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Issue #3

Hi Reader ! How you been lately?

Thank you for opening this letter. This is going to be a long one, but I promise that if you stick around, you won’t regret it. Not only is this issue longer than the previous one — it’s also the one I’m most excited about, because it has my favourite selection of songs so far, and I have so much to tell you!

So much happened last month. I started March by walking away from someone I have loved for many years, but who was no longer a loving presence in my life. Once that weight was lifted off my shoulders and I felt light again, everything started to move. I got more creative, I started two new projects, I left my comfort zone and... I flew out of the country.

I’m writing this from a cottage up on a hill in the English countryside (well — London Zone 5, technically). I have a dog with me and a piano. I’ve been listening to a lot of music and feeling all the feelings.

A lot of that is reflected in the words you’re about to read, so pour yourself a cup of tea, a glass of wine, crack a stubby and get comfortable. I really think you’re gonna like this issue.

A female artist

Up on the roof - Dear Nora (2000)

NOTE: the lyrics of this song are not on Spotify, you can read them here and sing along (it’s a bop!)

I love this song, it’s one of those “you can all go fuck yourself” type of songs that you play when… well, you tell someone to go fuck themselves. Which is something I love doing but regret not doing as often or as promptly as I should.

I remember last year in the aftermath of a breakup, I was hanging out with friends one night when I suddenly went, “Sorry I’m leaving early, I have to go on a videocall to break up again with my ex.” Then I played this song while walking home through the dark streets, feeling very empowered by these lines:

I’ve been around for twenty years

I added one for all my efforts

And now I plan to disappear forever

Up on the roof there’s a telegram for you

And it’s signed by the people that want to take me home

And up in the sky there’s an aeroplane passing by

And it’s filled with the people that want to set me free

I was comforted by the thought of finally putting an end to so much one-sided effort. And I felt reassured knowing that on the other side of heartbreak were all my friends. That I had enough friends to fill an airplane. The airplane that would take me home and set me free.

But, of course, a few months later we got in touch again. You know how these things go…

And it dragged on until last month, when it suddenly hit me: I was letting this person treat me in a way I wouldn’t let anyone else treat me. The person who was supposed to love me the most was treating me like his worst enemy. I don’t keep those people in my life, so I let it go. For real this time.

And then this song came back to me, but now a different part stood out:

Happy birthday hypocrite

I hope you got the letter I sent

Send a smile to mom and dad

Let them know I’m never gonna come back

It had literally just been his birthday. And I had actually sent him a letter across the world (inside a beautiful envelope I hand-painted myself) so it all sounded weirdly literal.

But what really hit me was realizing that I was never going to see his family again. A family I adored. People who treated me so much better than him. They were everything I wanted to build and be a part of. And here I am, crying while writing this. Isn’t that ridiculous? I haven’t shed a single tear over my ex, but I have definitely cried over losing his family—especially his mom and nieces.

Have you ever met someone and thought, They don’t deserve the family they have?

Either a guy or a band

Movie Date - Jeffrey Lewis (2025)

NOTE: the lyrics of this song are not on Spotify but you can find them here​

I had a plane ticket to New York City and nowhere to stay. It was February 2018, and I had planned to visit my best friend Jenny, who was living in New Jersey at the time. For reasons I can’t quite remember, though, she wasn’t available to meet me for the first few days. So I did what one does: I asked on Instagram if anyone could host me in NYC.

An “internet friend” answered my pledge and told me about this musician friend of hers who would surely let me crush on his couch. His name is Jeffrey Lewis, I think you would like his music she said. And of course I liked his music, I had been a fan of his and the whole anti-folk scene since 2008, when I, like so many other people, was introduced to The moldy peaches by the movie Juno.

So in a turn of events I can only label as things-that-happen-to-you-when-you-are-in-New York City I suddenly found myself casually drinking my morning coffee and chatting about life with one of my favourite musicians.

His apartment was filled with vinyl records in psychedelic covers from the ’60s. A drawing table stood in the corner displaying pages from a graphic novel in progress. In the kitchen, empty noodle soup wrappers papered the wall beside the fridge, where I noticed a Daniel Johnston magnet. The bathroom was painted a soft pastel yellow, with framed art on the walls and a shower curtain so cool I felt morally obligated to take a mirror selfie.

