Jack says, “Give me a lyric, then. A poetic one she wrote, that you’d use as an example of how to write.” So I do, I pick out lines I’ve memorised, the ones I remember anyway, which on the spot is tricky, my mind goes blank at even simpler questions like, “What are you working on?” or what my favourite film is. I couldn’t tell you.
“Nothing special,” Jack says, I reply, “Exactly,” and he says, “What? But…” and I tell him, “That’s what they’re about, songs of hers, how things seem special, but really, nothing is, and what you’ve left is all you want, and that’s not special either but mostly shit, and the dreams aren’t achievable the way TV says and an anthem, a chart song, can sound solid, but when you listen you see she undercuts everything with realism, with the fact that happy endings, you can get them, temporarily, but be ready for the moment you give it all back.”