![]() At 15, this is one of the ways we create safety: The more we have in common, the less alone we are. Worse than Jewel, worse than the soundtrack to Cats, even worse than “Brown-Eyed Girl”, a song our local oldies station plays whenever I get into my mom’s car, where I sink into the passenger seat with shame as she sings along: “Makin’ love in the green, green grass/ Behind the stadium with you.” I only bother listening to Astral Weeks at all because my best friend loves it, and my instinct is to try and feel as much of what he feels as possible. I am 15 years old and Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks is the worst music I have ever heard in my life. Secondhands is a new column that examines music of the past through a modern lens. ![]()
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