After 2 minutes and 18 seconds in the song 'Broken' by Jack Johnson, comes an interlude that teasingly sounds like the track has ended. It picks up at 2:30. The visuals I saw with my eyes while that interlude streamed through my earphones, will now forever be it's shadow: the gridlocked muddy treads of truck tyres, big white logos with heavy drop-shadows on cracking cement walls saying 'vaishno dhaba', and an unclean car window through which I've seen all of this, which makes the attention to detail of said visuals highly suspect.
But that's awesome.
It takes one disruptive unrhyming couplet that's affirmation that you know what you're doing with your life.
It takes that unique transition into bridge to verse to refrain to chorus that can choke you, make you realise you're on fire or doused.
It takes one chord change to remind you of who you are.
In that perfect moment of unison with music, every song ever written, is for you.
Pride in the name of love, makes me manic, energectic and eventually I cry at "...free at last, they took your life, but could not take your pride'.
Jolene, makes me angry.
Le Moulin, slows me down. I don't play it while folding clothes.
Rue de Cascades, makes me want to 'dance like a dervish'.
Bounce, makes me genocidal.
Edge of desire, does nothing.
Dry the rain, keeps me humble.
T.N.T, makes me want to wash a dirty car, in public, in my unmentionables, in high speed.
Take five, reminds me of everytime I've employed gallows' humor and how it has saved the day.
Broken, makes me want to hit Delhi-Jaipur highway. It's flat and endless, with a mirage of a promise of taking you all the way to Mumbai if you drive for 2 days continuously.
