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Issue #6

Hi Reader ! How you been lately?

I’m fine, just a bit tired. I’m supposed to be on holiday, but I always have 549287 exciting things going on at the same time, so no rest for me. I’ll rest when I’m dead.

Summer is when I do all the things I don’t have time for during the school year. And I’m starting to feel bad because it’s ending. Except that it isn’t? Technically, I still have one month off. I have a few trips lined up, and I’m excited about all the adventures just waiting around the corner, all the people I’m about to meet for the first time, and all the places I’m yet to discover. This summer is passing by faster than any before and I’m on a mission to squeeze every second out of it. To quote Taylor Swift: I’m happy, free, confused and lonely ✨in the best way✨.

By the way, we made it to issue #6! That means this newsletter is half a year old, a baby that’s starting to crawl! A few days ago I saw my friend Luke and he asked me about my newsletter. I told him I was in the process of writing the sixth issue, and he was so proud of me 🫶🏻. He reminded me of a time back in December when we went out for dinner and I told him I had this crazy idea of starting to write about songs I like because of their lyrics. I said I wanted it to have different categories, a Spotify playlist for each issue, DIY-looking collages, the whole thing. I was talking about it like it was something impossible, like a delusional dream, one of those things you say you’re going to do but never end up doing . So thank you for sticking around. Knowing you’re reading this is what drives me to dedicate whatever free time I have to pouring my thoughts into words.

If you enjoy this newsletter and know someone who might enjoy it too, please share it. It would be so cool to have more people joining.

I have some exciting plans for the future of Let’s Talk Songs, and I can’t wait to share them with you. For now, they’re just a little ball of dough baking inside my brain. I’ll tell you in due time, so stay tuned!

On another note, I feel the need to share that this month I’ve been struggling to write, or even enjoy things in general, knowing all the shit that's going on in the world right now. Like many of you, I feel powerless watching live images on my phone of children being deliberately starved to death, something I once believed belonged only in the history documentaries I grew up watching about the last time there was a systematic plan to erase a population.

Nothing I can write here is going to do justice to how I feel or what I think, I'm not much of an eloquent writer. I just can't stay silent while watching the cruelty, the greed, the apathy, the complicit silence and the absence of humanity from people I love, and from artists I once admired precisely for their ability to express what was most deeply human (cof-cof Regina Spektor cof-cof).

And yet I also believe it’s essential to push through and keep doing the things that bring us joy. To keep creating, to seek connection and beauty amid the pain. We need these things to stay sane in an increasingly insane world, to feel human when the most inhuman acts are being committed. So please, if you’re a creator, keep creating. If there’s something you’re passionate about, don’t stop. Protect your mental health fiercely by making time for what you love. The world needs you whole.

I know this might cause some of you to unsubscribe, I’m at peace with that.

For those who are staying, I hope you enjoy Issue #6

A female artist

I wish I was Stephen Malkmus by Beabadoobee (2019)

It was very frustrating when Photoshop didn’t open alleging “lack of space in the scratch disk” (what’s a scratch disk, anyway? ), specially knowing that I have over 20GB of free storage in my hard disk. Ok, that’s the most boring sentence I have ever written.

All this to say that last week I found myself facing one of modern life’s most soul-sucking chores: digital decluttering. As I waded through a landfill of pixel-born boarding passes, payslips, random screenshots and long-forgotten students homework, I could feel my life slipping away with every ⌘ + ⌫. And it was all doom and gloom until, suddenly, I struck digital gold: a folder containing all the pictures and videos I’d archived when I migrated from Android to iOS, which, incidentally, was also when I migrated from Buenos Aires to Barcelona.

In other words, I’d found ✨ Fiorellandia: the very best of 2012-2015 collection ✨. And it just meant so much because those were the best three years of my life so far: living with my grandma (who at that point had become a friend on top of a mother), attending film school, spending most of my free time with Jenny or writing songs or going to gigs. Life was very simple and homey, everyone I knew was making cool art, there was an exciting plan every night, life was 24/7 stimulus.

As you can imagine, that folder was pretty heavy, so I spent a good amount of time deleting everything I didn’t want to keep, mostly pictures of a very forgettable ex-boyfriend. Among the little gems, I came across 💙 pictures from my blue-hair phase 💙 It wasn’t a stepping stone in the process of getting over a breakup, nor was it a symptom of a much larger problem...

On September 28th 2015, ten days before I moved to Barcelona, there was a blood-red moon in Buenos Aires and everyone was pretty hyped up about it. Jenny and I decided to do something memorable that night, given that I was moving countries shortly afterwards. She dyed her hair the color of the moon. My hair was already the color of the moon so I dyed it blue, like the sky (my base color was orange, so it turned out green, except for the tips because they were bleached).

