastinating) that what I have is not a blog. A blog is an outward looking thing. With links and things and all-over-the-place-in-a-good-way-finger-in-every-pie-ness. I do not have a blog.
But the only definition that seems to leave is journal. I do not have a journal. A journal is a very inward loking thing. I do not tell enough about my life to have one of those.
No. It is inbetween. It is sideways looking. It is a blurnal.
My blurnal, therefore, is just the bits of me I chose to show. I wanted to chose Wishin’ and Hopin’ (The Bacherach song, the Ani Di Franco version), syrup-stained-girly in lyric, knowingly-sexily-dry in delivery, it says a lot. And I love it a lot. A version of Like a virgin, by the Meat Purveyors (from the album ‘All relationships are doomed to fail’) was a strong choice too. Old material re-done in a squwiff way, that appeals to me, I wonder why.
I was thinking about my favourite songs over the years, Repetition by Blur, Finest worksong by REM, Yes by McAlmont and Butler, It’s not easy being green performed by Kermit the frog and songs I’ve listened to over and over and over again and oh, bunches and bunches and bunches, I can’t think, because I’m trying to decide.
It’s down to these: One of these things first by Nick Drake, Way to Blue by Nick Drake, Cello song, by Nick Drake, or One with the birds by Bonnie Prince Billy.
And these are all quite sad songs, kind of, and I feel quite sad right now, so reflecting me in a blurnal kind of way, I’ll pick one of those. And it is one of my favourite songs, and it always makes me cry, and I’m never sure why. My song is One with the birds by Bonnie Prince Billy. If I can have two songs, which I know I can’t, I’ll also have the Ani di Franco Wishin and Hopin, because it represents everything I and my blurnal are when not depressed. Can I have two, please? Oh, or just one, if you’re mean…
But y’all should go and listen to the rest of those songs too. Nick Drake in particulear.

Choosing a song for the UborMix (UberMix?) has been harder than I thought.
It doesn’t help that I slammed Mark for his choice of artiste and in doing so, left myself wide open for criticism of my own preferences. (Hang on a sec – this is Uborka! Who needs a reason?)
Then Lyle makes a commendable selection by Nine Inch Nails which, according to the unspoken rules of MixCD track selection, denies me the chance to use them as a song resource. (Put two tracks by the same artist on the same CD? Nick Hornby would turn in his grave!)
So back to the brief: a song that reflects the personality of my website. The obvious choice is “Headcleaner” by Einsturzende Neubauten – the song that gave the site its name. I’m not sure that the mix CD can take a 15 minute industrial track about a mythical political brainwashing substance. Sung in German. Perhaps not.
What about the “Green Green Grass of Home” by Tom Jones, a good old song about the Principality to annoy Karen? Except that she’s been quite nice to me recently so again, no.
Where, oh where can I find inspiration? Where is my mind? Hold on, that’s it! “Where is my mind?” The classic Pixies song used to such good effect at the end of the movie Fight Club. But wait – the lyrics are entirely non-sensical. A contender but let’s see what else there is.
At this point I begin to realise that my website has little to no personality so best I move on. A song that describes me…

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I can’t remember a time when The Decemberists weren’t among my favorite bands, even though it was only a few months ago that I first came across their music. “Grace Cathedral Hill,” a ballad (ballad? that seems too cheesy, like I’m comparing it to an R. Kelly single circa 1997) from their album Castaways and Cutouts, was the first song of theirs I heard – the song that hooked me.
The song is wonderful and interesting not only in the world of music, but also in the world of The Decemberists’ music. It’s more conventional in melody than much of their material but just as lyrically creative and remarkably more tender. It’s foggy nostalgia, or maybe remembrance is a better word, because it’s not sappy, or sigh-y, or weepy, or celebratory. A friend of mine today described it as telling a story to someone who was in the story with you: We were both a little hungry, so we went to get a hot dog … Remember?
It’s beautiful in a very not tall-slender-blonde-and-leggy sort of way. This is the band who in another song describes L.A. as “an ocean’s garbled vomit on the shore,” before bursting out into a declaration of the title, “Los Angeles, I’m Yours.” They’ve got the craft down. They’re unavoidably listenable and incorrigibly clever. “Grace Cathedral Hill” is their slow dance masterpiece. It is a love song, but it’s as much about memory, vulnerability and emptiness.
Plus, uh, great tune! It belongs on this mix, I promise!
Grace Cathedral Hill
All wrapped in bones of setting sun
All dust and stone and moribund
I paid twenty-five cents to light a little white candle…

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