Sometimes, three songs surface at once, tangled in the same corner of memory. That happened today. It started with a strange craving to hear Desert Rose again—the haunting duet between Sting and Cheb Mami that always feels like it’s playing in a half-remembered dream. The other two songs sprang from that as I listened.
There is kind of a theme here. On the surface it seems to be one of color, but if we dive in it’s a bit more ephemeral. Like a… well, as I wrote above, a half-remembered dream.
Let’s dive in. And as always, thanks to @ablaze for making this series. Lots of people participate in it—follow the tag to discover a ton of good music recommendations.
Desert Rose – Sting (ft. Cheb Mami)
This song has always stood out in Sting’s catalog. Part yearning ballad, part electronic mysticism, it features Algerian rai singer Cheb Mami singing in Arabic over a bed of synths, strings, and subtle dance beats. Sting’s English vocals act as the anchor, while Cheb Mami’s parts lift the song into something like prayer.
It’s a rare case of real musical fusion that doesn’t feel like genre tourism. Both voices hold equal weight—neither is an exotic flourish. And that yearning in the chorus feels less like romantic cliché and more like something ancient and unknowable.
Blue (Da Ba Dee) – Eiffel 65
I know, I know. Hear me out! It’s easy to dismiss this as just another late-‘90s Eurodance novelty. But behind the bouncy beat and repetitive lyrics lies something else. The guy is literally saying he lives in a blue world where everything he sees is blue: his house, his car, his girlfriend. Even his Corvette.
It’s absurd. Kind of sad. Weird. Odd. I don’t remember where I first heard this song. It might have been at a university party. I don’t think I had moved to Japan yet, but it could have been at a club in Sakae. Not sure. Anyway, something about the rhythm of the song hooked it into my brain, and it resurfaces occasionally.
Underneath the surface-level goofiness, there’s a dystopian loneliness. Autotune had just begun to reshape pop vocals, and here it becomes a robotic mask for alienation. You’re dancing, but you’re also a little unsettled. And maybe that’s why the song still pops up on playlists decades later.
Blue – The Seatbelts (feat. Mai Yamane)
This is the closing track to Cowboy Bebop, and if you’ve never seen the show, I’m not sure I can explain how much emotional weight this song carries.
The arrangement is spare: distant vocals, harmonies like ghosts, a guitar that sounds like it’s echoing across a canyon. Mai Yamane’s voice floats through it all with a tone that’s equal parts sorrow and surrender.
It’s not really a jazz piece like much of the show’s soundtrack. It’s more like a prayer — or maybe a goodbye.
When I hear this after Desert Rose and Blue (Da Ba Dee), it doesn’t feel like an ending. It feels like slipping into a different plane of feeling.
Ny the way, when you think it ended abruptly, wait a minute — it’s not finished yet.
What ties these together? Maybe it’s the blue mood. Maybe it’s the way each track plays with language and tone, sliding between emotional clarity and something more dreamlike. Or maybe it’s just how music like this lets you float, detached but aware, for a few minutes at a time.
So here’s my trio: one desert mirage, one techno dream, one sky-colored goodbye.
Your turn. What songs would you add to this dream-state playlist?