I remember her ringing my doorbell late that night, me kissing my grandma goodnight and rushing down the stairs. Jen was holding a Farmacity bag in one hand and a cold beer in the other. We sat on my doorstep and got tipsy watching the red moon. It was one of those moments of strange magic. Life often felt like a movie back then.

No one asked me why I did it, and I don’t think anyone really cared. But I sometimes wonder if it made anyone silently ask themselves whether I was going through an emotional crisis, because that’s often the assumption when you dye your hair blue.

But that was never my thing, I’ve always liked my hair ginger. My emotional crises or bouts of out-of-my-mind boredom often manifested in the form of psycho-bitch-bangs. I do have photographic evidence, but in the interest of preserving a shred of dignity I’ll spare you.

All this blue hair thing made me think of I wish I was Stephen Malkmus by Beabadoobee. If you’ve been reading this newsletter for a while you know I’m a big Pavement fan, we literally talked about Malkmus last month. Beabadoobee is a big Pavement fan too. And she’s going through a crisis:

Guess I’m tryna get by

‘Cause like the weather, I change with time

And I sit at home, cry to Pavement

I wish I was Stephen Malkmus

I wanted change, no one forced it

My hair is blue, it’s pretty obvious

That I kinda like it

Think I kinda like it

‘Cause I get tired of the same shit

Got new hair, a new phase

I’m from outer space

And I’m pretty sure I’ll get used to it

I don’t think I’ve ever cried to a Pavement song, but it sounds exactly like the step before dyeing your hair a fantasy colour.

Anyway, from the archives, here’s to you: my blue-hair (but mostly green) phase.

Either a guy or a band

It’s raining again by Supertramp (1982)

I’m writing this from Berlin. Today is Tuesday and it’s raining. Again. In fact, it’s been raining for most of the time I’ve been here. Now, you might think “Rain on your summer holidays?! Bummer!” but please consider this: I live in Barcelona, where we’ve been experiencing a heatwave. I’ve been taking three showers a day. I’ve been making trips to the supermarket just to enjoy the AC. I’ve been fearing for the life of my plants.

So arriving in rainy Berlin was, literally, a breath of fresh air.

And a bit of rain won’t hurt me, I’m not made of sugar. On the contrary, I’m staying in an apartment that has a cat and a guitar, I brought my MIDI keyboard, and the view from the window is this:

So yeah, life, bring on those rainy days. I prefer them. Rain makes me happy. And when I’m happy and it’s raining, I always think of Supertramp’s It’s Raining Again.

I like upbeat songs with sad lyrics. I love a sadness you can dance to.

I can’t remember a time in my life when I wasn’t aware of this song’s existence. I don’t mean this song was already out there in the world when I was born. I know that. I know that when I came into this world, there were people who had already sung along to it at concerts, played it on their record players at home, passed it on to a friend, danced to it at parties. What I mean is: if a Fiorella biopic were ever made, this song would be on the OST.

When my parents separated in 1996 my dad moved to a small apartment and never bought a TV. Whenever I went to see him we would listen to the radio. My two brothers would be sitting at the dining table drawing and annoying each other (my dad was an architect, so he had plenty of drawing supplies). I would be in the kitchen with him, sitting on a stool in the corner next to the fridge and reading the magazines that came with the Sunday newspaper. I read them so many times I can still recall some of the articles. In the background, Aspen Classics was always playing (Aspen, 102.3 la radio de los clásicos!), and It’s Raining Again was a regular song on their rotation.

Two years ago I was coming out of a really bad breakup. I was in shreds. There was no way I could love myself, and the only moments of enjoyment were when I was with my friends. I would go to Eliza’s and spend evenings listening to sad songs, reading the lyrics and crying. I was not a fun person to be around. Still, somehow it felt good, it was cathartic. One summer evening, we were complaining about the heatwave when it suddenly started to rain. We both love the rain, so it made us really happy, and we started to take turns playing songs about the rain. We also love songs that feature a children’s choir, so It’s Raining Again was checking all the boxes. We looked up the lyrics and started to sing along. She sang the hook directly to my face, as if commanding me:

Come on you little fighter

No need to get uptighter

Come on you little fighter

And get back up again

Oh, get back up again

Oh, fill your heart again

Then, when the choir came in, we realized that the lyrics were a bit… dark.

It’s raining, it’s pouring

The old man is snoring

He went to bed and bumped his head

And he couldn’t get up in the morning

We looked at each other like, WTF?! and started to laugh. I thought it might be a nursery rhyme because it reminded me so much of one we sing in Argentina (que llueva, que llueva la vieja está en la cueva, los pajaritos cantan, la vieja se levanta).

