I Don’t Listen to Bands, But I Love the Script

I just do.

You know people love, love lyrics because they can express their feelings–disappointment, sorrow, mirth, affection–without taking the guilt of hyperbolically exaggerating or hardship of finding the right word to do so. Lyrics are conveniently provided in both easy and complicated tunes, sometimes translated into your respective language, ready to be discovered from Google or guessed from your poor listening skill.

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Just as any language-rooted creations, lyrics have levels of quality. Some of them are brilliantly made, some are carelessly enjoyable, and some others flaw the melody instead. Consciously stereotyping (and subjectively over-generalizing), I think the best (read: meaningful) lyrics are sung by solo singers. Bands, on the other hand, tend to have easy-listening and superficially romantic lyrics.

The Script, however, is different.

They create amazing songs that, at one point or another, win when translated both literally and figuratively. Such accomplishment can only be done with certain skills and efforts. Two top examples:

If You Ever Come Back (2011)

I’ll leave the door on the latch, if you ever come back,
if you ever come back.
There’ll be a light in the hall, and a key under the mat,
if you ever come back.
There’ll be a smile on my face, and the kettle on.
And it will be just like you were never gone.

The Man Who Can’t Be Moved (2008)

Cause if one day you wake up and find that you’re missing me,
And your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I could be.
Thinking maybe you’ll come back here to the place that we’d meet.
And you’ll see me waiting for you, on the corner of the street.

If you take their literal meaning, then you’ll be having scenes of sadly interesting stories. First, a guy feeling lost lets his house as it is (they key, kettle, and all) because he hopes that his girl will one day come back; second, another guy desperately waiting for his past lover on the corner of the street, immovable regardless how the society perceives and treats him.

If you see beyond and take their figurative meaning, then you can fathom these guys’ similar gloomy emotions. Both reject to move on, to find another girl, because they prefer to stay in agony, waiting for the girl who once stole their heart and still has it.

Everytime I enter their songs in the karaoke machine, my friends will go “Afuuuuu! Galau kan! Ganti!” Yet I will ignore them, remain singing until its last pitch, sometimes with Fahmi or Kiki if they’re generous enough to tag up.

Who’s with me?

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