It’s a pretty easy drive from Charlotte to Pittsburgh when you’re listening to the best music you’ve ever heard. The hardest part was saying goodbye to Jodi, maybe forever. It was uncharacteristically cold as I headed north on I-77, out of the placid arms of Carolina. I was hell-bent on becoming acquainted with the rest of my life, but I was driving away from the girl I wanted to spend it with.

For the next seven hours, I listened to only two songs. When I arrived in Pittsburgh, I put them both away and I haven’t revisited either since. Here’s why.

Only a song can bring back somebody’s pulse once it’s gone. It takes you as you are and lets you be exactly who you need to be, but then sometimes the songs we live inside are the same ones that throw grenades over our walls when we start to feel too bulletproof. It’s something both telling and eternal: a good song is timeless. A great one allows you to grow, and in return, the song grows within you. These two songs—these loving, fostering, growing songs—offered fertile ground for a great love to happen. In the end, it was their bittersweet charm that had me pinned against a wall with their hands around my throat. They don’t ask for an explanation. They don’t offer one, either. True, Jodi and I may have folded in the face of February’s finest bluff, but it was the songs that disappointed me. Their unconditional love was far too honest to handle. And the one person that could make it all better was the one I left in Charlotte.

In 1998, Counting Crows released the double-live album Across a Wire: Live in New York. Over two separate nights in the sleepless city, the Crows performed (and recorded) two concerts: one for MTV’s Live From The 10 Spot, the other for VH1’s Storytellers. Both performances are transcendent, especially when you’re 452 miles away from a clock that works and your heart, frostbitten, won’t let you feel anything, not even pain.

The last song on the 10 Spot disc is “Walkaways,” an unimposing 64-second nod to a dynamic relationship that—for whatever reason—had to end. Originally released on the Crows’ sophomore album, Recovering the Satellites, it provides twenty bars of space for a great love to be laid quietly to rest. It was a perfect way to end the night; it was also a song that made heading north seem tolerable.

I had heard “Walkaways” hundreds of (thousands of) millions of times before. Every time I did, it surprised me—like the reflection that scares you when you walk past a mirror you didn’t know was there. I never really knew what the song actually felt like, though, until I heard it that morning in my car and the world went silent. In my head, over and over, a restless conversation trapped inside the walls of a song. It’s a funny thing about Adam Duritz: when he sings the lyric, Someday, I’m gonna stay, you almost believe him.

I didn’t sing along. I just listened.

* * *

It’s almost April now in western Pennsylvania. It’s a time I’ve grown to love, because it seems we’re all on fire for something. This year, though, I’ll be facing my first spring without Joe Purdy’s “Julie Blue,” the second of the two songs I retired after my drive from Charlotte. Like “Walkaways,” it’s a perfectly bittersweet song to sing to yourself once all the sad ones in the jukebox have taken your money and the bartender has made last call. At forty-five seconds long, suffice to say it won’t hinder your late-night Taco Bell run, either.

Purdy’s voice, whiskey-drenched and tired, is something not easily forgotten, especially in the company of a weathered acoustic guitar. For three hours and fifty-one minutes, from the southern tip of West Virginia to the open mouth of Pennsylvania, I listened to the saddest song ever written:

River girl, she took me in.
I became her new best friend.
She would laugh as she filled my glass of wine.

I’m singing’ goodbye, River, I’ll see you some time.

It was then that I began to see the trend: the idea that there will always be “some day.”

For four and a half years, the thing Jodi and I did best was use the word “someday.” It was a Get Out of Jail Free card, of sorts, because it was always the easiest thing to say.

“Someday, when we’re rich…”

“Someday, when we’re married…”

Someday this, some day that. It was always “someday.”

Well, someday never came. Didn’t call. Didn’t write. Just never showed up. Maybe someday there will be a place for “someday,” but not today.

Coincidentally (or maybe not), I drove away from Jodi with two unforgettable songs, songs I love and no longer listen to. Written by very different writers, they’re both infinitely lonely, each occupying a miniscule corner of this big blue earth. They’re less than two minutes of playing time that echo this sentiment of “someday” as loud as any songs ever did.

In life, in love, in music, the good ones go so fast.

Wondering what We Are Scientists have been up to since their 2005 breakthrough With Love and Squalor? Well, what once was a trio is now a duo consisting of guitarist/vocalist Keith Murray and bassist/vocalist Chris Cain, with support from a touring drummer and keyboardist. They’ve got a new record, too, called Brain Thrust Mastery, and the second leg of their American U.S. America Tour kicks off next week.

