This song was huge in the 90s. I remember hearing it everywhere, marvelling at the exotic album art, the album title lifted from Dostoevsky’s writing, wondering if this mysterious band was made up of re-incarnated hippies who had spent their childhoods in Bora Bora learning to play handmade instruments.
Turns out it was just huge in Canada.
See, Canada’s pretty good at pushing its own artists through Canadian content laws – although Canadian artists might disagree – and so the only reason I heard this track on the radio a lot as I made my way through an awkward phase of Fimo beads and bracelets made of hemp was the fact that they were Canadian. And not even hippie west coast Canadian; they were from London, Ontario, a university town that likes pick-up trucks and football.
So because it’s the first day of spring, and I am a dutiful Canadian, allow me to introduce you (assuming you yourself didn’t grow up in the 90s under the strict rule of Canadian content) to a quirky little song about the first day of spring.
What makes this a beautiful song:
1. The heart of the song is the uneasy four-note bass line and the way it interacts with the guitar line, which for its part seems carefree and unaware of the bass line lurking underneath it.
2. The vocals aren’t so much sung as whispered, as if the vocalist is apprehensive about jinxing spring’s arrival.
3. Like a Canadian spring, everything blooms suddenly and enormously at the last minute.
Recommended listening activity:
Not putting the winter clothes away, but putting them in a holding area.