If a raven is in fact like a writing desk (though there are competing opinions on that theory), then a song is like a scent. Or a smell. Like Celine Dion is the drugstore perfume in the medical building’s elevator, so by the time you get to the dentist’s you’re half-gagging already. (If CD is actually playing in the elevator, you may require oxygen.)

Like Of Montreal is the smell of rain-wet pavement and complicated smoke outside the club you want most to enter.

Like certain Satie is the scent of the cloakroom at the zendo, incense and flesh-warm wool, when the afternoon sun is coming through the windows by the street.

Like ….

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