He told me he was playing a small folk festival at the Sidewalk Cafe (R.I.P), so when I finally got together with Jenny we decided to go. I don’t remember much about his set that night, I couldn’t tell you most of the songs he played except for one. A song I’d never heard before.

In it he sang about how his girlfriend always falls asleep when they try to watch a movie together. The lyrics were sweet and funny, and the song itself sounded like a lullaby, which I thought was very clever of him. When it ended, my friend and I exchanged that look people do after experiencing a moment of strange magic, like, wow.

After the show I went up to say goodbye. I bought a few of his graphic novels and told him that had been my favourite song of the night.

For years I kept thinking about that song. I couldn’t remember the lyrics, or even the melody, just the feeling of it and the theme: the failed movie date. I scoured his discography looking for it, but it was pointless, it was clearly an unreleased track existing only in my memory, which was slowly and inevitably fading.

There’s an episode of The Adventures of Pete & Pete about that exact situation: loving a song you hear once and never finding it again. Every time I (re)watched it I thought of my lost Jeffrey Lewis song.

And then, last month… he released it.

In fact, he released a whole album called The EVEN MORE Freewheelin' Jeffrey Lewis. It’s great. You should all give it a listen.

I put the album on while cleaning my bathroom (a glamorous moment if there ever was one!), and when that song came on I just froze in full OMG OMG OMG moment. I immediately texted Jenny back in the US. She remembered the show, but had completely forgotten about the song — which, honestly, makes total sense

And now I’m sharing it with you. This, right now, is why I started this newsletter. I hope you like it.

This song is a cool kid with glasses

Elvis is in the freezer by Ratboys (2017)

This is a song about a cat named Elvis. He died and now is in the freezer. Waiting for god knows what.

I don’t remember the first time I listened to it, but it was saved on my favorites on Spotify. I’m certain I saved it because it has that vibe of a summer breeze, an easy song I would play while driving, if only I was in possession of a car and a drivers licence.

It was only a few weeks ago when I paid attention to the lyrics. It has beautifully sad lines like

Sunny skies are pleasing as we travel through the seasons

To face the day when we are forced to drop him off.

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And the ending is so sad it made me cry while walking to work

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I'm not trying to mistreat you

But the nurse says, "Here's the needle"

His face was grey and it was full of teardrops

Seconds make us equals

As the medicine destroys him

Minutes make us realize he's long gone

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Do you know who had a cat named Elvis? My friend Jenny! In fact, it was me who suggested the name. Elvis was found in a park and she adopted him, this was around 2014, he was just a tiny kitten. I was living in Buenos Aires with my grandma at the time and Jenny was living with Elvis just 5 blocks away. In my free time I would pop in at hers, just to hang out. We would watch movies, drink beer, smoke joints, listen to music and play guitar. Our lives revolved around consuming art in every possible way, we were film school students with a decent amount of free time, a cat, a guitar and good wi-fi. The best time of my life, no doubt about it.

But it makes my heart shrink whenever I play this song. I’ve never had a pet of my own, I haven’t experienced the pain of losing an animal and I’m always speechless when someone tells me they lost their furry friend because I feel that no matter what I say is going to be a cliché and simply not enough.

Worry not, Elvis is still alive and kicking! it’s just that each of us lives in a different country now.

It turns out that putting your cat in the freezer is a thing people do, I asked ChatGPT about it:

And then I found this comment on Youtube

God. Imagine the pain. if you lost your pet I’m really sorry, truly. I send you the biggest of hugs. It should be illegal for pets to die.

You know this artist, maybe not this song

Fiona Apple - Werewolf (2012)

This is hands-down my favourite Fiona Apple song. It’s about ending a relationship without resentment or bitterness, just acceptance. I often struggled to relate to break-up songs because they tend to lean all the way into blame: either blaming the other person completely or blaming yourself.

I’m very self-aware so whenever I go through a break-up, I can’t help but ask myself: How did I contribute to this ending?what part did I play? It’s not an easy question to sit with, but it’s the kind of question that makes you grow. It invites reflection, and it paves the way for future healthier relationships. In the end, answering that question confront us with the not-so-nice parts of ourselves, turning the sadness/pain/drama into an experience that ultimately works in your favour.

