By Scott Buckner
I’d be willing to bet that there have been more songs written, for better or worse, since the dawn of man than there are grains of sand on North Avenue beach. That’s a lot of sand. And a lot of songs, too. The guys in the original Alice Cooper band were my personal musical heroes during high school, and as much as I still love a good Motley Crue-AC/DC headbanging today, my world still stops whenever I hear a really gorgeous song that has somehow managed at various points during the past 20 or 30 years to lilt its way over all that goddamn racket Angus Young and his brother have been graciously gifting to people just like me.
I’m a sucker for the pretty song. Not just the nice-enough song, but the song that makes the planet stop turning for that three or four minutes you’re listening to it; the completely-pretty song that makes you think this is exactly why someone invented music. And really, the entire human race relies upon songs like these to bring proper perspective, order and balance to the world, especially on those nights when you walk into your neighborhood bar to discover the management is letting that godfuckingawful Black Sabbath/Ozzy Osbourne tribute band play until closing time.
Posted on October 23, 2009
