Monday, September 22, 2008

some shakin' and some record playin'

Now that my freelance career is effectively over, I'm coming around to the idea that I don't need to get on a plane to attend shows. This My Morning Jacket concert is, I hope, the first in a series of gigs I see at home. Don't worry, though--those L.A. trips aren't drying up too soon.

My Morning Jacket, Greek Theatre, September 19, 2008: My East Bay excursions continue to dwindle. First, Amoeba Records opened a San Francisco store. Then Mod Lang pulled up roots to El Cerrito. And now Southwest flies out of SFO. At least Bakesale Betty is still over the bridge.

But if you really want to get me to the East Bay, there's one surefire strategy: Let me play hostess and tour guide around the university. I'm not exactly brimming with school spirit, but the arbitrary sense of pride that comes from having spent 4.5 years at an institution (that I was sorta forced to attend) kicks in from time to time. Go Bears--conveniently poised onstage tonight!

My Morning Jacket, Greek Theater, Sept. 19, 2008

That's one of the reasons I ventured out for the My Morning Jacket show at the Greek Theatre. The venue remains low on my list of favorite local concert spots, but I wanted to reciprocate the endless hospitality Evonne shows me in SoCal. Besides, My Morning Jacket is always good for a bit of a spectacle, along with tons of tunage. I didn't even mind the drizzly mist that soaked us just enough to deflate hairstyles and smear makeup--though mercifully stopping short of the "drowned rat" aesthetic.

My Morning Jacket, Greek Theater, Sept. 19, 2008I have a hard enough time wrapping my brain around the sight of my most beloved bands playing bigger venues, but it's even weirder when you blink and discover the heights that other bands of interest have climbed. This show wasn't sold out, and we got decent spots on the rail well after doors opened, but a reasonably sized crowd showed up by the time the gig started. It wasn't the Fillmore, that's for sure.

The Fillmore also trumped the Greek Theatre in terms of decor, but I suppose you can't pull that whole doomed-settlers-on-the-move schtick at every appearance. One thing that hasn't changed, however, is the band's undeniable fire on stage. They didn't relent at any point in the three-hour show, moving from the would-be arena fillers to the white-boy soul to those selections no other band can carry off. I also love that the band is still weird, perfectly personified by Jimmy James as he flung his cape around, kicked the air, and of course, whipped that mane all over the place.

My Morning Jacket, Greek Theater, Sept. 19, 2008

I say this as a casual fan, so take it as you like, but despite the band's goofy energy, the pacing of the extended set suffered at times. I'm not asking for the hits, but a couple of segments felt dragged out and left me wanting a pick-me-up. Fortunately, the band has plenty of scorchers, and those barn burners dominated the encore. They closed with "One Big Holiday" for the perfect send-off.

See also:
» the way that he sings

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

singin' songs for pimps with tailors

Not that I'm implying the Largo crowd would likely choke a bitch or get their clothes Bedazzled in any way. In fact, judging from the ubiquitous T-shirt-and-jeans ensembles tonight, I'd venture the audience coming out to see Nels Cline and Jon Brion shop strictly off the rack.

Nels Cline and Jon Brion, Largo at the Coronet, September 10, 2008: My love of musical collaborations dates back at least to 1984, when Bob Geldof assembled some three dozen of my then-favorite performers under the Band-Aid moniker to record "Do They Know It's Christmas." Since then, I've certainly witnessed a lot more team efforts, though not always by choice. Aside from the more cynical marketing moves, I remain fascinated by truly artistically motivated pairings and, at times, even the WTF-worthy unions. I guess I like the notion that artists can be fans of each other, as corny as that sounds.

If you subscribe to this theory, you may also agree that nowhere is this more encouraged and evident than at Largo. I jumped out of my seat when the initial Nels Cline/Jon Brion show was posted on Largo's schedule, and I'm no less excited by their latest outing, their inaugural appearance as a duo at the new space.

Though Jon and Nels's working dynamic has proved far from static, I'm afraid my reporting style does not. Regardless, I'll break down each composition as best as I can.

Song 1: In a New Yorker article from May (which I just read), Malcolm Gladwell wrote about a group of very smart people who veritably breathe innovation. Here's one person's take on their achievements:
Bill Gates, whose company, Microsoft, is one of the major investors in Intellectual Ventures, says, "I can give you fifty examples of ideas they've had where, if you take just one of them, you'd have a startup company right there."

