Tag: music march

Max Giesinger – butterfly effect

The song was released in 2025 (February 21st)

If my childhood had been different, who would I be now? If kindness had outweighed the quiet, if voices had softened instead of sharpened, if I had felt seen rather than learning to disappear, would I still be me? Maybe I wouldn’t have found solace in words. Maybe I wouldn’t have built a world inside my mind, a place where I was both safe and free.

If I hadn’t listened to that album, the one that cracked something open in me, would my heart beat to a different rhythm? Would another song have found me, whispered its secrets, shaped my thoughts? Music has always been more than background noise. It is the thread tying moments together, the map leading me to myself.

If that friend had stayed, if the goodbye had never happened, what kind of person would I be now? Some people slip away, and at the time, it feels like a wound that won’t close. But in the end, those absences shape us as much as the presences. Loss carves space for something new, something unknown. Without that fracture, would I have learned to stand taller, trust my own voice?

If I hadn’t started writing, if I had ignored that first whisper urging me to put words on paper, would I have ever truly understood myself? Writing isn’t just a choice. It is a necessity, a thread woven into my being. Without it, I might still be searching for the pieces of myself that only writing ever made whole.

That is the butterfly effect. Small moments, tiny choices, a song, a book, a lost friendship. One shift in the past and the present might be unrecognizable. The person I am, the person I have become, exists because of all of it. Because of every “if” that led me here.

Music march is brought to you by demfloseinewelt on Threads

Frank Turner – mittens

There’s a particular kind of heartbreak that doesn’t come from explosive fights or dramatic endings. It’s the slow kind, the one that lingers after you have given everything and realised it was never going to be enough. Frank Turner’s Mittens, released in 2016 on Positive Songs for Negative People, captures that feeling with brutal simplicity.

“I once wrote you love songs, you never fell in love.”

That line alone says more than most ballads ever do. Love songs are declarations, little lifelines thrown into the void in the hope that someone will catch them. But here, they don’t land. They exist, they are written, played, sung, but they do nothing. There is no grand rejection, no bitter fallout, just the realisation that love cannot be willed into existence, no matter how beautifully it is framed.

Then comes the line that seals it:

“We used to fit like mittens, but never like gloves.”

Mittens and gloves serve the same purpose, but they do it differently. Mittens force closeness, pressing fingers together in a shared warmth, but they lack precision. Gloves fit every curve, every space between fingers, allowing movement without losing connection. That difference is everything. There was comfort, there was something that felt safe, but it was never the right shape.

For a poet, this kind of writing works because it leaves room to breathe. It does not over-explain. It does not try too hard. It lets the image carry the weight, and in that restraint, it hits even harder.

Music march is brought to you by demfloseinewelt on Threads

Saybia – I surrender

From the album “These are the Days” (2004)

Why this song today?

Because it’s about release without resolution.

Because it sounds like quiet thoughts that won’t settle.

Because it holds that push and pull between letting go and holding on, and I know that feeling too well.

Because “Into the arms of a beautiful stranger” isn’t always about a person, it’s about seeking comfort in places that don’t quite fit, about trying to fill a space that stays empty.

Because “Who really loves me?” isn’t just a lyric. It’s a thought that lingers, sometimes quietly, sometimes not.

Because it doesn’t end with certainty, just a choice to surrender.

Music march is brought to you by @ demfloseinewelt on Threads

Grace Potter and the Nocturnals – falling or flying

I first heard Falling or Flying in the car, on a Dutch radio station, while heading to a family vacation. It was one of those moments when a song catches you unexpectedly, sinking into your skin before you even know the lyrics. I pulled out my phone, Shazamed it, and added it to my Spotify playlist right away. Something about the melody and the weight in Grace Potter’s voice made me pause. Even then, I knew it was a song I would return to.

Released in 2007 on This Is Somewhere, Falling or Flying is a song that lingers in uncertainty. It is restless and full of longing, searching for something unnamed. It gained recognition after appearing in Grey’s Anatomy and ER, which makes sense. It belongs in moments of hesitation, when emotions build but do not yet have direction.

