|Yep, Phil and Biggie mashed up, peoples|
I’ve been listening to a lot of Phil Collins lately, mostly at night when I can lay in the dark and cry because that’s what you do when you listen to songs like Against All Odds or Separate Lives or Groovy Kind of Love and think back to your awkward teen years when everyone around you at Michelle Daquilanto’s house party were making out, except for you, and the ghostly echoed sound of Phil’s voice wrapped around you like a loser blanket, coaxing you into a deep depression that could only be remedied by drinking as much Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill wine as humanly possible.
But I digress.
What I meant to say is that Phil Collins was pretty much the guy sentimental teens looked to in order to express that sappiness inside of themselves that they never wanted to admit to, an,d whenever the shit hits the emotional fan in my adult life, I turn to the only man who can comfort me with melodic sadness…one Mr. Collins.
Of course, it’s a different story when it comes to killing your feelings with pharmaceuticals. When the Cymbalta/Lyrica/Prozac/Zoloft kicks in, what I want to hear is a Phil Collins mash-up with some meat in it, something that has a “Fuck Yeah!” attitude twinged with just a touch suicidal tendencies…I’m sort of particular with my musical mood swings.
And, although I am not a religious person, when the need for a spiritual melancholy mash-up strike, I turn to my virtual church, YouTube, the only place that supplies me with exactly what I need, when I need it.
It’s kind of like Smack in that way.
After the break, you too can enjoy the smooshed-together hymns for the dead-soul damned like me featuring :R.E.M, David Bowie, Queen and yes, even the Notorious B.I.G.
Videos after the break.