About two-thirds of the way into the opening number, it occurred to me that Jon and Nels aren't so different from these engineers, scientists, and inventors. Hear me out on this--in their own way, Jon and Nels generate as many musical ideas in these shows as some bands come up with over the course of their careers, and this introductory outpouring is a perfect example of this.

thingamagoopThis much I can tell you: Jon started out with a pretty piano pattern, while Nels dug up a bluesy guitar riff, thus establishing the vaguest plan of action for the rest of this number. That is, Jon stuck with mostly keys-based items, and Nels stayed close to his guitars, though the thingamagoop made a cameo appearance.

I counted at least six separate segments in this composition, but the transition I remember best took place around that aforementioned two-thirds mark. Nels and Jon had worked out a particularly spacey section that brought to mind transmissions from faraway NASA satellites--when they took an abrupt turn.

Jon picked up a piano tuning tool and made some adjustments to the instrument, while at the same time working out a melody. Nels, meanwhile, started cultivating an epic sweep of guitar that wouldn't sound out of place in a stadium, accompanied by a blanket of lighters and cell phones. This was that "startup" passage, which could launch a thousand bands.

Jon answered with a mad stab at the chamberlin, bringing them close to something like psych rock. From there, Nels's guitar playing mounted to a squall while Jon returned to wielding the hammer against the piano's guts.

The piece slowly drew to a lengthy denouement over a little more than one movement, though not exactly two either. Jon gave us gorgeous, cerebral piano work, including one segment that may have shared some DNA with Bowie's "Life on Mars," and the piano hammer came out again. In concluding, Nels switched between several instruments; he would make use of a banjo uke, a lap steel guitar, and a nylon string guitar before the song ended on his classical guitar notes.

Song 2: You don't want to know how long it took for me to write the description above, and I somewhat dread the task of encapsulating their second sprawling excursion. Well, I guess I can start from the beginning: Jon set down a drum beat, against which Nels worked a 12-string. From there, Jon grabbed his black-and-white Gretsch and took a spot across from Nels, first establishing the bass groove, then sharing lead guitar duties.

Jon and Nels wore their joy of playing as a team on their faces and in their fretwork, and their glee was infectious--as was the tune. They tore through a laundry list of styles, with Nels emerging as the lead. Perhaps to highlight this development, Jon backed out of the spotlight and to the front edge of the stage (jumping up and down giddily), while Nels continued to bend notes, our preconceived notions, the time-space continuum...

The interplay progressed; Jon added his own solo, a darker, bluesier counterpoint to Nels's sizzling moves. Nels would eventually bring out the spring, a favorite prop, and, more traditionally, an autoharp that he played a bit like a lap steel. Jon later switched to the piano and keyboards, as well.

This series of gigs has shown a lot of flexibility, starting out as entirely wordless affairs, later branching into original songs as well as covers, and inevitably adding friends and colleagues. In fact, at their last date, you wouldn't be off-base to guess that drummers comprised the entire audience, judging by the rate at which they took the stage.

The first newbie to join them tonight was Becca Michalak, a frequent collaborator with Nels. We spied glimpses of her saxophone catching the light from the side of the stage and heard its bleat before she stepped in proper. She found her groove quickly, slipping in as if they were an old, established trio, rolling out what sounded the most like a traditional jazz piece we'd hear all night.

Sebastian Steinberg soon plumped up their ranks, bringing with him the big, metal bass that should, at this point, be familiar to Largo audiences. Jon even opted for a seemingly preferred action plan: He dug out the brushes and mallets, parked himself on the floor, and played against the bass itself.

The three men fell into support roles, as Becca took the lead for this section. Unfortunately, Nels was forced to hold back, as sound issues soon surfaced for him. But when he was able to fire up the dobro, he coaxed out those transcendent, label-defying notes he's known for.

Song 3: As the crew investigated the technical issues, Jon offered one of Brian Eno's Oblique Strategies: Honor thy error as a hidden intention. Well, if Nels had to endure random glitches, I suppose I have to take responsibility for my paltry addition to the show.

I always work out a request before attending a show at Largo, and I was ready with a suggestion in case Jon opened the floor to the audience. But he foiled my plans for requesting "Croatia" by asking for a title of a song that hadn't been written. I whispered "shit" under my breath--or so I thought--but thanks to a variety of factors (the Coronet's amazing acoustics, the audience's respectful silence, and my proximity to the stage), I may as well have yodeled it across room.

