‘Starry eyes’ is a tune locked in a children’s music box. A plastic ballerina starts pirouetting each time you open the box.
First step, and your voice is thinner than your dress. It will wear out on the long run. You’ll soon be slighly breathless. A boy is walking two steps behind you. Woohoohoo. His voice muffled in the background. And then – he’s getting closer. You’re not scared. He’s singing in your ear now. It’s all too soft to hurt. Sky of cotton and skin of silk.
You’re fake but everything else is true. ‘Starry eyes’ is a cover of a 1984 song by Roky Erickson. Raw, distorted rock cut into pearls. The cover song may become a metaphor of flimsy, easy teenage love. It may become a cover under which to hide our insignificance. Until it no longer hides anything. Until it becomes obvious there is nothing to it. An air. Barely.
The Grass Widow girls (Captured Tracks labelmates) are lazily dancing next door, drenched in drunken harmonies and strawberry wine vapours, and for all the retro-vanguard guitars, for all the doe-eyed dolls (radio days voices & the shadow of a doubt), you say okay, we’ve been here before, but hell we’re here again. Girl-boy vocal harmonies, light confusion. One 7-inch, spinning away.
All I ever found in graveyards was silence & empty looks.