It comes around, it comes around.

The reason I don’t really listen to the radio is that they play songs over and over. For me, the stage between, “I hate this,” and, “I’m singing along to every word,” is bridged by repetition. In many cases, all you have to do to get me to like a song is . . . play it a lot.

Last year, Mike fell in love with The Decemberists. I objected to them, mostly because their songs are kind of dark. Rape, prostitution, death, revenge . . . not the happiest of topics. Some might say they’re a bit . . . depressing. The one I object to the most strongly is “A Cautionary Tale.” I mean, I like Patty Griffin, and she has some sad songs. But they’re not so . . . morbid.

However, over the past few months, I’ve noticed myself becoming more and more familiar with the material of The Decemberists. Mike kept slipping songs onto playlists, he’d have them on the stereo when I came home, he played them while playing X-Box. I came home the other day to find him playing Uno on his X-Box (my comment? “You know what’s fun? Playing card games with actual cards!”) and listening to Picaresque. As he was playing, “We Both Go Down Together” came on, and . . . I started singing with it. It’s a song that features a deranged young rich man who may or may not have raped a young woman from a lower class. And I was singing along with it. Because Mike played it so much that he tricked me into thinking that I like it, just because I know all the words. Actually, I do really like the part that goes, “Meet me on my vast veranda [awesome guitar/percussion], My sweet untouched Miranda [awesome guitar/percussion].” But that is not the point. The point is that Mike tricked me. When you hear me say that I was listening to some M. Ward, you will know that he’s finally broken me there, too.

So, this morning, I did the only thing I could do. I put Picaresque on my iPod. I kind of hate myself. But I love the awesome guitar. And percussion.

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