Jon announced they were going with "Shit," and all four players dove in without hesitation or restraint. As the song slowly subsided from its opening explosion, Jon introduced vocals and a hook. Nels, Becca, and Sebastian found their roles within the song, backing Jon beautifully through the song's real-time development. Becca was especially impressive, equally adept at the frenzied and the sublime, the latter in full display as the song rode out on her elegant notes.

Song 4: Following the earlier example, the crew served up "Sandwiches," as suggested. Sebastian took the reins on stand-up bass, and soon after, Jon introduced acoustic guitar to the mix, instantly imbuing the song with a Spanish accent. On electric guitar, Nels sped up the riff and added some heft, while Becca clapped along, echoing the exotic feel. Jon would also turn in a solo and Nels would switch to dobro as the song progressed. The Spanish tone persisted, though the song crossed genres, approaching '20s-era jazz toward its completion.

Song 5: I can tell you exactly what song they played here: "For the Turnstiles," thanks to the arrival of David Rawlings, bearing a banjo. It took me a moment or two to figure out who it was, a beard and a straw hat obscuring some of his features, but I almost fell off my chair when recognition set in. As I've mentioned before, David Rawlings is the only semi-regular Largo visitor whose unannounced appearance I'd be really sad to miss. I didn't need another reason to love this show, but I got one.

David offered minimal guidance to the rest of the band, suggesting they play in the key of D, but they needed little help. Becca went with brushes on the drums, Jon arranged himself at the piano, and Nels reached for the dobro, with which he painted beautiful instrumental strokes.

Song 6: I can name this one too! Though it took them a little while to get there, Jon provided the impetus, informing David that he would take the vocals and drums on a song especially chosen to match the single groove David claimed to know. After some fiddling and tinkering, David was finally mic'd and settled at the drums, and the song could start: none other than "Cortez the Killer."

I've heard Jon and various accomplices carry off this song several times now, with no rendition like the other, and I took away two major memories of this performance. The first was Becca's striking presence, her saxophone infusing the song with yet another layer of poignancy and longing. In fact, she proved herself a superstar throughout the show, and though it wasn't the first time I've seen her play, a very different side of her abilities emerged in this setting.

The second was the trifecta of guitar solos by, in order, Jon, Nels, and David. David and Jon pulled off perhaps the greatest piece of theater during this song, as they switched places with nary a pause, Jon manning the drums and David slipping out in time for his turn on guitar. Jon also assumed vocal duties for the coda, assisted by Nels's expert guidance on guitar.

Curtains fell on the show in the big room, but the night wasn't over. After a spot of socializing in the courtyard, we filed into the Little Room for the remainder of that set. It was my first visit to the other half of Largo at the Coronet, and I wasn't disappointed by the oddly familiar space--or by the well-known faces on the tiny stage. We managed to catch a handful of songs by David Rawlings, Sean Watkins, Benmont Tench, and David Garza before they--and we--packed it in. What a killer, indeed.

The Jon Brion/Nels Cline Largo series:
» i like jon brion. a lot. (part 1)
» i'll be back again
» three-god night
» and when you touch down
» just keep counting the stars
» the men stood straight and strong
» round midnight

Saturday, September 13, 2008

mercy sakes alive

The vague intention to attend Paul F. Tompkins's show at Largo became a set plan after we learned the significance of this gig, Paul's last--for a while--at Largo.

The Paul F. Tompkins Show, Largo at the Coronet, September 9, 2008: Generally, I'm not big on sentimentality; I try to live by the idea that no matter what grand times have transpired, there's so much good stuff waiting to be discovered or cultivated that you're doing yourself a disservice when you chain yourself to the past. But that tenet is severely tested by events such as this one, when it seems all but impossible to not grow wistful over shared memories.

Of course, Largo has undergone one rather major change this year, and it was in those last days on Fairfax that I saw my one other official Paul F. Tompkins Show, though he's been a welcome presence on several occasions at gigs by other artists. In fact, he may have even stolen the spotlight from Aimee Mann earlier this summer...

