Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Private Message | EchoZone Internal Chat
From: DeadStrings
Subject: Re: Okay, I lied. One more thing.
All right, you got me.
Your list is shockingly good. And yes, “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” is exactly what it feels to be hanging on by a thread with a smile on your face and hope duct-taped to your ribs.
But you assumed I’d go full guitar solo rage and grunge-growl on you.
I understand. I probably give off Nirvana B-side energy.
But I’m feeling generous—and a little off-script—so here’s my confession:
Sometimes I need synth. Sometimes I need sparkle. Sometimes I need songs that feel like neon lights under my skin just to remember I exist.
Top 5 Songs That Make Me Feel Less Like Shit (And Maybe Even Like Dancing in the Kitchen Alone)
“Bizarre Love Triangle” —New Order
That bassline does something to my body I can’t explain. It’s impossible to stay still when this song is on. Melancholy and joy walk into a bar and this is the soundtrack. I play it when I need to remember heartbreak doesn’t always have to sit in silence.
“You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)” —Sylvester
I know. But don’t roll your eyes yet. This one? It overtakes me. Like glitter you can’t shake off. Like that one shot of adrenaline you didn’t know your soul needed. It’s unapologetic euphoria and I fucking love it.
“Temptation” —Heaven 17
Synths, gospel backing, drama for days. It’s disco for people with feelings. I blast this when I need to climb out of my own head and remember how to feel big again. It’s ridiculous. It’s brilliant. It’s healing.
“West End Girls” —Pet Shop Boys
This one lives in my bones. A little dark, a little wry, endlessly cool. I listen to it when I want to feel detached and misunderstood. It’s the sonic version of leaning against a wall at 2 a.m., half-smiling like you’re too tired to cry again.
“Enjoy the Silence” —Depeche Mode
You knew this was coming. Let’s not pretend it wasn’t. It’s synth with a soul. It’s sex and sadness holding hands in a black leather jacket. I play it when I want to remember that quiet doesn’t always mean lonely—and that some truths sound better without words.
You still think I’m all snarls and broken chords?
I contain synthy multitudes.
And if you tell anyone I’ve danced to Sylvester in a towel, alone, singing into a toothbrush . . .
I’ll deny everything.
Now your turn. You ever full-volume scream-sing to Shania in traffic? Because I think you have.