I like that I spent a year failing to think about what this song actually meant. It’s hardly like the message is cryptic. I’ve listened to it tens of times. Maybe I didn’t want to get beyond how good the riffs, the production, the beat and the tones are. Maybe it seemed pointless to try and penetrate the idea that pop music can be smart, can be more, and to try and extract the simple humanism inside (behind) the intelligence. Yet I wonder why what Jorge is singing about hits me flat in the face at 10.15am on a sunny July Saturday whilst I’m brewing coffee and bodging together cheese on toast doused in Tabasco?
It has the acute Brendan Benson effect of being what being a boy is like. The fact I’d declined to spot it all is also a pretty neat hint that panicky naivety is more than a trait; it’s a way of being. Others can articulate that better and more naturally than I can.