I have felt this before. That space between motion and stillness. The quiet ache of wanting something without knowing what. The weight of a feeling that does not settle but does not fully break open either. It is not sadness, but it is not lightness either.

It always passes. One way or another, I land. The lyrics have stayed with me over the years, even inspiring a couple of my poems. Today, I am feeling it again, and I am letting it be.

Antimatter – no contact

From the album A Profusion of Thought (2022)

For those who have followed the music posts on this blog for a while, you may have come across mentions of Antimatter. Antimatter is the project of Mick Moss, a highly talented British musician. I have always been drawn to his voice, the richness of its tone, the subtle nuances in his delivery. And then there are the lyrics, which have inspired more than one of my poems.

I first discovered Antimatter through Anathema, as past members—Duncan Patterson and Daniel Cavanagh—were once part of the band. That connection led me to explore their music, and I quickly found myself immersed in its depth. Antimatter’s sound has always carried an intensity that feels both haunting and intimate, a kind of quiet desperation wrapped in melody.

The emotional weight of their songs reached me at a time when I needed that kind of heaviness in my life. Some say that listening to melancholic music only deepens sadness, but for me, it was always the opposite. It became a haven, something to hold onto when nothing else made sense. The lyrics, the sound, the rawness of it all made me feel understood. As a teenager and young adult, that feeling was invaluable.

Looking back, I realise how much those songs shaped me, not just as a listener but as a writer. They taught me that vulnerability is not a weakness and that darkness has its own kind of beauty. Music like this does not just fade into the background; it lingers, weaving itself into memories and emotions, resurfacing when you least expect it.

Even now, when I hear those songs, they still resonate. The meanings may shift, evolving with time and experience, but the connection remains. Maybe that is the magic of truly great music—it grows with you. That is why I still look forward to every new release from Antimatter and any other project Mick Moss is involved in. I know that his voice, his lyrics, and his performance will always reach me where music needs to touch the listener, in that space beyond words where only sound and feeling exist.

As always: music march is brought to you by demfloseinewelt on Threads

Fontaines D.C. – it’s amazing to be young

It is amazing to be young. There is an energy to it, a sense of urgency too. A feeling that we give everything we have to our youth, as if nothing beyond it could ever measure up. As if the best years of our lives are spent before we even know what to do with them. Fontaines D.C. captures that feeling in It’s Amazing to Be Young, their latest release from their 2024 album Romance.

But the truth is, I never had an issue with age. At 42, I feel like the most authentic version of myself. This shift started at 39, a slow but steady settling into my skin. I am much more comfortable in my ways, more laid-back, more aware of what I am capable of. I know my flaws too, and I embrace them as part of who I am, shaped by every experience that brought me here.

I still fall into old patterns sometimes, but I do not self-sabotage as much anymore. I do not let people manipulate me or take advantage of my kindness. That alone makes all the difference.

It is amazing to be young. But right now, I feel young too. I have responsibilities. I lead an adult life. But because of that, I am also free. Most times.

This is today’s song. This is today’s thought.

Music march is brought to you by @ demfloseinewelt on Threads

Airbag – machines and men

Some lines stay. I don’t know why certain words stick while others fade, but I wanna get out, I wanna be free, so come on now, let me out lodged itself somewhere in me the first time I heard it. It didn’t ask to be remembered. It just was.

It’s been years, and I don’t listen to Machines and Men as often anymore, but those words still surface. They’ve slipped into my own writing, not as a direct echo but as something reshaped and rewritten, the feeling of them woven into poems and thoughts.

Maybe it’s the way the song carries itself, unrushed, steady, never forcing anything. It moves forward because that’s what it does, not because it’s trying to get anywhere. That’s probably what makes the line hit harder. It’s not desperate. It just is.

I don’t need to explain why it stayed. Some things don’t need explaining. Music is always about memories and meaning. Isn’t it?

Credits for musicmarch go to demfloseinewelt on Threads

Mogwai – take me somewhere nice

From the album Rock Action (2001)

Tonight I will do something that I haven’t done in a while. Share too much.

A wave of nausea rose. My heart started beating too fast. My hands were clammy and trembling. I couldn’t breathe. There was no air. Not for me. Just emotions everywhere. And they covered me like a weighted blanket—too heavy to shake off, too much to bear.

