Palanca's top albums, Part II

And the list continues.

4) Depeche Mode, Violator (1990)

While all the other kids in my private girl school were listening to dark sounds that mirrored the torment inside, the darkest I could get was Depeche Mode. Thanks to my mother, the dark side had been my companion since childhood, so all mystery was gone. What pull could there be after years of... ?

• "Don't swallow that button, you could die."
  
• "You can't sleep over at your friend's house! What happens if there's a fire and Mommy isn't there to save you?"
• "You don't want to go skiing, you'll hurt yourself."
• "SOCCER! You can't play soccer! You wear glasses - they'll break if you play."

In my mother's world, death and ruin was always around the corner, so I didn't need to listen to Ministry or the Smiths to toy with destruction. I eluded destruction daily!

All kidding aside, Depeche Mode's music did open me to the understanding that love/life was equal parts light and dark. I was drawn in by their vision of love/life as happening in dark places, where need was greater than reason, and where desires were uttered in low voices.

This album is probably one of the few that I listened to without wanting to sing along. It was enough to feel the sounds moving through my body.

5) Rufus Wainwright, Poses (2001)

An album I will never tire of. One of the few that I can listen to end-to-end without fast forwarding through some tracks.

Track 10: "One man show" will probably be a favourite of mine until I die. Upon first reading the track listings, I assumed that Rufus had written a song for a beloved. But no. It was actually written by his father Loudon Wainwright and is a sorta love song written for your self. Think Walt Whitman, but with a guitar and sideburns.

But these three cubic feet of bone and blood and meat are all I love and know.

6) Damien Rice, O (2002)

I was listening to the CBC one morning when I heard my first strains of "Delicate". I bought the album on the day it was launched in Canada and have turned to it time and again over the years whenever I need to nurse certain feelings. Heartbreak. Longing. The anguish of an unexpressed desire. It's the soundtrack for all my pity parties, helping me ride out a sadness and quickly get to the other side.

Interestingly, as much as I love this album, I know to absolutely avoid it when I am feeling good. Even "Blower's daughter" is sorrowful to my ear. So if you ever glance down at my iPod and see O playing, it's probably best to leave a cup of tea by my elbow and come back later.

Still a little bit of your taste in my mouth. Still a little bit of you laced with my doubt.