Probably nothing encapsulates his whole thing more than the day he played a cover of Kansas’s “Dust in the Wind” performed by Sarah Fucking Brightman. There’s a lot of The Cure, lots of disco torch songs.
There are a lot of very emotional Spanish love songs. But more and more, I’ve found that I like the sad music he likes. I don’t know if that’s true, but I often feel shallow for my taste in music. And I think most people think that “good” or “deep” music needs to be sad.
There are some exceptions, but if somebody only makes sad music, I’m probably not interested in them.
Otherwise, I can feel sad all by myself I don’t need Adele or Sam Smith, talented as they both are, to help me with that. I really only like sad songs is if they’re in musicals, if they’re funny-sad like Belle and Sebastian, or if they’re sexy-sad, à la Prince. My issue is that I just am not into sad music. Or I do listen to them, but also listen to a lot of pure shit. I know good musicians, I know what good music is, I just don’t always listen to them. Questlove, Janelle Monae, and Liz Phair follow me on Twitter. I’m friends with John Darnielle and Rhett Miller, and I’ve met Lizzo, Aimee Mann, Jean Grae, Ted Leo. This is despite me knowing some truly wonderful musicians - and no, this is not a humblebrag, just a straight-up brag. The thing is, I don’t have the best taste in music. I have memories of sitting in my room at age nine, listening to No Doubt’s Tragic Kingdom on my CD player at minimal volume, trying to make sure my brothers wouldn’t hear (even though they had that same No Doubt album themselves.) I think it’s simply because I don’t want to be judged. Usually when I listen to music, I listen to it quietly.
#Pure moods infomercial full#
“It’s an ad! He doesn’t have Premium.” It takes a lot of guts to not only play your music at full blast, but also play the ads that go along with it. Back in April, we had been half-listening along to his playlist when the music stopped for a minute and I heard a voice speaking. None of it was bad, it just wasn’t what I expected someone to be blasting out of their speakers. Lots of earthy, New Age in a ‘90s way music, with panflutes and chanting, and always played at full blast. It started with the kind of music that gave him his nickname. I feel like it started pre-quarantine, but has gotten louder in the past six months. I don’t even know when he started playing the music. I don’t know his name or anything else about him. He’s about my age, almost definitely gay. I’ve seen him only once, briefly walking into his apartment with a friend. I don’t know when Pure Moods, my neighbor, first moved in. I don’t think many kids needed Enya as much as did.) (I listened to calming music a lot as a kid, but I also had severe anxiety. I don’t know how many people actually bought the album, but the infomercial ran on Nickelodeon constantly, which makes me think they didn’t really know their target audience. It’s satirical, but the sex acts in it range from “Well, that’s definitely not legal” to “Well, that’s just not physically possible.”) Pure Moods also had “Tubular Bells” from The Exorcist (which I always got mixed up with the Halloween theme ) and a techno remix of the X-Files theme, for some reason. Having read the Marquis De Sade in college, I’ve got to say, his work is reeeeeally not actually sexy. It had that Gregorian Chant song by Enigma that I always thought was called “Sadness” (“sad” is definitely a “mood”) but is actually called “ Sadeness ,” alluding to the Marquis De Sade. It’s how most Americans learned about Enya. It was supposed to be New Age and “World Music,” and panflutes and chanting were everywhere. Pure Moods was a compilation album that went hard in a very soft way. If you did not grow up in the United States in the late ‘90s, you may have missed his namesake entirely. Once I was the loud neighbor: a French man who lived below me in Queens came to knock on my door a couple of times to tell me he and his wife couldn’t sleep because I “walked too loudly.” I put felt on the bottom of my chairs and walked on my tiptoes from then on, even though I privately thought he should invest in a white-noise machine.īut Pure Moods is different, and not just because of the music he plays. I woke up a few hours later to their headboard crashing against my wall as they made up. Last year I stayed in a hotel in New York where a loud woman screamed at her boyfriend for three hours that he’d “ruined her career” because he told people her real age. Then I had the neighbor who did lounge covers of “Poker Face” and the The Cardigans’ “Lovefool” and had a lot of loud sex with her shitty, shitty boyfriend, who treated her terribly. I had one my second year of college who played the same piano riff on her keyboard, day and night, until I finally asked her to stop playing it at two in the morning, and she did. I’ve lived through all kinds of loud next-door neighbors.
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