Make no mistake, I love messy, emotional break-up songs. I play them loud when I feel like absolute shit. But this song lives somewhere else: in what I call the ten days after.

It goes like this: whenever I get my heart broken I give myself ten days to fall apart. Ten days to unapologetically wallow in pain and self-pity. I cancel plans, I don’t eat, I only cry and smoke and sleep and lose weight. But only for ten days, not a single more (in reality it takes no more than 3 or 4, I grant myself 10 just in case!). It is on the eleventh day that I start gluing the pieces back together. And while the glue is still fresh this is the song I listen to.

I could liken you to a werewolf the way you left me for dead

But I admit that I provided a full moon

And I could liken you to a shark the way you bit off my head

But then again, I was waving around a bleeding open wound.

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She knows it takes two to tango, there’s maturity and bravery in holding yourself accountable.

When she sings

We’re like a wishing well and a bolt of electricity

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it’s not just about being opposites (the stillness of a wishing well vs. energy), but about danger, about how some combinations aren’t just mismatched but destructive. (don’t even think about mixing water and electricity!)

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But we could still support each other, all we gotta do is avoid each other

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This is my favourite line in the song. There’s something almost darkly humorous about it: the most loving gesture is... absence.

Towards the end she concludes:

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And I could liken you to a lot of things but I always come around

‘Cause in the end I’m a sensible girl

I know the fiction of the fix

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Again, the self-awareness. Sensible girls (people) know that entirely blaming someone else is nothing but a quick fix, a fiction.

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Nothing wrong when a song ends in the minor key

Nothing wrong when a song ends in the minor key

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Yes! A song ending in a minor key (the “sad keys”) isn’t a failure, it’s just how some songs go.

And some stories don’t resolve neatly or happily, and that’s okay too. Just give it ten days and you’ll be fine, I promise!

My discovery of the month

Morning Way by Trader Horne (1970)

When Jeeshan told me Record Store Day would coincide with my stay in London, I couldn’t believe my luck. A day filled with free gigs, workshops, and vinyl releases — I couldn’t think of a better place to spend it (except, maybe, Brooklyn).

So I went on the Rough Trade website to check what was on this year, and right there on the front page they were announcing the reissue of a compilation of 60s British underground folk music called Gather in the Mushrooms. Finding it on Spotify was a true Pandora’s-box situation — I had unlocked access to so many incredible songs and artists I had never heard of before, and who instantly became new favourites.

My favourite is Morning Way because it checks many boxes on my list: whimsical psych-folk sounds, vocal harmonies, a male-female duet, an in-crescendo chorus, nature-themed and friendship-themed lyrics. The song slowly builds up, so to me it sounds like waking up and walking out into the sun after spending the winter cocooning. And it came at the perfect time, just as the weather was starting to shift from cold and rainy to sunny and warm. As I played it on a Monday morning from my bed in Barcelona, I felt as if the song was holding my hand and telling me: Welcome to the new spring, little girl. Walk this way — all these flowers are waiting just for you to bloom. Yes, I know how hippy that sounds.

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Now it's nearly noon
And then it's afternoon
The leaves are creeping
Green inside the day
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To where the friends
Who used to lend me love
Are all above my head
And looking down at me
To smile at how it ought to be

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What a beautiful thing to write, don’t you think?

I love the image of people who loved us in the past looking down on us and smiling — because they see we’re exactly where we need to be, doing what we’re meant to.

The day I arrived in London was a choreography of setbacks, one after the other. So when night fell, I almost cancelled my plans to see my friend Eliza, who — coincidentally — also happened to be in London, but only for that night. I’m so glad I didn’t cancel. We met up to play Hitster (the best board game for music fans ever, and our new obsession) at a friend of hers. We had a great time, and at some point during a ciggie break I told them about this album and played this song for them. They were all captivated and loved it as much as I do.

I was flushed with a wave of gratefulness for this little life of mine — filled with art and adventures — grateful to be in this city, in that house, with those people, sharing music we love, and nurturing each other in a moment of strange magic. Time and again, life putting me exactly where I ought to be.