Yes, I know this is a little bit of a music cliche. Rock band unplugs, takes one of their hard charging hits acoustic, and displays a softer side, winning more female fans in the process. And how can something ping my tear ducts that was first heard on the Howard Stern show with the refrain of “Baba Booey, Baba Booey” repeated prior to the first chord (if you’ve heard the clip, you know what I’m talking about)?
I try not to analyze it, just succumb to the dulcet tones (well, somewhat dulcet, and a bit raggy) of Dave Grohl as he sings of love, loss and longing. It’s my poison. If we’re listening and I turn away, it wasn’t that I thought I heard someone call my name. And if I brush my upper nose softly with a knuckle, and it looks like I’m itching, you might just notice that the back of my hand has grazed ever so slowly against my eye lash. And that a bead of moisture has joined the hair and freckles, small evidence that my mind is elsewhere and not coming back for a full 4:13.