Then Luke confirmed that, indeed, it’s a british nursery rhyme.

This is what ChatGPT has to say about it:

The exact origin is unclear, but the rhyme is believed to date back to at least the early 20th century, possibly earlier.

On the surface, it seems like a simple children’s rhyme about an old man who falls asleep during a rainstorm. But it has a darker twist:

• The old man “bumped his head” and “couldn’t get up in the morning,” which could imply a serious injury—or even death.
• Despite this, it’s sung in a cheerful, sing-song tone, which is common in many older nursery rhymes (many of which are surprisingly grim by modern standards).

Cautionary tale: It could subtly warn children about the dangers of going to bed after an injury.

🩹 A Note on the Dark Ending

If used with young children today, some teachers or caregivers adapt the ending to soften it (e.g., “He stayed in bed and slept instead”) to avoid alarming kids. However, many still use the original version because the tone remains playful.

There you have.

This song is a cool kid with glasses

Twilight by Elliott Smith (2000-2003? released post-mortem in 2010)

August 6th would have been Elliott Smith’s birthday. He passed away in October 2003, shortly after I turned 15, but I hadn’t discovered his music then. He mostly reminds me of my friend Jen, who is a big fan and introduced me to his music, not intentionally, it’s just something that was always playing in the background whenever I was hanging out at her place. Which was all the time.

Last week, on his birthday, I spent a long night drinking wine and listening to his entire discography (I’m okay, don’t worry). I had completely forgotten about Twilight, a song I specifically remember Jen singing while she was tidying up. She was always in the process of tidying up haha. The situation was very often like this:

Me: Hey, do you want to hang out?

Jen: Oh yeah, but I have to tidy up, my apartment is a mess.

Me: Can I come and be there while you tidy up? I can help you!

Jen: Okay, come.

And then I would never really help her because I didn’t know where things were supposed to go. I would just lie there on the sofa playing with her cat Elvis while music played in the background. We even came up with a word for this: muertear, which comes from the noun muerte (“death”) but is used as a verb, incorrectly conjugated on purpose. It would be something like “Can I go and be dying at your place?” / “¿Puedo ir a muertear a tu casa?” This song takes me there: muerteando con Jenny.

I like the lyrics because they explore a dynamic I don’t normally hear a lot in songs. It’s not the typical “I wish I could be with you but you’re already seeing someone.” No, it’s the opposite: “I wish I could be with you because you’re amazing, but I’M SEEING SOMEONE ELSE ATM”

Damn it.

Haven’t laughed this hard in a long time

I better stop now before I start crying

Go off to sleep in the sunshine

I don’t want to see the day when it’s dying

She’s a sight to see

She so good to me

But I’m already somebody’s baby

She’s a pretty thing

And she knows everything

But I’m already somebody’s baby

You know this artist, maybe not this song

Catch by The Cure (1987)

When I was in secondary school The Cure was MY BAND. If you met me between 2004 and 2008, you would know how much this is true. Growing up, I listened to a lot of music from many different styles and decades. It was confusing for some people who couldn’t pinpoint what was “my vibe” (are you goth, punk or alternative? Choose one!). It was also conflictive for me at an age when you’re trying to figure out your own identity, and a lot of what defines you are your interests, specifically your answer to the most annoying question ever formulated:

What kind of music do you like?

Ugh, people still ask me this, and it still makes me want to slit my wrists. Why? Because it’s overwhelming! As a teenager, my answer always felt like a betrayal or disappointment to someone. How can you like Hole and also Simon & Garfunkel? It makes no sense. You’re a poser, choose a side!

Not that that conversation ever happened in real life, it was more subtle. I just knew that if I was hanging out with the friends I made through our mutual love for Nirvana, Pixies, and The Smashing Pumpkins, they would roll their eyes if I ever talked about how much I loved Oasis. You know?

The cool thing is that I had another group of friends. We had bonded over our love for The White Stripes, and they all loved Oasis! So, in the end, having an eclectic taste in music landed me lots of groups of friends!

But then that brought in THE CLOSET DILEMMA.

You see, in a pre social-media world where teenagers made friends literally on the street, your cover letter was how you dressed. It was, arguably, the biggest indicator of what you were into, with band t-shirts acting as bat-signals you would search for as if you were trying to find Wally. And... also the most underrated pathway to end up hooking up with someone? I remember liking a guy in college only because he always wore a Radiohead t-shirt to class. For months I was obsessed with him and I didn't even know his name, me and my friends just called him "Radiohead boy". At some point we hooked-up. I still don't remember his name, but I will never forget that dark beige Ok-computer t-shirt (*sighs*).