This hasn’t happened in a long while. Not like this. But I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t prevent it.

And when I was finally able to breathe, I started crying. My entire body shook. I felt so cold. And I cried and I cried and I cried—until there was nothing left. Until I was empty.

I shut down. Completely. And while the blanket was lifted, it was replaced with a veil of numbness—a quiet exhaustion. Nothing mattered at all. Everything mattered too much. And I was standing in the storm, blown away in different directions.

That’s why I chose Mogwai’s Take Me Somewhere Nice today. It exists in that space after everything has already happened. It doesn’t ask for much, doesn’t force emotion. It just drifts, like I do now. Waiting for something to feel real again.

Tomorrow is a new day

Credits go to @ demfloseinewelt on Threads

Soen – hollowed

From the album Memorial (2023)

Hollowed was my most-listened-to song in 2023. I discovered Soen by chance through a Spotify playlist, and from the first listen, something clicked. As someone who consumes music constantly, it is rare for a song to make me pause, but this one did. Depending on my mood, it touches me differently each time. Sometimes, it feels like comfort. Other times, it carries a weight I cannot shake.

The more I listened, the more fascinated I became. Before I knew it, I had bought their entire discography on vinyl. When I truly connect with a band, that is always the next step. It is why my collection of CDs and LPs keeps growing. There is something about holding the music in my hands, about the physicality of it, that makes it feel more personal.

I cannot remember if I was in a difficult phase when I first heard Hollowed. It is just one of those songs. Maybe it is the longing in it, the yearning for something to be over yet not allowing it to truly end. That push and pull is something I often explore in my own writing. It lingers, like an unresolved emotion, refusing to be neatly packed away.

Last October, when Soen played in Luxembourg, I had to be there. The concert exceeded every expectation. I had not anticipated a vocalist who would deliver every note with such precision, nor did I expect the live performance to outshine the studio recordings. Yet there he was, fully present, making every word feel urgent and real. The energy in the room was palpable, as if everyone had stepped into the same emotional space.

There is no specific story of mine attached to Hollowed, but it still moves me. Sometimes it makes me smile, other times it makes me cry. I don’t analyse why. I just let it happen. Every time I hear it, I sing along, loudly and without hesitation. Sometimes I think about singing karaoke, though I would never do it alone. If I ever had the chance to sing a duet, it would be either this song or Where the Wild Roses Grow by Kylie Minogue and Nick Cave. Both songs tell a story. Both require voices that intertwine. And both feel like something I would want to share rather than sing alone.

Maybe that is why Hollowed stays with me. Lines like “talk to me, ease my need to be heard” or “we’re nothing but a shadow, nothing but a shade” resonate in ways I cannot quite explain. The way it is written feels familiar, close to how I write myself, as if the words were already part of me before I ever heard them.

Some things are meant to be shared. Some things are meant to be felt. And some songs, no matter how many times you hear them, never lose their pull.

Credits go to @ demfloseinewelt on Threads

Today’s song holds a lot of memories. When I started writing in 2012, I quickly joined Wattpad, a platform where I shared my work and connected with other writers. That is where I met Jamie.

I have mentioned Jamie before and will again because some people leave marks that do not fade with time. He was the first online friend I truly called my bestie. We talked every day, sharing our writing, our music, our struggles, and our joys. He pushed me beyond my comfort zone, encouraging me to take chances and believe in my voice.

In 2015, Jamie told me his leukemia had taken a turn for the worse. By mid-July, the cancer had claimed him. He was in his early thirties, married to the love of his life. He was loved, and when his cousin shared the news of his passing, he was instantly missed, not just by me, but by the entire community.

Then came the rumors. People whispered that Jamie never existed, that it was his cousin all along, catfishing us. I never believed it. Even if the rumors had been true, it would not have changed what he meant to me. The friendship was real to me, and that is what matters. I would have continued being friends with his cousin without hesitation.

A decade later, I still think of Jamie often. And this song, Erasure’s Always, will forever be tied to him.

Originally released in 1994 and can be found on the album I say  I say I say

What’s your second song for this music march?

Credits go to @ demfloseinewelt on Threads