Presuming Saturday kicks off the End of Times, we're going to need some tunes.
Monday's metro column is inspired by two events, another birthday and the Rapture.
The birthday came Thursday. The End is scheduled to begin Saturday, with bells on.
The earth will cleave, the righteous dead will rise along with 200 million Christians who have lived right, and the rest of us will talk among ourselves, as we're picked off like super-heated teens in a one-star movie.
Cue Hellfire. Send in the snakes. Release the giant lizards. Summon the telemarketers.
Here's a good primer from Salon on why all things might pass. On a separate browser, you might want to fire up a little musical accompaniment:
Scythian Empires, by Andrew Bird starts the soundtrack, a soothing narrator announging, "Five day forecast bring black tall rains and hellfire."
End Times, the Eels comes next, the crazy guy with the matted beard, standing on the corner, shouting "end times are here," but nobody notices.
The End of the World, Skeeter Davis, moves into a more personal realm. The world is ending, because she's lost her father. "Why does my heart go on beating?" she asks, against a bed of strings. The link is from a 1965 performance. Now that's a 'do.
I Guess I Wasn't Made for These Times, The Beach Boys. Brian Wilson, in his room, pines, "I keep looking for a place to fit in. Where I can speak my mind. I've been trying hard to find the people that I won't leave behind."
End in Flames, Strand of Oaks. Must be a dream, this fine Wilkes-Barre-born band sings."She's kissing men in her room. ... This is what it feels like. To see the world end in flames."
Mad World, Gary Jules. The dreams darkens further, "no tomorrow, no tomorrow." And no tears for fears. But he finds it kind of funny.
Sign O' The Times, Prince. Nothing funny here. Aids, killer hurricanes, mamas killing babies they can't afford to feed. Time. Time.
It's the End of the World As We Know it (And I Feel Fine) R.E.M. Starts with an earthquake, birds and snakes, an aeroplane ... It's an obvious choice, but sometimes cliches speak the truth.
Rockin' In the Free World, Neil Young and Crazy Horse. Starting to get ugly. "People shufflin' their feet. People sleepin' in their shoes. But there's a warnin' sign on the road ahead" Mom's shooting up. Tanks in the streets. Electronic trash dumps.
Where Have All The Good Times Gone, The Kinks. Chosen for the chorus, Ray Davies, looking back, wondering if he'd done wrong, asking, "Won't you tell me ..." Pining for the way it was. Let it be like yesterday.
Dead Set On Destruction, Husker Du. The engine room is filling smoke, but the door is locked. "Well I'm standing in the queue. And I can't stand anymore missing you. And I, I can't stand the pain. And I can't get home 'cause of a hurricane.
The Sound of Music, Joy Division. The sound of the apocalypse. Native drums growing insistent, a howling the woods, jagged guitars riding the nerves.
Welcome to the Jungle, Guns N Roses. We've done it now. The world gives the mic to Axel Rose. "Welcome to the jungle it gets worse here everyday. You learn to live like an animal in the jungle where we play."
Some real toe-tappers. Play them loud. While you can.