Soundtrack to plea bargaining
A playlist set in whatever sad neighborhood my brother here is in
I was out of town with two buddies of mine this summer, traveling before our jobs started. One of the nights we were in Paris, we grabbed dinner at this cool-seeming spot, uptown.1 My friend Cade was saying something about the Olympics, but I was lost thinking about this girl I’d started seeing in Kansas City right before I left. I was thinking about the minute I knew she had me—we were watching a band play ten or fifteen feet away while we sat at the bar, feet tangled up together on the barstools. At one point she couldn’t stop laughing at something one of us said, holding my arm, trying not to fall over. Right then she had me. She had this smile that could power a city. So I was anywhere but here in Paris at this restaurant, playing out in my head this perfect (and impossible, we’d soon decide) two months her and I could have together, before both of us had to pull up stakes and move to different cities in August.
This restaurant I was daydreaming in had massive windows with a scene outside that eventually snapped me out of it. From what I could tell, nobody in this restaurant seemed all that interested in what was going on or being said inside—the windows were too big and great. There was unmissable action on the street. Everyone’s eyes were wandering out there, looking for stuff to talk about or else just think about.
My friend Ben and I said a few things about Team USA and Lebron and KD and Ant, Cade mentioned something about the Chiefs, then we let things be quiet. I looked through the windows to see all kinds of people at café tables and on bikes and with cigarettes. I sat back in my chair, thought again about this girl and things back home, felt my pocket for a text from her, predictably more eager to see what she’d say next than to see anything on our trip.
I looked out there again and spotted what looked like a proposal for a second or two. A guy was kneeling beside a woman, looking up at her. Nice, right? I felt good for a second. Then I saw her face—cold glare straight ahead, no words. She was somewhere between scared and furious. He was helpless, trying to draw in her eyes. Dig it:
Yeah. Dig how this guy is pleading—no proposal happening here. He talked and talked for a minute or two and got no reaction from her. They looked exactly like this for at least a few minutes, getting nowhere. I know I’ve walked in the neighborhood he seemed to be messing around in. Don’t know what he said or did, don’t know what happened between them, but this dude was losing the battle and I thought something like Ah brother I have maybe been there but why are you almost on your knees??
Anyway, being an adult, I lost track of what anyone at the table was saying, took that photo, and made it the cover of a clean new Spotify playlist before I looked back up again.2
This playlist is somewhere in the neighborhood of rock bottom. Most of this is just the fellas pawing at the glass in the rain, trying to argue their way back to Her,3 whoever she is, sounding pretty pathetic but not without some serious determination.
These songs are a winding path from ‘straight up pleading’4 to something like ‘ready to move forward, but not without glancing back to see where they’re at (so, not really ready).’5 They’re played best when they’re played in order. None of this should work, really—there’s a stretch of songs by artists in this order: Faye Webster to 2Pac to the legend Donny Hathaway to Jeff Buckley to Jay-Z. But I think it does.
These songs are not all about trying to Get Them Back right after things end. Some of them wind back into loving again, or hating again, or even feeling neutral.
These songs end maybe a foot or two ahead of where they begin. None of this is about real progress.6 My brother in the photo up there knows there’s no hope for them. These songs are about holding onto what’s slipping away, or going back to a place that doesn’t exist anymore for as long as possible. The songwriter is most interested in regaining attention, or else filibustering to stay for as long as possible. Nobody here is dumb enough to think what they’re chasing can last forever.
I linked below to the playlist on Spotify. See below that for a tracklist.
Soundtrack to plea bargaining
Don’t Take My Sunshine (The Soul Children)
I’ve Been Loving You Too Long (Otis Redding)
Broke Down Piece of Man (Sam & Dave)
Pain in My Heart (Otis Redding)
Can’t Say Goodbye (Bobby Caldwell)
IFHY (Tyler, the Creator feat. Pharrell Williams)
Morrow (070 Shake)
You Got Me (The Roots, Tariq Trotter, Erykah Badu, Eve)
Pretty Little Fears (6LACK feat. J. Cole)
Under The Moon (070 Shake)
She Won’t Go Away (Faye Webster)
Do For Love (2PAC)
Jealous Guy - Live (Donny Hathaway)
Lover, You Should Have Come Over - Live at JBTV, Chicago, IL - November 1994 (Jeff Buckley)
Song Cry (JAY-Z)
Luv U Better (LL COOL J)
Our Love Used to Be (Royal Esquires)
You’re So Vain (Carly Simon)
Don’t Speak (No Doubt)
How Can I Love Her More? (The Lemon Twigs)
Lovesong (The Cure)
High Times (Elliott Smith)
How to Fight Loneliness (Wilco)
Resurrection Fern (Iron & Wine)
Girl from The North Country (Bob Dylan)
A Case of You (Joni Mitchell)
Her (Her)
Trouble (Robots Don’t Sleep)
Doggin’ Around (Jackie Wilson)
Since I’ve Been Loving You - Remaster (Led Zeppelin)
Come Around (070 Shake)
PRBLMS (6LACK)
I’m Sorry (Ameer Vann)
Never Should’ve Let You Go (Faithful)
I Loved And I Lost (The Impressions)
Wildflowers & Wine (Marcus King)
The Tracks Of My Tears (Smokey Robinson & The Miracles)
I’ll Come Running Back To You (The Soul Stirrers, Same Cooke)
Here’s Where The Story Ends (The Sundays)
Harvest Moon (Neil Young)
Le Progrés (7 Rue des Trois Frères, 75018 Paris, France).
This is why people-watching kicks ass.
Unfortunately most of the women being pled at are just called She or Her. You is a step above, because there’s a closeness involved (see “Harvest Moon” by the man Neil Young). I’m being hypocritical with any criticism since I, just a few damn paragraphs ago, chose not to say the name of the girl I was seeing this summer.
The man Otis was the greatest at this—he’s got two of the first four tracks locked down for a reason.
I think about “Harvest Moon” this way, but know that’s not how everyone reads it.
I should note that “Lovesong” is on here but Robert Smith has been with his wife for five decades (they met when they were fourteen). That kicks ass, but I’m using the song anyway.