“Don’t ask me where I’ve been
Cause you don’t want to know. 
Don’t ask me who I’m seeing, 
No, you don’t want to know.
Don’t come around here 
When I need you the most.
Leave it alone, 
Leave a little room for the holy ghost. 

Now your pretty horses run wild and free,
You can go and find a lover, baby, better than me.
Talking snow for days with your friends in La, 
Have mercy.

Now your pretty horses run wild and free,
You can go and find a lover baby, better than me.
Talking snow for days with your friends in La ,
Have mercy.”

I like it when songs devastate me.

No, I love it. In the way I love strong coffee and long drives, in the way that makes me feel OK being alive and feeling feelings, which for me, like most humans, is a complicated endeavor. So I find songs that devastate me, that speak to whatever hurt I harbor and exacerbate it,like needles in the wound. Sometimes, those songs find me.

The new Gaslight record offers much to discuss in term’s of growth, reputation and catalog. But why talk about that right now, when the best moments are those of supreme heartbreak, perfectly channeled bedroom poetry accompanied by muted guitars and ghostly, dark vocals? I see all this when I am transfixed by the final bonus track on the iTunes release, one of the saddest songs Brian Fallon has ever written, one that is cloaked in the despair of loss and yet accepting of its own loneliness. I played it far too many times this week. It is an instant favorite, the kind of song I won’t forget, the kind of song I would send like as a message in a bottle, that I would rather wrap myself up in all day than go out and put on whatever face and front is needed to get through the day.