Tempus Tristitiam

For 24 hours now, Wicked Games has been worming my ear. I’ve always had a Pavlovian response to songs written in the minor key and anything from the Beatrix Potter theme to Townshend’s Was there Life, throws me into minor depression and inexplicable longing. When I was tiny, Puff the Magic Dragon made me cry, then Moody Blues' The Voice brought a palpable urge to escape the trailer park and become a pirate. Now with Chris Isaak’s beautifully melancholic if over-exposed-soft-porn-soundtrack rattling around in my head I want to go back in time to a place that never really existed.