"Have you ever been in a really bad accident?" Girl Friday once asked me. "Like, a massive wreck where the car's completely totalled and you have every chance of dying ~ right there ~ in seconds."
It was a chilly Sunday afternoon. Chef Boy had taken the Sproutlings out on a brisk gallivant around Seattle, and the two of us girls were freshly returned from a seven-mile wander that took us partially around Greenlake, into Wallingford for stellar Thai food, and back into the 'hood for our usual Mac&Jacks and Guinnei at our village local. Afterwards, cozily ensconced in my warm kitchen with happy bellies and burbly little burps, we draped ourselves over comfy chairs with bottles of Winter-themed microbrew in front of the computer. Rhapsody was up and running, and we began to play one of my favourite games: alternating turns putting on a piece of music for one another, and either introducing it with a story or explanation for the choice, or not saying anything at all and allowing for an unbiased reaction and unframed response.
It was Girl Friday's turn, and when she prefaced the following song with her question, I had to answer, "No. Not like that. Nothing even remotely close, thank God."
"Well, when I moved out here, I was driving my old beater from Chicago with all of my earthly possessions stuffed into it, and I got nailed so hard on the highway that truly, honestly, this song completely captures the feeling you have when you're caught in that moment: glass is shattering in slow motion all around you, everything you possess is flying through the air, and you're hyper conscious about every little thing and watching it just go in this lovely, epic, silent way. And you're strangely, totally at peace with what's going on because you know there's absolutely nothing you can do at that moment; you're releasing yourself to whatever happens. It's ridiculously, unbelieveably beautiful. This song, to me, encapsulates perfectly what it's like to be in a wickedly serious, bad-ass, you're-really-possibly-gonna-die car crash. Like... this is it."
This exchange reminded me of another conversation I had with a very cool Californian girlfriend years ago in Old Québec when I was eighteen. We were tucked away in candle-lit darkness, curled up unobtrusively on a windowseat at a buzzing party in a well-preserved heritage apartment, gazing down at an ancient, lit-up cathedral just across the cobblestoned courtyard. Pretty little fairy lights adorned enchanted trees outside, and baskets overflowing with daintily sweet flowers hung from intricately-wrought street lamps. The air around us swirled with a heady combination of The Cure and potsmoke. Sultry-Voiced Beth and I chatted mellowly about her working at a restaurant in Berkeley to subsidize her studies, alcohol, cigarettes, and free-loading boyfriends. "So how do you manage to carry so many massive, steaming, and full plates at a time on a giant tray thingy without tripping or dropping them all?" I remember asking.
"Ah," she laughed huskily as she drew in some smoke and blew it saucily out the side, "you figure it out. Start off with a bunch of practice rounds at home with one of those trays filled with unbreakable objects. Walk around furniture, go up and down stairs, try to get though doorways, and always, always sway those hips for extra tips from the guys. You know what's absolutely crazy, though? On the odd occasion when you do lose your balance a little and feel the whole load tip, slide, and start to fall, your heart just stops and everything inside you freezes, and you're filled with the worst possible kind of dread as it all begins to move in slow motion. And even though you know for a fact this isn't really the case, the noise level suddenly drops and the world seems to go dead silent. But then... everything eventually crashes and smashes everywhere, and for some reason, it's the most carthartic, satisfying feeling in the world. You finally exhale in this hugely relieving, body-emptying way, with this immense sense of release, and it's like the most mindblowing orgasm at the end of an incredibly fantastic round of sex. I kind of like it when that happens. Of course, don't tell my boss."
So there you have it. May I present, at long last, Girl Friday's "Car Crash Song" (distinct, of course, from her "Dead John Song," aka Mazzy Star's "Fade into You"), and what I dearly hope is the closest any of us will come to being involved in a car accident or massive dish-dropping session any time in the near present or distant future: vicariously, without the mess, and through a headrushy, hypnotic, surreal, and rather darkly seductive song.
Swell ~ "Sunshine Everyday" (1997)
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