Texas is a band. It’s a Scottish band, which took its name from a Wim Wenders’ film, “Paris, Texas.” References shooting across the Pond. Back and forth, from Dusseldorf, to Glasgow, to inner Elvis smiles. Smiles for the grrrls. And round abouts. Clones of her. Clones of we. Because we think we can do 180 and do it again. Because if we do 180 often enough, we reach ourselves, eventually, say what you want.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of me mine me mine, and see a need for we. Us. All of us. Sharleen Spiteri is so good, so cool, so mixed and controlled and exhilarated by the clonishness of many hers that she breaks through and past the idea of me mine into we. Us. Because of us. Or, something. As Hollywood would have us believe my so-called life.
In other words, this song is hot. This song would be a catharsis to note the recipient basis for the proximity of the aural interlude between notes. As in, I hope to goddess that a woman sings this into me mine ear someday.