Our Musical Love Language
Written by Erin Norton
On one of the many occasions where I stood behind the register at the bookstore daydreaming instead of shelving books or straightening, I pulled Leonard Cohen’s Book of Longing from the poetry section and read it in one sitting. I was enthralled by the imagery, the hilarity, and the craftsmanship in Cohen’s rather flippant poetry. The majority of the poems were love poems, which I’m not typically one to read, or especially enjoy. In my experience, I’ve found that verses that focus on romantic intrigue spend too much time in what is rose tinted—like a blazon—and not enough in what is below the surface level, the strange, the scary, the funny, the weird, the coincidental. Cohen’s poetry subverted my expectations and I reveled in the simplicity of his diction. It was an easy read and it was easy to imagine myself and my own love interest.
Except we hadn’t said that we loved each other yet. They emphasized early on into our acquaintance not just their want, but their need for a“ slow burn.” Of course I was on board with this. I cared for them as a person and generally was one to put the comfort of others before my own. Not to mention I was a serial monogamist and a crazy-on-the-down-low high femme lesbian. Deep down, I knew that taking it slow for the very first time in my young life would be beneficial. Did this stop me from buying a copy of Leonard Cohen’s book for my romantic interest and writing a poem inspired by“ A Thousand Kisses Deep” on the inside cover? Absolutely not.
In my writing, in which I talk a lot about my own life, I’ve given them a moniker because it’s important to me to protect people’s privacy, but mostly because I think it’s funny. It feels very Carrie Bradshaw of me to do. Due to their uncanny resemblance to James Spader (young, not old), I refer to them as Spader. And ironically, James Spader stars in one of my favorite movies, Secretary, which features Cohen’s song“ I’m Your Man,” in its soundtrack.
Spader and I realized that our music tastes intersect, especially when it came to Britpop. In the beginning, it was fun to send songs back and forth to each other in order to gauge what songs our memories shared. Then we started to send our favorites to each other, yearning to share these parts of ourselves. I’ve always been of the belief that sharing music is one of the more vulnerable, and sometimes, terrifying things to do. I decided to introduce them to songs that carried more of a subliminal meaning in regards to my own emotions towards them.“ The Book I Read” by the Talking Heads,“ Crush” by Ethel Cain,“ Venus as a Boy” by Bjork,“ She’s A Rainbow” by the Rolling Stones. This doesn’t even scratch the surface of the laundry list of songs whose lyrics I wanted them to pick up on. They sent just as many back, but were they playing the same game?
But then they caught on. Or maybe it was pure coincidence. In the midst of one of our more intimate moments, they played“ Come Over And Love Me” by Love Spells. I didn’t recognize the song, I had never heard it before, but I liked it. I loved it. The title and the artist both referencing love? I responded a few days later with “Luna” by the Smashing Pumpkins, one of my all timers. If you’re unfamiliar with the song, the bridge just repeats“ I’m in love with you” nine times. In addition to the song, I sent something along the lines of“ listening to this and thinking of you.” The message and my intentions were glaring. My breath caught in my throat as I hit send. I was in love with them. I was scared of the intensity of what I felt. But even moreso, I didn’t want to scare them away. In an enthusiastic reply, they said that they were excited to listen to it, they hadn’t heard it previously. Even more terrifying. But they didn’t shy away. They said they listened to it over and over again. All while thinking of me.
***
The first time Spader ever held my hand, weeks before my attempted subliminal messaging, we were attending a Father John Misty concert together. It was sweltering, sweaty, and buggy. Despite the conditions, they grabbed my hand and led me, running, towards the barricade. The sound of their laughter made me light in the head in a way that running through humid air didn’t—and could never. For almost every song they kept their hands on me, in a polite and discrete way. I could tell they were hesitant to be truly, yet innocently, physical with me. But when FJM played the opening strum to“ Chateau Lobby #4” I could feel them loosen their grasp, afraid of the intimacy of the song. It is a sacred love song afterall. We both yelled the lyrics diagonally away from each other, nervous about being too imposing.
If I could give them a mixtape, I would. If I could burn a CD with our favorite songs, I would have already made it. Since I lack the expertise to make the music of our affection into a piece of physical media, I made a Spotify playlist. Actually, there are many Spotify playlists in which they are the object of desire. At least they have my silly, Cohen-ish poem. An attempt at a lyrical manifestation of what makes my heart swell so large. It’s such a privilege to have a soundtrack for our love.
