hozier (2014) being hozier’s debut album is fucking nuts like… take me to church?? from eden?? work song?? like real people do?? it will come back?? foreigner’s god?? cherry wine?? SEDATED?? what the fuck??
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🙃 Regular reminder that while Hozier has amazing love songs, he is ALSO very outspoken about his leftist politics, specifically anti-fascism, anti-racism, reproductive rights, Palestinian rights and more.
Take Me To Church and Foreigner’s God are scathing critiques of organized religion, specifically the Catholic Church and the colonization of Ireland.
Moment’s Silence is about oral sex but it’s ALSO about how that specific sexual act is often distorted to a show of power rather than that of love.
Nina Cried Power is an homage to various (mostly Black) civil rights activists from the US and Ireland and a call to follow their path.
Be criticizes anti-migrant policies and Trump and his ilk.
Jackboot Jump is about the global wave of fascism and about protest and resistance.
Swan Upon Leda is about reproductive rights and the violent colonial oppression of Ireland and Palestine.
Eat Your Young is about the ruinous way the 1%/capitalism and arms dealers prioritize short-term profit over everything else to the detriment of the youth/99%
Butchered Tongue is about Irish and other indigenous languages being suppressed and erased by imperial powers.
If any of the above surprised you, please, please delve deeper into Hozier’s music, you’re missing such an important part of his work.
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it's a little sad that people expect songs to always reflect the lives of the lyricist and not a sign of the lyricist's strong imagination.
you don't know mitski. you don't know hozier. kate bush did not witness a murder of a hammer horror star and take their role as the hunchback of notre dame (it would be fun if she did though)
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"Would you peel an orange for me?"
I would peel a pomegranate for you.
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happy 10th birthday to one the most iconic songs of this century so far
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Gotta say my favorite moment from the Hozier concert was him saying "I almost cracked up at the beginning of that song. There's a person in the front row wearing a shirt that says 'Hozier? I hardly know her!'" and then once the laughter died down, "Now I'm going to lighten the mood a little with a song about hitting an animal with your car"
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“I want to decompose in a bog” well you clearly don’t know the first thing about bogs. poser
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infatuation makes your heart race
love is quiet. love sets you at ease.
and because most of my pieces are mental screenshots of little scenes in my head, here's the scene:
Crowley was tugged into consciousness bit by bit. The afternoon light slowly filtered in, as well as the hum of music from the other room and the weird angle his neck was at. He was warm and content and wanted to sink back into his nap, but the threads of sleep fluttered away the more he tried. Finally, he took a deeper breath, shifting in the armchair, and cracked an eye open just a sliver. There he was, the angel, sitting at his desk. Had hardly noticed Crowley was awake, engulfed in his task of retouching a damaged page. Looking at his hands, Crowley became aware of the fuzzy warmth covering his own and peeked down to see a blanket tucked around his shoulders.
The feeling hit him so hard he let his head loll to the side, eyes closed. His chest tightened and he just…buckled. Finally came undone under the weight of his love for Aziraphale. Its inexorable, steadfast pull which he had been pushing back against for millennia, it had finally caught him off guard, sleepy and vulnerable and so tired from holding back, from refusing to name it. It was a quiet surrender. Crowley looked back at Aziraphale with the understanding of a man meeting his end and embracing it.
Perhaps he could gently pull the blanket to the side and get up. Perhaps he could cross the few steps to the desk and place a freshly made cup of tea to Aziraphale’s right. Perhaps he would hold his gaze, for longer than needed to answer “Don’t mention it”. Perhaps he would ask him if he would like a scone with that. Perhaps Aziraphale would understand that this was not about the scone at all. And yet, what Crowley was asking of him was also exactly about scones. And tea. And quiet afternoons together. Perhaps the angel would finally put down his sword, too, and the world would let out a breath it had been holding for millennia.
the soulmate to this piece, i guess.
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Hozier isn't "cottagecore", there's just a bunch of cottagecore twerps with a weird fetish for Irish people and the media literacy of a sponge who think he's some sort of emo leprechaun and have never understood a single thing he's ever written.
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We lay here for years or for hours
Your hand in my hand, so still and discreet
So long, we'd become the flowers
We'd feed well the land and worry the sheep
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🤍❤️
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