A Narration of Melancholic Elation

One of my favorite tracks of last year was by Death Cab for Cutie. Ben Gibard’s cleverness in lyrical content & the catchy guitar riff make the song, “Title and Registration”, not only original and thought provoking, but melodic & melancholic as well.

It goes a little comething like:

The glove compartment isn’t accurately named
And everybody knows it.
So i’m proposing a swift orderly change.

Cause behind its door there’s nothing to keep my fingers warm
And all i find are souvenirs from better times
Before the gleam of your taillights fading east
To find yourself a better life.

I was searching for some legal document
As the rain beat down on the hood
When i stumbled upon pictures i tried to forget
And that’s how this idea was drilled into my head

Cause it’s too important
To stay the way it’s been

There’s no blame for how our love did slowly fade
And now that it’s gone it’s like it wasn’t there at all
And here i rest where disappointment and regret collide
Lying awake at night

There’s no blame for how our love did slowly fade
And now that it’s gone it’s like it wasn’t there at all
And here i rest where disappointment and regret collide
Lying awake at night (up all night)
When i’m lying awake at night.

I got a crack up though the other day, cause’ you still have to appreciate it when someone rips apart a song you dig. David Raposa, a writer for Pitchforkmedia, jotted his thoughts down on the track:

Death Cab for Cutie: “Title & Registration”
genre: O.C. rock

Would someone please cc: me on future memos regarding important matters like this renaming of “glove compartment” business? Not that I expect this change to go through (”swift and orderly” ha!), but I’m still pretty miffed about the situation. Despite what Mr. Gibbard would like listeners to believe, the glove compartment is indeed accurately named. See, the tricky concept to grasp here is this: a glove compartment is a repository in which the user can conveniently store implements such as title and registration documents (ding!), photos from some relationship you muffed, and, yes, gloves. This is a batteries-not-included type of device. The key– Mr. Narrator, pay attention– is to actually put the gloves into the compartment. That is, you get out what you put in– how’s that for a deep metaphor?
If you’re going to be all “boo hoo, I’m cold and there are wolves after me because I left my mittens next to my Brak cookie jar,” then remember to put the damn things in their proper place so that doesn’t happen again. (Yep, that’s right– metaphor!) Really, if you’re going to be that obtuse and hyper-literal about the damn thing, then I dare say the blame for why your love did slowly fade is square on your slumped shoulders. The shame of this tragedy is that the music behind this blah-blah is gorgeous, a sad old clock tick-tocking like a pair of windshield wipers fending off nighttime rain. It’s so good, it almost manages to lend this weepy whining some damned perspective. Were this backing track just unabashed Rodan worship, then Ben could sing about being lactose intolerant and having dry patches on his heels and his Adidas I wouldn’t give a shit because– that’s right– I wouldn’t be listening. But nooooo– Death Cab’s gotta write a sumptuous lyrical piece of music and then top it off with a Dirty Sanchez. You bet your ass disappointment and regret are colliding. [David Raposa]

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