A friend of mine has been dealing with a lot of currency today. He’s going to Sweden on the weekend and went to the bank early to get some Swedish currency. Roughly $1000.
At about the same time, he got a call from a real estate agent to confirm the bid he and a friend had made on an apartment had been accepted, and as the process for a sale, they asked if he could make a $1000 payment (or something like that). “You should have asked if you could pay in kronor?”, I joked.
After a slightly crazy day at work I didn’t feel much like Swedish class tonight. Chatting about Swedish currency and watching some of Robyn on Youtube tonight went part of the way to assuage my guilt, I guess.
Oh yeah, and Robyn is coming back to Australia. How cool is that? I saw her perform live in Sydney in 2007, and it was honestly one of the best live shows I’ve seen. She writes and performs great pop songs with heart-breaking lyrics. In the midst of joyful tunes are sad, sad lyrics. She’s a little ABBA-esque in that regard. I guess. Happy songs, but tragic lyrics…
Take for example her song “Dancing On My Own…”, one of those classic, plaintive broken hearted love songs against a disco beat…
I’m in the corner, watching you kiss her (Oh, oh, oh)
I’m right over here, why can’t you see me (Oh, oh, oh)
I’m givin’ it my all, but I’m not the girl you’re takin’ home (Ooh, ooh, ooh)
I keep dancin’ on my own (I keep dancin’ on my own)
And this one… from her song “Cry When You Get Older”…
Hey girl in the strobing light what your mama never told ya
Cause love hurts when you do it right you can cry when you get older
Young boy by the traffic light what your daddy never told ya
cause love hurts when you do it right you can cry when you get older
What a great line… “love hurts when you do it right”.
The song which opens her latest EP, BodyTalk, though, and which had the most impact on me first of all was “Don’t Fucking Tell Me What To Do”.
The song opens with what sounds like an AA-admission…
My drinking is killing me
My drinking is killing me
My drinking is killing me
My drinking is killing me
My drinking is killing me
My drinking is killing me
My drinking is killing me
My drinking is killing me
My drinking is killing me
My drinking is killing me
My drinking is killing me
My drinking is killing me
My drinking is killing me
My drinking is killing me
My drinking is killing me
She then goes on to talk about the other things which are “killing” her, including smoking, diet, shopping, ego, email, nagging, PMS etc… until finally she declares…
Don’t fucking tell me what to do, do!
Don’t fucking tell me what to do, do, do, do, do!
Don’t fucking tell me what to do!
Don’t fucking tell me what to do, do!
Don’t fucking tell me what to do, do!
Don’t fucking tell me what to do!
Don’t fucking tell me what to do!
Don’t fucking tell me what to do!
Don’t fucking tell me what to do!
I am soooo excited she’s coming back to Australia. All I’ve seen advertised so far is a musical festival on November 27, though HOPEFULLY, she’ll do some intimate venues as in 2007.
A bit of Robyn and all of the stress and strain of the day was forgotten.
Towards the end of the regular Wednesday night at the pub my friend asked me if there’s anything he could bring me back from Sweden. After saying “a boyfriend”, I concluded I’d like a couple of Swedish newspapers. “Nothing too complicated”, I told him, “I’m not looking for a Svenska Dagbladet or anything… I’d be happy with a Aftonbladet or a Metro”. As much as it’s terrific to read the papers online, there’s something kinda intimate and lovely about reading a real newspaper also.