You hear people say things like, “food doesn’t taste right” or “I just can’t see people right now.” To that, the supposed crippling pain of a breakup, I offer a resounding FUCK YOU. Ben Harper once said that he would never mess with someone else’s blues, hoping they would never mess with his. I get that, but selfishly, I’m putting everything in unfair rankings.

You know when food starts tasting funny? When it’s being served on sterile trays or through a tube. Oh, and I think I finally understand when you can’t bear to see another person. When you’ve had to tell everyone you love goodbye, knowing minute by minute your dignity is being snatched from you and you might not get another chance.

Right now, I’m stuck watching a one-sided fight to the death. I’m watching a man, my role model, take thumping body shots and vicious blows to the head knowing there’s no rest at the end of this three-minutes and no miraculous cinematic comeback waiting after things reach total darkness. I spend my days wanting his fight to give me more time, praying he can tough out another round, but for what? A few agonizing weeks so I don’t have to know that loss? Part of me wants to throw in the towel and stop the beating. “No mas, you’ve fought hard enough.” Is it wrong to admit that even the greatest will one day be outmatched by an opponent.

“Hulahoop”, the first offering from Weaves, matches the anger I feel. From the outside, it’s a slinky, ballooned bass jam with yelpy vocals, but when I listen harder, I hear torment and rage. Right now, it’s offering a raised fist in solidarity with the feelings that surge through my veins.


On my iTunes, this rage flows into a soft escape from Donovan Woods and the words, “I was just leaving.” I never actually want to hear those words, but right now, I’d welcome the relief if it gave him some peace.