Caught in the Carousel

I think boys sing about love and heartbreak better than girls. Maybe it's because they start their lives with bumps and scars from playground fights and baseball. Maybe it's because I remember being little and standing on my dad's guitar case while he played music late into the night, singing about his broken heart with wet-drunk eyes. Even at six, I knew he wasn't singing about my mom. And a few years ago, when cleaning out his house after he died, I found a picture of her. A beautiful, black and white photo of a dark-eyed, dark-haired girl, with proclamations of forever and X's and O's written on the back. I was sure this was the girl he had always been singing about. And I felt guilty throwing it away with his unpaid bills, vintage Playboys, and shaving kit.

But maybe it's something simpler than that. Maybe I just want a boy to be singing that way about me. I want to be the girl that inspires the smartest and darkest and handsomest boy to sing and write about love. I want to break his heart so perfectly that he will be singing about me when he's young and handsome, and then still when his hair and heart have turned old and grey. He'll make his near perfect album because of me, because of our love and because of all the wonderful and horrible things we have done to each other.

Deer Tick

And War Elephant by Deer Tick is that album. Or I wish it was. I wish he wrote it about me.

To me, Deer Tick is one boy, John Joseph McCauley III. He wasn't even legal to buy alcohol when he wrote it, and already he was so smart and so sad. Even his name is too grown-up and old-fashioned for someone so young. I don't easily tell my friends about War Elephant because I don't know how to describe it, and because I want to keep it selfishly to myself. It's beautiful. I listen to it at least eleven times a week. Twice I missed my train stop listening to one song over and over. And I often listen to it to fall asleep, wishing he was the boy I'm trying to win back.

His voice is scratchy and warm, and it breaks and screams at all the right places. The songs are lovely and dirty. It's the real thing. The album isn't perfect, but it's close. I always stop it just before the last song, "What Kind Of Fool Am I," because it reminds me somehow of a musical, and I choose not to see that side of him. I prefer to keep this crush wrapped up in my own perfect little box of love-sick rock and roll. And the rest of the album more than makes up for that one song.

Deer Tick

There are perfect songs, "Ashamed," "Standing At The Threshold," "These Old Shoes," and "Dirty Dishes," the one song I would keep if I could only keep one. And though I would love for him to be singing it about me, the truth is I would choose this song because of who it reminds me of, and because if I could find the perfect words and write the perfect song to tell him all about my love and my heartbreak, "Dirty Dishes" would be it. I would sing it to him, then he would know, and we would never have to talk about it again. But I fear my heart would end-up sounding overly romantic and mushy and silly. And anyway, I hate my voice. So instead, I'll let Deer Tick and all of the other boys with their rough and immature, beautiful-big hearts sing about it. And I'll add their songs to my mixed-tapes of dedication, I will crush hard, and I will listen.

Logo for our New Crush series is courtesy Andy McNally.

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