breakin' the chains of love

I bought a great CD yesterday.

I had to drive to two Graywhales to get it. It's called Pickin' Up the Pieces by Fitz & the Tantrums.

I think I like it even more than my Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings album which was the last CD I bought and that was a couple of months ago (also after driving to two separate Graywhales). Both CDs are a throwback to soul records of 40 years ago. It's exhilarating really.

I'm listening to Pickin' Up the Pieces right now and chair dancing to the music is absolutely involuntary. Like all pop songs, the material on the record is about heartbreak. This time, however, it's sincere and soulful. You need to listen to it. You deserve to listen to it.

I hate liking new music. I feel guilty enough not listening to all the music I have. Now, getting into new genres, I feel bad for not becoming a further expert in the 80s British New Romantic movement (probably my specialty).

There is too much music on earth. There's simply too much good music for me to be happy. If there were only 100 good songs in the world. I'd know those. I'd know there was nothing else, and I'd be happy. The sheer amount of pop music I'm not familiar with is simply overwhelming. I've been moved to tears by incredible songs, but the best songs out there -- the ones that would leave me in a shuddering heap -- I'll never hear.

There's misery and then there's the sublime. Both are similar. Both hurt in a lot of ways.

Back when I was depresseder than I am now, my therapist actually told me that some kind of labor is actually essential for happiness. He couldn't explain it. He just said that studies have concluded it. I suppose that explains why retired people get so blue. A reward isn't worth it unless there is a constant struggle involved.

This knowledge freaks me out. Life is painful, but there's no rest from it. The absence of pain leads to unhappiness. We work hard to get rid of our pain in order to earn different pain. That continues, I assume, long after our lives are over in some form of existence.

My late father actually coined a sort of motto: "happiness 'till it hurts." I'm not sure I get it completely. I'll have to listen to him give that speech and then get back to you.