Trigger Warning: This post contains bodily fluids.
Here’s a list of songs about LA. (thanks Wikipedia! Please take notice of the disclaimer that „The songs listed are those that are notable or are by notable artists.“)
Now here’s a list of songs about Leeds that are notable or by notable artist…
Well first of all let me say how difficult it is to even find anything on that subject. Recently I really wonder if even google is confused about what exactly this place is that I’ve set my heart on calling home from now on. There is a really confusing online board somewhere, where people list some songs that may possibly be referring to Leeds, but they’re not sure, but maybe their parents know, because at one point they were listening to this one song at one time in the eighties – or maybe it was the twenties. Noone really remembers, except for that one guy who started the whole discussion but now his post has been deleted and nobody remembers his name either. Go figure.
So here’s one song that I found:
It’s about the „Sisters of Mercy“ frontman moving back to Leeds, presumably, when all his other plans have failed. At least that’s what it sounds like in the song.
It sounds like Leeds is a place no outsider would ever think to move to, but everyone who’s originally from here eventually returns.
I am saying here, because as I am writing this, I am actually IN Leeds and I am also officially having my „first bad day“ in my beloved new home town.
Here’s where the bodily fluids come in. I started my period yesterday, so while that fact is conceiled to the public, I am currently sitting in a puddle of blood (not in any way that isn’t normal for this procedure, I’m not „leaking“ or anything, but oh damn I can feel it’s strawberry week – yummmmm)
Yesterday I was extatic. Coming here, this time with some real plans on my hand. I’m about to meet a bunch of film people and I was almost somewhat overwhelmed with how many of them were actually instantly interested to meet me or even responded to my social media „saying hello“. Today, the meeting just a few hours away all of a sudden my body has decided that it’s depression time.
So I’m feeling awkward, withdrawn and out of place. Defeated and at somewhat of a low, just like poor Andrew Eldritch who wanted to accomplish so much and maybe he did, but at the end of the day all he ever achieved was moving back to his old home town, where only a few of his old friends where still standing their ground*.
Am I cheating by moving back to one of these old hometowns, trying to get away with replacing the town, but still copying the motion? Tried life in the big world, now taking a step back, behind the curtain into „normal territory“ once again?
As during my previous stay, I am greeted by beautiful sunshine, but also melting snow, so walking downhill in my heels feels slightly tricky (it’s not really. It’s only the fear of slipping. Technically the ground is really just wet and I can run in those things).
I could have worn the other shoes I have which already look like I’ve worn them inside a swamp (hint: that swamp is called London!), but they have holes on the bottom, so as I carefully shuffle downhill in my pumps, I remind myself that in said swamp boots, my feet would have probably been frozen and wet a whole ten minutes earlier.
There is this casting thing that I could be going to but I’m really not sure, because I might not have time in the first place and I also still feel too fat (I always feel too fat, when I’m on my period, but I really am bigger than what I’m comfortable with in general right now. It’s not a big deal. I don’t hate myself but I wouldn’t exactly apply for a job calling for „hottest girl in town“ right now either)
A lot of things in my life are „in transition“ right now. I am moving to Leeds and I’m here, but I’m not ready to look for houses just yet and have to return to London in a few days.
And ever since I cut my hair short just after Christmas (for a film of course. It’s always for a film) I more often than not feel like a) a 15 year old boy or b) like I’m now in the middle of a process (the process being: growing my hair back) that I simply have to wait out on being finished, and while I’m waiting I’m just „not quite me“.
Same goes for my overall personal fitness, finances and even health right now.
I still have a cold. Opening my mouth to speak for the first time on any day is still a gamble right now – will there be sounds coming out? And if so, what animal do they most resemble? Over the last week I’ve very convincingly impersonated an elephant, a pig, and on the worst day a salmon (as far as I understand, they don’t speak. Well neither could I)
If I was in sunny California right now, that very likely wouldn’t be a problem.
Wish I was back there yet? Not the slightest bit.
Like the little mermaid who has to make a choice between living her dream in exchange for her voice or stay put, where she’s unhappy… I’d choose to be a mute in Leeds in a heartbeat. Who knows, maybe I’d meet a lovely fellow fish-guy and together we’d escape from an evil suit-wearing white man, who’s so evil, he’s just really, really evil, because he’s evil. And he’s white. And he’s a man. And he’s wearing a suit. (yeah, Shape of Water, I’m looking at you here.) Prototype romance, amirite? (I hear that’s what the kids are talking like these days.)
So there you go. Even on a day like this, where the spectrum of love and hate is kind of numbed down to one filthy shade of grey, I choose Leeds. Not feeling the love doesn’t mean the reasons why I love it become invalid.
Thank god there actually are reasons on top of my completely wild early morning intuitive choice.
„Over the hills and far a way, a million miles from LA…“
Did I tell you that part of this whole moving idea is Rita Ora’s fault? I’ve had that song stuck in my head on permanent loop since 2017.
So while there may not be a million songs about Leeds… one was enough to guide my attention in this direction.
And the city doesn’t need to please a million lovestruck admirers either. It’s quite enough that it fuels one type of crazy.
*I’m pretty sure that’s not really what happened to Andrew Eldritch. I would very much like to believe that he’s leading an amazing life, whether in Leeds or anywhere else, and The Mountain Goats where just taking a piss at him.