Aimee couldn't make it for this show (something about a tour), but a host of other Largo-centric musical talent dropped in for Paul's farewell party. Sara Watkins joined Paul's usual backing band, headed by Eban Schletter, for the opening number, the Arcade Fire song "Keep the Car Running," crooned by Paul himself. Later in the show, Grant-Lee Phillips tested out two new tracks, and at the end, they all reconvened for a couple of travel-related songs to send Paul on his way: a mashup of "Convoy" and "The Devil Went Down to Georgia." In addition to handling most of the vocal duties, Paul and Grant treated us to a dash of do-si-do till they went dizzy (to understandably comical effect). Unfortunately, they didn't reprise their ode to Shark Week, one of the more recent Largo memories that I'm forever chasing, so I'm left nursing that recollection in my mind instead.

As the capper, Paul stuck to his trademark tune, "Danny Boy," though with a nod to Billy Joel thrown in at the end. Tonight, it was easy to discern the palpable pathos in his voice and delivery--no joke.

Though the Greg Proops Chat Show is still fresh in my memory, I know it would be dumb to compare the two comics. Instead, I prefer to share the opinion of another funny guy in regard to tonight's headliner. Take it away, John Hodgman, as quoted in GQ:
Paul F. Tompkins, by contrast, owns his own comedy tuxedo. He tells the kind of well-tailored luxuriously subtle jokes that I wish my brain could produce. (He also speaks with perfect diction, which we all know is hilarious.)

Tonight's comedy couture covered such topics as his landlord, sweatshops, bikers, and the New York housing market, to name a few. That's sort of all I can tell you because the beauty of Paul F. Tompkins's comedy is that there's never really a punchline; you just get swept up in the absurdity of his stories, and you love it. And his diction, it goes without saying.

Perhaps the biggest irony of Paul's move is that he was one of the biggest boosters of Largo at the Coronet, back when doubts and predictions of doom reigned. Largo's loss is Best Week Ever's gain, and Paul halfway shot down any ideas about L.A. shows for the foreseeable future. Then again, he didn't rule them out completely either. Like many others, I hope that this won't be the last we'll see of him on the West Coast, but I also realize he left us with words to live by:
So keep the bugs off yer glass
An' the bears off yer tail
We gonna catch ya on the flip-flop

Over and out, good buddy.

See also:
» this old nightclub stole my youth
» probably more like hanging around
» hidden hand
» part of everyone's rite of passage

Wednesday, September 03, 2008

part of everyone's rite of passage

You know the drill: When there's one Largo show on my schedule, it's highly likely another one lurks around the corner, even if I have to buy tickets on faith alone. As luck would have it, a while after setting down the bucks for Greg Proops's chat show, we received word of even better news: The guests for the evening would be none other than Jon Brion and Jason Schwartzman.

The Greg Proops Chat Show, Largo at the Coronet, August 30, 2008: What do you know? According to this very blog, the only other Greg Proops headlining gig I've seen at Largo (the old one, obviously) took place exactly two years ago to the day. It's official: I'm the most predictable person on the face of the earth.

True to form, I'll address the music portion of the show first. Greg rolled out a magnanimous introduction for Jon, who honored those kind words with a triumvirate of songs. We had heard two of them, "Same Thing" and "Knock Yourself Out," the night before, but you couldn't call either a carbon copy of the earlier performance. The variations included an extended chamberlin passage in "Same Thing" and the slow build of "Knock Yourself Out."

In between Jon's mini sets, Greg gave us hell and what for on a number of topics, including ABBA, the new "90210" TV series, Michael Jackson, and of course, the presidential election. For all his mockery, however, he revealed his true colors later in the interview with Jason Schwartzman, when they both admitted their fondness for ABBA. We should've seen that coming.

I really wanted to hate Jason Schwartzman. Despite the fact that he was in "Rushmore," one of my favorite movies (and movie soundtracks) of all time, the one Phantom Planet gig I saw so many years ago left a bad taste in my mouth. To this day, I can instantly call up the disdain I felt before I walked out of the show.

However, Jason was all charm, which is probably even more notable as he and Greg had just met earlier that day. They nattered on about Venice, French coffee presses, lots of cool films and music, and much more, unselfishly offering each other turns at the mic and engaging in what sounded like real discourse. They were adorable, and I wanted to rush home and rent "The Darjeeling Limited."