So, if what you wear puts you in a very important box but you could fit so many of those boxes, then what box do you choose? That, my friend, is the closet dilemma.

Almost like a Toy Story situation, I envisioned the inside of my drawers like a school playground where all my band t-shirts were standing at opposite corners and giving dirty looks at each other.

How do you solve it? By applying the same principle as in dating: you don’t put all your eggs in one basket, you diversify. I picked my outfits based on whatever mood I was in that day, which was always changing because I was a sensitive girl with a wide range of emotions, and a band to fit each one of them. I still do this.

Now I see my eclectic music taste as a great asset, a sign of well-roundedness. It allows me to talk to all sorts of people, it helps me curate really cool playlists, it makes me the winner of almost every Hitster game, and it makes this newsletter possible (🫶🏻). It’s one of the things I like about myself the most! But, as ridiculous as it sounds in hindsight, it used to be a source of insecurity. For many years, it was confusing, like I didn’t have a fully-formed personality, like it made me dishonest or unreliable.

But then there was The Cure, MY BAND. I didn’t know any other teenager who liked them, so whenever a friend thought of The Cure, they thought of me AND NO ONE ELSE.

I loved The Cure because they have some really cool post-punk albums (Three Imaginary Boys, Seventeen Seconds), then the most beautifully sad melancholic albums ever recorded (Faith, Disintegration, Bloodflowers), and the more sadness-you-can-dance-to albums (The Head on the Door, Wish, Japanese Whispers). There was a The Cure album for however I woke up each day.

Of all their singles, Catch might be my favourite one. It’s essentially a pop song that exists in this middle ground where it’s not pop enough to dance to, like, let’s say, In Between Days, but it’s also not that sad. It’s a beautiful and melancholic pop song, a melancholy accentuated by a violin playing throughout the track.

In Catch, Robert Smith sings about a girl he used to know. He recalls how they would enjoy doing things together but without ever getting close enough, the lyrics suggesting maybe some reckless behaviour:

And she used to fall down a lot, that girl was always falling again

And I used to sometimes try to catch her, but never even caught her name

(You can and should watch the music video here.)

When asked about the meaning behind the lyrics of Catch, Robert Smith told a story that is very magical and made me love the song even more:

"In 1970, aged 10, I fell off my bike and suffered quite a severe concussion; sporadically, over the following two years, I suffered fleeting but intense daytime hallucinations of a girl I called 'Bunny.' In 1972, I flew for the first time; a few minutes after take-off, the plane hit really bad turbulence and I suffered a very violent attack of nausea and vomiting, along with an incredibly severe headache. After this event, my 'Bunny' visits stopped. In 1984, in JFK airport, whilst waiting to pass through immigration, I met a girl who was the spitting image of 'Bunny.' Her 'real' name was Anna. We talked very briefly, and then I never saw her again after that."

My discovery of the month

Nine lives by Odie Leigh (2022)

This summer I started to go out for walks at night. It started because I wanted to hit my daily 10.000 steps but my city was experiencing heat wave #57487 so going out in the day felt like self-harm. I live in a very nice area of Barcelona, between two parks and next to my favourite street in the city: Carrer de Wellington, it’s very safe too, so I took up ✨ aimless midnight walks ✨

It wasn’t long before I became familiar with a cast of recurring characters: the neighbours walking their dogs, the runners (in my head, all developers who can’t conceive of sleep), the exhausted students at Pompeu Fabra library, the teenagers smoking weed and hanging out in the back of the zoo, the cockroaches, the mice, the pieces of furniture people throw away on Thursday, and the rag-and-bone scavenger hunting through them.

More recently, it became clear that a walk before bed helps me process whatever I’m going through and soothes me. I put music on, start walking, and suddenly everything feels better. Just like that.

It was during a night walk last week that the universe/algorithm blessed me with Odie Leigh. She checks so many of my boxes: catchy finger-picked Spanish guitar melodies and a voice that’s both warm and bold. Most of all, I love her lyrics, they’re touching and clever, striking the perfect balance between metaphorical and richly detailed with specific everyday life moments.

“Nine Lives” captures the painful moment when you let go of someone you’re just starting to fall for. It’s about realizing your standards were too low, reaching out for love, and instead finding yourself hurt.

Spare a crumb, I’ll take it

I said hold my hand, not break it

And while there’s power in giving up and walk away, she also questions if it was really her who left first:

Screw the timeline, I lost track

Was it really me who had my bags all packed up first?

And then, the line that made me want to write about this song. The line that broke me:

I don’t think I fell too hard, got this injured in thе climb ❤️‍🩹

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