The other day, I was driving to work. And I turned on the radio, like ya do, when work is only ten minutes away and it’s too much work to dig out a CD and you’re running late anyway.
And Hey, Soul Sister by Train was on the radio. And, it’s an earworm. Try to deny it. But, then, I realized this song is always like an accident you can’t look away from for me. Because it’s all, “Oh, that’s pretty. Poetic, even.” And then you’re all, “What did you just say? Why… why would you say that?”
You know I come with examples.
Your lipstick stains on the front lobe of my left side brains
Brains. Plural. He has only one front(al) lobe, but extra brains.
But it’s okay, because, by the time he’s singing about colliding and deciding, I’m singing along. Then he does this:
Hey soul sister, ain’t that mister mister on the radio, stereo
Mister, Mister? Really? I can’t even remember a single song from them. And I grew up in the 80’s. Not like I was born then. No, I lived through them. I started high school in the fall of ’88. I. Was. There. So, really? Mister, Mister makes you go all, “Hey, listen! It’s Mister, Mister on the radio! This is like the best day ever.”
I mean we had Madonna, Michael Jackson. The Boss and Guns and Roses. And Mister, Mister does it for you? Gives you that mushy feeling?
But, okay. It rhymes with sister, so… poetic license. Or, whatever.
But, then, my friends, then we get to the blow-my-mind portion of the song. The part where I stop listening altogether and try to figure out in what context this next part is ever a good thing:
My heart is bound to beat right out my untrimmed chest
And, now, I see that he actually references Madonna in that next line. And I never knew that. You know why? Because I can’t figure out why you’re telling this girl your chest is untrimmed.
Like it’s never been cut on? Or it’s outrageously hairy? Or… what? In fact, I can’t even decide when an untrimmed anything is good. Shaggy haircut? Sloppy. Big, grown out hedges, sticking out in all directions? You’re lazy. Long, nasty toenails? Ew.
Why, Train? Just, why?