At the conclusion of their conversation, Jon returned with Jason's (by all measures) absurd-looking double-neck Hofner guitar, which he promptly draped over the actor's shoulders. Also making an appearance was Benmont Tench, newly arrived from a show in Houston with that other band, and the three of them shuffled into "I'm Only Sleeping," which made ample use of Jason's toy.

--Happy with You
--Same Thing
--Knock Yourself Out

with Jason Schwartzman and Benmont Tench
--I'm Only Sleeping

See also:
» sometimes when this place gets kinda empty
» used to be one of the rotten ones

Tuesday, September 02, 2008

you dream maker, you heartbreaker

At the peak of my sports saturation last month, I was sorely tempted to inflict upon my readership the worst Bob Costas impression of all time, freely spout the term "Olympian" as if I had grown up in the shadow of the Parthenon, and perhaps most mortifying, draw an analogy between Jon Brion's musical abilities and the feats achieved by various medaled athletes--but I didn't. Also, I knew it would come back to embarrass me soon rather than later--unless, of course, I revise this entry and eliminate all evidence of this train of thought (watch this space).

Jon Brion, Largo at the Coronet, August 29, 2008: Newsflash: I saw a Jon Brion show tonight--no, not a Jon Brion and friends show, or a Jon Brion and random audience members gig, or even Jon Brion joined by Largo staff. It was Jon and Jon only, and just when I thought I knew what I was in for, I got something else altogether. Follow along below.

Before Jon took the stage, "Tim Cottonfield" from KCRW's Tofu Jungle program (actually, comic Craig Anton) took the mic to hit every L.A. public radio cliche you've ever heard. Because I'm so bad at selling comedy, I'll leave it there, except to add that he offered some vindication to anyone who's ever tuned into KCRW and asked of their radio dial "People donate to this?!"

Jon moved with surprising deliberateness through his first handful of songs, starting on the drum kit for "Croatia," which featured a slightly different guitar solo in the middle; meandering musically for a few moments before easing into "Magnolia" (I couldn't stop smiling); and transitioning easily into "Roll with You."

The evening's initial exploratory expedition took flight with "Moon River," which started on chamberlin and floated on billowy synthetic chords before Jon made an abrupt turn to coax it through a jazzy interpretation. He then concluded with what you could call the "For No One" take on the song--that is, that harpsichord-sounding effect he uses from time to time. I didn't want this languid and luxurious song to end.

For the follow-up, Jon went with a bunch of his own tunes. Among these selections, "That's Just What You Are" incorporated a different vocal take, in which (as I recall) he stretched out some of the lines, in contrast to the straight-ahead pop cadence of the recorded version. I love the song as is, but I also welcome his reinventions that make you question the narrative and the emotion, as they did tonight.

Around this point, Jon asked for requests, beginning with a bit of a lark: a mashup of "Fake Plastic Trees" and "Strawberry Fields," but in truth, this lasted for about three lines. The next selection, a sing-along "She's Not There," probably better qualified as a real performance. It was superfun to belt out (even if it took me until the third chorus to finally get the words right), and Jon seemed to approve of our contribution, punching the air with his fist.

"Alice's Restaurant" merited about a single line as well, but an audience member hit the sweet spot with an NRBQ request. On top of conveying genuine admiration for the band, Jon admitted with some chagrin that he might actually enjoy this set after all. He then wrapped up the rest of the set with a wide spectrum of songs: one more number on the nylon string guitar, a song build, two standards on piano, and another request, delivered in the style of Les Paul.

For the second set, Jon began with a couple of his songs. "Over Our Heads" streamed out from a cauldron of keyboards, while on "Same Thing," he mixed in tambourine and maraca, two instruments I don't recall hearing before on this number. There were some more details that differentiated the night's rendition from others I've heard before, but I suspect those notes are too minor to mention--and I'm not sure I could put my finger on them anyway.

The requests started again, and Jon entertained a number of unusual suggestions, including "Misty," as in "Play Misty for Me." (Evonne informed me of the connection after the show.) Speaking of, her call for "This Guy's in Love with You" brought about the straightest version of it I've heard at Largo. Of course, I've always enjoyed E's various interpretations, but it was no hardship to not break for laughter during the song.

