a brand-new sun, it should actually be: We welcome a brand-new SON. Think about it.
Walker wrote:
That makes no sense. The whole song is about the sun. The line before is: With the rising dawn. Rotation is about the earth turning, right? A new day is the sunrise. So, sun makes the most sense.
Di$a$ter wrote:
Are you stupid? The word generation is a dead giveaway that he’s referring to his progeny here.
Walker wrote:
In the next stanza, which I’m transcribing now, he goes on to talk about the afternoon, etc. Why would he be talking about the course of the sun in the afternoon if he’s talking about his kid?
Gropeland wrote:
You’re in denial, Walker. This entire album is Adam’s meditation on what it means to have a kid. Have you ever had a kid? You start to think about your own place in the universe, your own parents, your own mortality. Obviously, afternoon refers to what stage of life Adam is at. The title of the song, “New Dawn” has to do with a beginning. What’s beginning? He’s starting a family. You are aware of symbolism?
Pumpkin39 wrote:
Guys, don’t be jerks, okay. Did it occur to you you can both be right? That’s the beauty of art. If you want to read more into it, you’re free to do that. Only Adam knows for sure, so let’s keep the discussion civil.
Chapter Six
When I arrived at the townhouse, Jo threw open the door but immediately ran upstairs, yelling, “Sorry, I’ve got to finish this. Come up.”
For some reason, this welcome made me feel more at home than if she’d ushered me in with a polite greeting. The apartment was quiet and rather dark, like nobody had been home all day. I looked around for signs Micah was around somewhere before climbing the stairs to find Jo sitting in the guest room at the computer.
I sat on the edge of the bed while she clicked a picture and started typing, cursed, deleted, and typed again.
“Ah! I have to tag all these pictures before we go. Are you ready?”
“Where are we going?”
“Cookout. You should change into something more comfortable.”
I scooted onto the floor and opened my suitcase, wondering if I should reveal the depths of my fandom in the form of a Walking Disaster T-shirt or wear one of my nice for-work knit shirts.
Jo kept her eyes trained on her screen. “How was work today?”
“Interesting.” I pulled out a pair of jeans. Nothing controversial there. “I met Gabriel Sanchez.”
I watched her from the corner of my eye and swore her hand froze on the mouse for an instant. She blinked and continued to work. “Oh, yeah? What did you think of our local Lothario?”
“Lothario?”
With a flourish, she exited the program she’d been working in. Her attention freed, she lavished it on me, changing her position to face me with a knowing look. “There’s no way he didn’t hit on you.”
I laughed. “How’d you know?”
She shook her head gently. “You’re too pretty to have passed by him unmolested.”
Her choice of words made me grimace. “Ew.”
“He’s mostly harmless.” She snickered. “Except with his pen.”
“Pity. He’s kind of cute.”
“To be fair, I hold a slight grudge against him on Micah’s behalf.” Her forehead wrinkled. “You should have seen the steaming pile of dog doo he flung at Micah’s band last month.”
Actually, I had.
“But you wouldn’t believe the vitriol his fans came back with.”
No, I would.
“I’m sure you don’t care about all this foolishness.”
Oh, yes, I did.
I’d read the particularly brutal review he’d written about Micah’s last album. “You’d think he’d be a little nicer considering you work there. Did you claw his eyes out?”
“I leave that to his fans.” She covered her mouth as if to hold in a cackle. “They get under his skin.”
Interesting. “He gets upset when fans retaliate?”
“He gets insulted. Like his opinion is final.”
How obnoxious. “Doesn’t he just write worse reviews?”
She leaned in. “Gabe’s an ass, but he thinks he’s objective.”
Her glee over the fan support made me instantly regret having squelched the revolt. Maybe they were right and I was wrong. A little fan pressure might make Gabriel Sanchez think twice about writing a shitty review.
I mulled this over while deciding between a navy blue short-sleeved V-neck sweater and a white silk button-up blouse, neither appropriate for a cookout. But neither had the name of a band plastered across them.
“Do you want to borrow something?”
I held up my wardrobe choices. “I have jeans, but my shirts are either too dressy or too .