If we had a time machine set to 1991, Keith Murray could give Ian Svenonius some stiff competition for that Sassiest Boy in America title. He talked with Bryan from his home base in Brooklyn.

Bryan/Ruined Music: So the website is called Ruined Music, and what we do is share stories of songs that people can’t listen to any more because of a breakup or bad experience. Do you have any songs that have been ruined?

Keith Murray/We Are Scientists: My immediate reaction, given the example you gave, is that I have an opposite story of that. Belle and Sebastian were officially ruined for me before I even heard a note of their music. I had a series of girlfriends who loved Belle and Sebastian and had connections over Belle and Sebastian with other dudes. Not necessarily boyfriends, but guys who really loved Belle and Sebastian. So just the name Belle and Sebastian began grating on me.

B: I actually had the exact same thing.

KM: I think it’s the Belle and Sebastian mode, they try and match up girls and guys and then ruin everybody else’s life. And eventually I heard Belle and Sebastian and it’s so ridiculously twee and saccharine that you sort of want to hate them anyway, so I was getting all these good reasons to hate them. Then somehow over the past five years – well, Belle and Sebastian have started getting tricky and don’t always sound like themselves. I remember when I heard that song “Your Cover’s Blown” - it doesn’t sound like the archetypal Belle and Sebastian song. I said “Who is this? It’s pretty good,” and somebody told me it’s Belle and Sebastian, and of course I flew into a rage. But they’ve been chipping away at me in the past few years. I definitely wouldn’t say I’m a fan, but my loathing has subsided.

B: So you can tolerate them.

KM: Yeah, though that may not be due in any way to Belle and Sebastian’s quality, it may just be that I’m no longer in contact with those girls. I’m over those girls! So you know what, it’s clear between Belle and Sebastian and me.

B: Good. So there won’t be any fights if you run into them.

KM: I don’t think so. I can be irrational.

B: Have you ever ruined a song for someone, either personally, or maybe one of your own songs at a show or anything?

KM: Back in 2001 Chris, our bass player, and I moved from Los Angeles to New York City. I’d been dating a girl then, and I wrote a song after moving from LA to New York that was about moving, and it nonspecifically talked about the difficulty of the move but adapting to it and getting over it - it was vaguely worded, now that I look back at it. And Chris’s ex-girlfriend told my ex-girlfriend that it was specifically about getting over her immediately, having moved. I didn’t find this out for years and apparently she had been furious at me. I talked to her a couple years ago and she mentioned how much she hated me after that. Chris’s ex-girlfriend has gotten a real talking to. I had also, as a gift, given this girl a bunch of cds, like many many cds, which she threw away out of hatred for me. So I ruined a lot of good music for her!

B: Maybe you should give me her email address. That’s a pretty good story.

KM: And I had no idea any of this ever happened until about a year ago.

B: Was this a song that ended up being a We Are Scientists song?

KM: No, it was an old pre-public We Are Scientists song.

B: One last question: we have a feature on the site called the Random Cat, so when we interview bands we ask a random cat question. From your last album cover, I know you guys like cats, but now…

KM: You’re jumping to some conclusions. You know that we’ve been around cats.

B: True, you might have been strangling them. You could have been trying to hurt them. But with the new video you have with the dog, I’m wondering if you favor dogs now.

KM: This has definitely been the source for some tremendous debate. I’d say Chris is a cat man, Chris has two cats, though to be fair they were his girlfriend’s before he moved in. It’s not like he went out and got two cats. I’m more of a dog man. This album is me balancing out the power dynamic.

B: A lot of people got the same impression that I got - this band must love cats.

KM: I hate cats. No, I don’t feel that way, I think cats are funny on the cover of an album. That’s something I will say for cats.

B: Well, the album cover worked for me - not that it’s the selling point, but that was definitely good for an album cover.

KM: Let’s be honest. Nobody is gonna buy an album with our faces on the cover. Put some good-looking cats up there and you’ve got a major seller. It doesn’t have to be the selling point, but it’s a selling point. It’s all about the aggregate selling points. Eventually somebody’s gonna buy it, if you give them enough reasons to buy it. Whether it’s the songs or the cats, they’re gonna buy that record eventually.

B: Maybe it was an even split. But you didn’t need any cats this time.

KM: No. Confidence abounds this time.

Balancing the power dynamic with a dog.