A month ago I wrote about “It Comes and Goes” by Sandy Rogers, saying that no other song I know of better captures a certain kind of apocalyptic ennui. But there is a flipside to the rotgut and fleabags of “It Comes and Goes,” an equal-but-opposite, high-thread-count view of personal endtimes replete with caviar, champagne and kinky sex, all served up in the world’s poshest hotel rooms.
“Titanic Days,” by the late, great Kirsty MacColl, conflates the awesome, crushing power of romantic disaster with the enormity of civilization’s impending doom, and then upends the resulting mess by turning it all into a cause for celebration. I can’t for the life of me guess how this is done, but it gives me a mad rush every time I hear her sing, “My love/Always/We should rejoice/In these Titanic Days!” Kirsty makes it sound like if you’re going to go down anyway, it would be somehow more fun — more fuck-you defiant — to slit your wrists with a diamond-studded, gold razor.
Titanic Days (Kirsty MacColl)