Only slightly more complex than the Hokey Pokey...

I've been listening to this one song quite a lot lately, this one song that reminds me quite a bit of this other song, almost so much so that I would call it an associative climax, but not quite that much.

Regina Spektor seems to have realized that she will never in her life write a truly great song, the kind of song that might truly connect with anyone. Her response to this realization has been to sabotage any and all songs she should ever write, knowing that they will come out "ok" anyway. They might, actually, be better because of the sabotage, causing the listener to think, "Wow, if she hadn't fucked it all up, this might have been a great song." Of course, it wouldn't have been, it would have been a much worse song without that possibility of redemption. This is the genius of Ms. Spektor; she is not a brilliant songwriter, but she has an uncanny ability to recognize her own limitations, a feat far beyond most of us, and on top of it all she has the savvy to disquise her limitations as a playful jab at all of those stuffy perfectionists, the ones who just don't get that music is, deep down, just about having fun.

So, instead of posting the song that I have been listening to lately, I am posting the song that I have been reminded of because, well, because the songs that you hear because you hit the play button probably aren't quite as important as the songs that you hear because your brain tells you to hear them. Regina explains how it works here in this song, in case you were wondering. It is indeed more complicated than the Hokey Pokey, but it's still pretty simple, and the end result of both is the same: a broken heart and a lifeless corpse.