—End of the Line (ripped from vinyl)
Traveling Wilburys “End of the Line” (ripped from vinyl)
This song has seriously been in my head for days, and played (I believe) in its entirety in my dream the other night. Whenever I hear this band, I first think of my buddy RJO, whom I’ve known for almost 30 years. Then I think of Black Spring, ‘11, where this song comforted me like a blanket in the middle of the firefight of g&t’s and debauchery.
I only am re-posting this because I have found myself in the position of a stay at home doggy daddy with a spotless house (save for the Vietnamese press in the sink used to make her coffee), and we had Sirloin Bordelaise with Potatoes Lyonnaise and Grilled Romaine Salad with a cilantro/basil/champagne vinaigrette to eat last night—-followed by love making.
So yes, I am a man who cooks and cleans and is also a fucker. Take that, world. My one gripe here is that whether it’s professional cooking or domestic, I hate wearing aprons and will only do so if I’m handling dough and/or a ton of flour.
i’m so glad this link exists.
There’s a lot of bad haircuts here, but I think this song is of such an honest sentiment and beautiful vocal arrangement that I love it probably best of all Queen songs. It upsets me a lot that I have a lot of negative connotations with being at sporting events or working in shitass bars and watching people sing along to “Bohemian Rhapsody” or “We Will Rock You” and then pull some “Faggot this or that” shit on a fellow patron. It’s those feelings that make me understand the sentiment of people who want to keep their underground music underground, just so it’s theirs. That’s selfish in the end, though. I make little sense, but Fred and the gang got some pipes and some chops on this beautiful number.
I really truly begin to appreciate complete piece of shit songs like this that used to use a video to ape whatever record execs thought would sell (often correctly) at the time a few years later. E.G. when I was living in this horrible apartment circa 2003 and would blast this on repeat in horror.
one of those songs i hear 8 times a week at work but finally asked about. i’d rather have dinner with the singer from the phantogram song, but at least i know who this actually is now.