"Between you and me/ I'll be singing through my teeth/ and smiling as I go." Damn. That line's not just weird and vivid—and sung in a voice like warm velvet sandpaper. It's got this Lips Together, Teeth Apart thing going on; it triggers an instantaneous, unconscious facial tick. I mean, I'm lip-synching anyway, so why not lock my jaw and erupt into a fit of sing-smiling? No one on the bus can stare directly into my ghastly grin, and that's OK. I know something they don't. At this moment, "1981" feels like the song of the century: fuzz-folky, catchy, heartfelt, grand and utterly mysterious. It demands repeat listenings, and so I know every quirk, every "but oh" transition and every line about angels and electron chains and jealous winds and discreet transmissions. But oh. I have no more clue about what's going on in Arcuragi's head than my fellow passengers on the 47 have about what's going on in mine. The difference is: I've got this song. Listen, people. Get the song.