15-year-old me was heavily into eyeliner, Howard Zinn, and magnetic sad boys who’d never treat me right but would never bore me. My little brother was almost named Gram, though, so this tendency isn’t completely my fault; hips aren’t the only thing I inherited from my mom, youfeelme.
I’ve since come to my senses and stopped being a jerk – fetishizing fucked-up brain chemistry/sorrow is just a gross thing to do – but my fondness for Gram remains and I’ll prove it by singing every goddamn word on all of his records and wearing his name on my chest. (Thank you, Worn Free!)
PS, fun fact: it turns out EVERY song called “A Song for You” makes me break down and cry.
I used to be a reallllllll pain in the ass music snob, and I didn’t like Jimmy’s sweet voice or the fact that he’s not Rasta because I had real strict guidelines for Jamaican masculinity in my record collection. I also did not care for this album opening with a song about the wickedness of womanly charms (“You came along with temptation and made me do wrong, I left my home and my good family, now you bring shame and disgrace on me, I was attracted to your vanity so I strayed in the wrong direction, now my life is full of misery,” etc. etc., aww somebody needs a nap and a bottle.)
Years later, I relaxed, grew and developed as a person, became slightly less of a pain in the ass, and came to love Jimmy’s vocal purity and grace. “I’ve Been Dead 400 Years,” I learned when I revisited this record, is my CUT. I also decided Jimmy’s spiritual beliefs are fine by me since Rastas consider oral sex unnatural so they are a people who cannot be liked or trusted.