top 8. damn this is getting exponentially harder. like a perverse reality game where each day I have to unceremoniously oust one of my favourite (secret) artists from the running towards becoming blah blah blah. I do watch too much TV for my own good. but the difficulty is still there and the urge to not write about why I love each of them but instead justify why they're not in my top 3, in which any of these 8 could be. This is the part where I reach for the kleenex.
Number 8, the National... but I can't explain it. Matt Berninger could be reading me the damn phonebook and I'd still be in love with the sound of his voice. Only, he's not, he's saying things like "...and I can’t fall asleep without a little help it takes awhile to settle down my ship of hopes" and he's driving an elegant little rusty dagger through your heart with every soft heavy whisper of his.
it's a terrible love and I'm walking with spiders
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