We employees felt a bit left out, being prohibited from entering the Belle and Sebastian “Write About Love” contest. After all, we love too. We love hard. So we thought we’d write about love anyway, one of us per day, to spread the love, and hopefully inspire Mr. Murdoch along the way.
Of love, the great Robert Creeley said: “what is it that/is finally so helpless/different, despairs of its own/statement, wants to/turn away, endlessly/ to turn away.” How does one even grasp it, let alone put it into words? Every time I play Kurt Vile, I get flushed and my heart speeds up. The first time I walked into that Clyfford Still room at the Met, my legs gave out. Last month a fucking PEACH made me tear up (it was a really good peach). I still love this damn iPhone. And then there’s that Sam Riley guy that played Ian Curtis… but I digress. Maybe writing about love is like dancing about archi-blah blah. Creeley’s mentor of sorts, William Carlos Williams, said: “I have learned much in my life from books, and out of them about love.” One review of the Belle album simply said, “well duh.” But do Mogwai write about love with their heartwrenching instrumentals? I think yes. What about when you go see Salem, and you’re like, wow, this is so incredibly bad, maybe it’s good? Maybe I love this hateful rapegaze? The mind reels. But maybe you just know it when you feel it. Late at night, when the lambent moon casts its velvet glow over the Manhattan skyline, the ’96 Bordeaux casts a velvet glow of its own, Belle is on the stereo, and you by my side, I’m reminded of Williams’s mentor of sorts, Ezra Pound: “What thou lov’st well shall not be reft from thee/What thou lov’st well is thy true heritage.”