Freitag, 15. September 2006

dear aidan,

aidan moffat. [arab strap.]
you probably don't remember, but we met in zuerich, in late february. i was the blonde girl standing in front row at abart, right in front of you, with a last romance button on my t-shirt. i was crying for the first three songs of your set. after the show i walked up to you and told you how much your last record meant to me. you told me that you didn't get to hear that kind of thing every night.

the first time i ever heard one of your songs was in late october, almost a year ago, on a train ride to berlin. it was 'dream sequence', on one of those spex samplers, and i liked it so much that two days later i listened to the rest of the album at dussmann, a record store in berlin, with my best friend. i was in the middle of getting out of a going nowhere affair where every morning was a monday, and hearing you sing about that in stink was like hearing you describe MY monday mornings. it was his skin and his breath and his sweat and greasy hair and the empty cans and makeshift ashtrays everywhere; we were strangers waking up in the monday morning stink, and it was me feeling sick, every time. now there were you, singing about all that as well; you had been there, done that, and come out alright, unharmed and still believing in love. otherwise, i guess, you wouldn't have been able to write the rest of the songs on 'the last romance'.
not that i fully realised that that day; it took a while until i understood what you and malcolm had wanted to do with 'the last romance'. i took me a while to understand all the stories inside of the songs and to realise that the last romance you guys were talking about was the one that lasts forever. what an ancient, old fashioned concept.

three days after your show at abart in zuerich, i fell in love, and a week later, i found myself pacing up and down a deserted platform at freiburg main station, long after midnight, listening to 'don't ask me to dance' on repeat. you know i've felt like this before you sang into my ear, i know you have felt it, too, and i thought that no one had found more suitable words for how weird it is to fall in love again after you heart has been broken, to fall in love again and again and again and to still hope that it will last, one day. 'don't ask me to dance' is a song about how changed the world is, because you've fallen in love, and for me, that song is forever connected to that moment, to that feeling i had pacing along platform #3, waiting for him to arrive. it's connected to how changed my world was, that night, to hoping that this is the love that will last. and no matter how hard i pretend to not care, i still haven't given up that hope, i still believe that someone will one day know enough to circle me a yes, and that he'll know that we're different and lucky and that our connection is unique. i'm sure you know what i mean. i hope it's that man i waited for that night. if there's no hope for us, there is no hope for anyone.

it was really weird this summer, but i kept having these strange deja vu-ish conversations with people about which music we like, and your name always came up, especially from fellow musicians. i love your music because you were so true to yourself, playing clubs shows as if you were still at a pub in falkirk, walking off-stage when your part of a song was done. i loved the harsh contrast between your bearish appearance and the honest, sensual shit you sang about.

in 'there is no ending' you said that not every thing must end, not every romance must descend, and i fuckin' hope that you're right with this sentence when it comes to love. too bad though, that it apparently didn't apply to your wonderful band. you guys breaking up, it's a heartache, nothing but a heartache. i think you're the first band in at least a decade that i really appreciate that's formally breaking up. if you weren't planning on releasing a record full of rarities and going on a goodbye tour, i'd be heartbroken. i think i'll be fine until i see you play in munich or heidelberg or fribourg or maybe at abart again, in zuerich. wherever it'll be, i'll be that blonde girl in front row, right in front of you, with a last romance button on my t-shirt, crying for the first three songs of your set. thank you already. i'll see you then.