I wrote the other day that I had been listening to this song while writing.
But I didn’t, really, listen to it. Until now.
Every so often, a song lodges itself in my ears, in my mind, in my heart.
I’ve been playing this song on a loop, reading the lyrics, tears in my eyes.
Sure, there’s lots of stuff going on in my life, but that’s one of the things I most love about music: how it can provide a venue for the sideways expression of the emotions we have, the emotions we long to have, the emotions we long not to have.
I can’t tell you what the chorus (“Hey mana yo yo yo yo” or “Emana yo yo yo yo”) means. My web-surfing has led me to two possibilities: that “Emana” is Xavier Budd’s aboriginal name, or that “mana” is an aboriginal word for a red-tailed black cockatoo.
But man. I dare you to listen to this song and not tear up. And listen to the lyrics. Because damn.
And a postscript: I learned of this song – as I do of so much great music – listening to Radio Paradise, listener-supported internet radio. Listen to them. Send them money. They are great. [I wrote about them once before.]