Boston has always held a special place in my heart. It’s one of the cities where a first kiss gets remembered more for the place than the person. This one was at a student bookstore in the square, and I even remember I was buying a copy of Rimbaud’s A Season in Hell, because that was the kind of life I was having back then. I don’t remember the person at all, but I do remember it was our first kiss, and it was probably our last. It doesn’t matter all that much. Today, I’m just thrilled to be heading back to that city where I spent three of my most decadent years. This time, the nihilism is well in check and I’ve also got tickets to a special show.

I found a site with excellent lodgings, and a nice price so I’ll be able to enjoy some of the town, too. But I’m really mostly thrilled about seeing El Perro del Mar. She’s performing at the YMCA in February, and this is going to be a remarkable tour. I don’t know if this night will be better than any others, but the combination is one I can’t turn away from. Her voice haunts me just like it does for so many of her fans, and there’s a certain mystery about Boston, for me, that feels eerily similar to the mystery I sense when I’ve been listening to her for an hour.

She’s a Swedish singer named Sarah Assbring, and Perro del Mar is the name she uses for her project. The name means Seadog, and there’s a certain ineffable quality to that which also adds to the mystery. Her music is called lo-fi twee pop, and does have some correspondences with contemporary French pop, but the influence from Lou Reed brings it all together. She says that her love life was uninspiring, but his Heavenly Arms sparked something that she could agree with. The result is a very spare sound that is full of quiet power, offering an enormous potency to the idea of a night close to the sea when the fog is coming in.