![]() These are the translated lyrics to the first verse of the song, which are raw yet lush with the imagery of lust and the conflicting memory of previous heartbreak. ![]() Here though, with Takeuchi’s “Plastic Love”, we are wounded, a shadow figure among skyscrapers: eg: The New York Dolls’ “Personality Crisis” (a screaming, amphetamine-addled window into the fumes of 1970s New York) Floorplan’s “We Magnify His Name” (an ascending elevator toward the Lord’s table and heaven’s premier nightclub) or Don Henley’s “Boys of Summer” (wearing short-shorts in the golden-hour sunshine). There’s an enchanting quality to songs that act as poignant reminders, taking the listener to a place they remember or have never even visited. As one YouTube comment reads, “this gives me feels of something which never happened”, as though “Plastic Love” is the lingering remnants of a diary entry from a past life. This tune is your life, and you are in the tune-in this case, sitting in Tokyo’s Kabukicho district, desolated and desperately heartbroken, but also lubricated with a passionate sense for adventure, thirsting for stimulation and Asahi. ![]() It’s the kind of song that, when you first hear it-as I did, a few months ago-seems like it’s always been there, marinating somewhere in the cerebral cortex or as a memory from the womb.
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