Endless Loop: Wishes

beachhouseHave you ever had one of those songs that gets stuck in your head for days…weeks…years? Sure you have. These are the songs that always make the cut. The songs on repeat. We all have them. I have a ton. Welcome back to Endless Loop.

“Wishes” by Beach House

Honestly, you never really know what’s going to move you. I’m not much of a crier, and never have been. I cried when my dad died. I came very close to crying when my friend died, or when my wife told me she was pregnant (for a completely different reason of course), and that’s about it. That is not to say that things don’t move me, or make me misty, or hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks. They’re just few and far between, and I rarely let myself go. So, when a piece of art, be it song or film or novel or whatever makes me tear up, I’m pretty much floored. “Wishes,” from dreampop band Beach House’s 2012 album Bloom is just one of the more recent entries in the “under-the-right-circumstances-this-might-make-Tommy-cry” genre of music and art, joining such contemporaries as films like Inside Out (Bing Bong) and songs like “13 Months in 6 Minutes” by The Wrens.

The thing about the songs that can tweak the waterworks on me is that it’s hardly ever about the lyrics. Lyrics don’t get under my skin or tear into my soul. It’s about the music. It’s always about the music. The melody. The production. The sound of it all. Certain notes can pierce my heart. Certain chords can break it. “Wishes” sounds like wanting to go home, like wanting to hold onto everyone and everything you’ve ever loved and never let go. When I hear those dreamy synth strings and airy vocals, in my mind I imagine some small town setting where a mysterious event allows everyone to see and visit with their dead loved ones for a few fading moments, like the beginning of some kind of hokey short story Stephen King might have written on a cocaine-fueled fever dream in the 80’s. Maybe that’s weird, and maybe that has absolutely nothing to do with the song, but it’s what’s in my heart, and it can set me to sniffling.

So, while I may rarely ever cry, it’s nice to know that I’m still capable of doing so…if I ever need to.


Thomas H Williams

Thomas H Williams

From a bunker somewhere in Central Texas, Thomas H. Williams spends most of his time with his wife, his two sons, and his increasingly neurotic dog. He listens to a lot of music, drinks a lot of excellent beers, and gets out from time to time. For even more shenanigans, visit heavenisanincubator.blogspot.com.

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