"So let it be known..."

"I can sure rely on you."

On the way back to our apartment building, on two separate occasions, a particular song has played through my headphones. I like to think of it as a soundtrack to that moment of returning, of relief at the end of the day.

The song itself is a brilliant interpretation of a great piece of music; while not totally different from the original, the singer takes the composition and makes it his own. Similarly, I like to make the song my own in this situation. This is not a love song -- really, it's a caustically phrased lament for lost love, in classic Morrissey style -- yet I can't help but think of it as an ode. It makes me happy. It's not quite a case of blissful ignorance, like Ronald Reagan latching on to "Born in the U.S.A." and "Pink Houses" during his presidency; let's just call it blissful ignoring. This sort of selective, accentuate the positive/eliminate the negative listening is probably just as annoying to the artist, but like a bride and groom choosing "Every Breath You Take" for their spotlight dance, I can't help how I feel when I hear this song. It's love.

I wouldn't have heard this song if it wasn't for PF. I'm not sure how he found it, but one day it appeared in our computer jukebox. It's the kind of song one wants to share: Mark C, a diehard Smiths fan, hailed it as the first time he'd heard a Smiths cover that was actually as good as the original. In the end, however, it's a song that brings me home. It always reminds me of PF, because I would leap in front of a flying bullet for him, indeed.

TRACK LISTING: Bobby Bare, Jr., "What Difference Does It Make"