“She looks like summer and walks like rain…” Lines like that are why I want Patrick Monahan, the lead singer of Train to write a song about me. When Patrick (yes, he and I are on a first name basis) writes a song about a woman, it isn’t about how sexy she is or what she looks like when she’s turned on, his songs are about all of the quirky, confusing, mismatched elements that make that particular woman beautiful.
His songs are specific, they’re unique. They’re written by a person who pays attention, a person who appreciates beauty. You hear a song like, “Meet Virginia,” and by the song’s end, you feel like you know that girl. You know that she’s complicated, special, a force of nature and you know that someone loves her.
“She doesn’t own a dress.
Hair is always a mess.
Catch her stealing
and she won’t confess
She’s beautiful.”
You picture a woman with the world at her fingertips; a woman trying to be comfortable in her own skin but one who’s being pulled in too many directions, with too much expected of her. She doesn’t want to be the queen.
The songs that Pat writes are relatable. In “Drops of Jupiter,” you hear about a girl who leaves everything behind to figure herself out. He equates her journey to traveling through the stars, moving through galaxies.
“But tell me, did you sail across the sun?
Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded
And that heaven is overrated?”
“Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star –
One without a permanent scar?
And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?”
Who hasn’t wanted to run away? Run away and find your self, figure yourself out… if only we all had someone like Patrick Monahan waiting for us to return, hoping to still have a place in a heart that’s changed and grown.
“Her Eyes,” another song about a complicated, deep, mess of a woman. A woman that most likely makes the people in her company roll their eyes and shake their heads at her shenanigans and quirkiness. One that people fall in love with without ever really understanding and according to Pat Monahan, in her eyes, no matter what color they are, that is where everything lies and that’s so, so beautiful.
“She’s a little bit manic, completely organic
Doesn’t panic for the most part
She’s old enough to know
And young enough not to say no”
And lastly, “Hey, Soul Sister,” a song that played on the radio so often that reiterating lyrics here is unnecessary. Now, this song isn’t about the specifics of the woman but more about how she makes him feel which is just as important.
I can’t help but hear one of these songs and ponder what someone like Pat Monahan would write about me. Would he talk about my fear of the dark or would he mention how wearing pants or jeans makes me feel constricted and limited? Would he comment on how I only feel sexy when I dance and how I hate high heels? What about my love of hotdogs and trashy romance novels?
These are things that make me decidedly human and so, so flawed. These are also the things that make me unique and dare I say, beautiful. Pat makes songs that celebrate beauty, flaws, individuality. He realizes that quirks are meant to be noted and loved. And he’s right, they should be.
So, love your quirks, your flaws, your complexities, and your shortcomings because those are the things that make you so decidedly beautiful and those are the things that someone is going to fall in love with and, if you’re lucky, write a song about.
All Dressed Up and Nowhere to Go 