Tag Archives: Music

Do you like The Power of Love?

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It’s one of the more interesting things to happen to pop punk sincerity in years.

Most people would probably dismiss I Fight Dragons as another nerd-adjacent power-pop band built for people who own at least one hoodie with thumb holes and complicated opinions about retro gaming hardware. But that’s reducing them unfairly. What they’re actually doing is something much stranger.

The original Power of Love by Huey Lewis and the News is fundamentally optimistic. It’s polished. Confident. Almost aggressively reassuring in that very 1980s way where emotions were allowed to sound expensive.

I Fight Dragons understand that song from the perspective of people who grew up after optimism stopped feeling culturally guaranteed.

And that changes everything.

The cover keeps the architecture of the original intact, but recontextualises it through crunchy synths, anxious energy, and the specific emotional frequency of people who learned sincerity through the internet while also being vaguely embarrassed by it.

There’s something deeply millennial about refusing irony just long enough to mean something.

The instrumentation matters here. The electronic textures stop the song becoming pure nostalgia bait. It never tries to be the 1980s. It sounds like remembering the 1980s through second-hand media and emotional inheritance. Like discovering confidence as an aesthetic before experiencing it as a feeling.

And vocally, there’s a kind of determined earnestness that I think a lot of modern bands are terrified of committing to fully. The performance understands that “The power of love is a curious thing” is, objectively, an absurd sentence, but also quietly believes it anyway.

Which is important.

Because beneath all the synthesizers and power-pop momentum, the song is still fundamentally about wanting connection badly enough to risk sounding uncool.

That level of emotional commitment is much harder than cynicism.

Most people miss that.

Pull me from the Upside Down

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On music as memory, misdirection, and rescue

In another life I would have been a rock star. All ego and wild wardrobe choices, making an artistic choice to stain my fingers black à la Michèle Lamy, and crying at the end of every concert.

But the closest I ever got was being a radio producer, and occasionally hosting some lunchtime shows. We won’t talk about the disastrous time I had to read the news. Local radio really used to be all hands on deck.

I miss the radio show, the playlists, the variety of niche music programmes. I don’t get that much any more.

I love music.

Mixtapes Were a Language

I grew up in the era of mixtapes.

Actual tapes. Hours spent deciding what went where, which song opened, which one closed, what you were saying by putting that track after this one. You couldn’t skip casually. You had to commit. Making a mixtape for someone meant effort, attention, intention.

It was a way of saying this is how I feel, without having to say it out loud.

I was good at making them too. Handing one over with no track list, keeping you guessing with each pause between tracks. Could you pick out the theme before the end?

Why Covers Hit Harder

Cover songs were clutch at keeping folks guessing, but also making them listen, really listen, to the lyrics.

Hurt.

Nine Inch Nails? Melancholic. Empty. A song of absence. A quiet, furious piece that closed Trent Reznor’s live shows like a final fuck you.

Johnny Cash’s cover of Hurt.

Ooft.
Tears.

Sinéad O’Connor — Nothing Compares 2 U
Faith No More — Easy
Yael Naim — Toxic
Muse — Feeling Good
I Fight Dragons — The Power of Love

I could go on, but I’ll save the Patrick Bateman monologue for another time.

I love music.

And I think that’s why the Upside Down idea lodged itself in my brain.

In Stranger Things, when one of the characters gets taken away, and they’re panicked, hurt, untethered from the real world, their friends don’t argue them back to safety. Nobody explains. Nobody instructs.

They play the song that knows them.
And they find their own way out.

Music as a tether.
Music as a way home.

What I loved most wasn’t the drama of it, but the simplicity. The idea that you don’t have to be clever in the moment you’re overwhelmed. You don’t have to articulate anything. You just need the right sound to pull you back into yourself.

And maybe after all this year’s therapy, a grown-up realisation: you’re allowed to choose that song in advance. You’re allowed to tell people what will reach you. You don’t have to hope they guess.

How You Find Me

So when I’m lost. When I’m untethered, overwhelmed, and unable to ask for help. When I’m upside down, this is how you pull me back.

You’ve Got the Love — Florence + the Machine.

I suppose it makes sense that it’s a cover.
I’ve always been better at saying things with other people’s songs.