Then things got fuzzy. The requests kept coming, and among the voices, an audience member exclaimed "Obama!" This, in turn, inspired a long soliloquy from Jon, assuming the role of the "weird dinner party guest" who only wanted to talk about the topics typically frowned up in polite conversation. Thus, with one taboo dispatched, a harangue on religion, nearly as drawn out as the political screed, followed. Several minutes elapsed before Jon decided it was time to play music again, but "Kashmir" didn't make it in its original form. Instead, Jon inserted lyrics urging "Don't vote for McCain" and other bits of advice I didn't catch in lieu of Zeppelin's typical Tolkien-inspired nonsense.

I've loved indulging in Jon Brion gigs over the last two-odd years, but I admit it's not always easy to get excited over the prospect of hearing certain songs from Jon's scant--by traditional industry standards--recorded output. I think each fan has his or her favorites and, errr, non-favorites, and well, I wouldn't object to retiring "Walking Through Walls" for a stretch.

Fortunately, I was proven wrong tonight, as Jon's latest performance of the song unleashed invigorating levels of energy and reinterpretation. Laying down the drum track, Jon was generous and boisterous in his looping of "motherfucker." I thought it was just a mischievous outgrowth of the evening's earlier diatribes; perhaps it was in part, but it also turned out to have a prominent role in the bigger scheme. In addition to echoing one of the song's most memorable lyrics, those very same "motherfucker"s were perfectly timed to alternate with the beat, in essence acting as another percussive element.

In the real-time portion of the song, Jon could be seen bashing away on the guitar. A broken strap did little to slow him down; instead, he descended to the floor, eased onto his back, and continued to strum away, without a hint of self-consciousness. On the side of the stage, his assistant Bret and (I believe) Sean Watkins could be spied snapping away, though neither moved to break Jon's reverie. Eventually, Jon rose to his knees to throw out a surf-style solo and administer more effects to the guitar--all icing on the cake.

Elton John was the next request that Jon picked out from the audience appeals, also noting that Elliott Smith often asked for the same, usually by way of napkins slipped to the stage. Naturally, someone asked for an Elliott song as well, though Jon sort of brushed it off.

Elton, though, had been promised and was helped along by the assemblage of audience voices, following Jon's wish. Then muttering "fuck it," he dove into Elliott's "Happiness."

Lately, I've heard Jon do "Happiness" more often than I could've guessed, and it's always a treat, not just because of the memory of Elliott or his artistry but also because Jon puts such a gorgeous spin on it. This evening's version of the song veered from the familiar outline in more ways than one.

On a purely objective level, it's easy to cite the surface changes: In addition to the integral piano, Jon adorned the song with the full range of instruments, including a touch of drums and gorgeous, ringing notes from a hollow-body guitar. He built the layers and extended the arc until it was as grand as any of Jon's other classic treatments that leave the audience talking for days and weeks on end (see "Heroes," "Creep," and "Tomorrow Never Knows," to name just three). And at the end, he quoted "Waterloo Sunset," another musical touchstone he shared with Elliott.

But there was another aspect to this performance that was as evident as the melody, the lyrics, or the arrangement: Jon's visible emotion, nearly on par with the poignant display we saw at his last show on Fairfax. There's no way in hell I'm going to speculate on what may have been going through his mind, and I'm reluctant to describe the facial expressions he betrayed because I fear I would be relating only part of the story. But I know that even as this gorgeous and epic work unfolded, it was hard for me to keep the sorrow in check, and after the show, I walked away feeling distinctly shellshocked. I've never been anything less than thrilled to hear this song, but tonight's translation served as the most ringing reminder of Elliott's legacy--how much he gave us, and how profoundly he's still missed--I've yet experienced at Largo.

--Craig Anton opener

Set 1
--Magnolia theme
--Roll with You
--Moon River
--Knock Yourself Out
--That's Just What You Are
--No Excuse to Cry
--So I Fell in Love with You
--Fake Plastic Trees/Strawberry Fields
--She's Not There
--Alice's Restaurant
--Riding in My Car
--You Say You Don't Love Me
--Further On
--Lock My Heart and Throw Away the Key
--I've Got It Bad (And That Ain't Good)
--If I Only Had a Brain

Set 2
--Over Our Heads
--Same Thing
--Yankee Doodle
--This Guy's in Love with You
--politics and religion rant
--Walking Through Walls
--Someone Saved My Life Tonight
--Happiness/Waterloo Sunset

See also:
» we could steal time just for one day
» the end is near
» her little heart it could explode
» all is full of love