We start out with Mat sitting in what might be his house, watching a clock on the wall and wearing his trademark hat and tie that oddly remind me of that one guy in Flashdance who had to move away from Jennifer Beals and her warehouse apartment. Right at 3 o’clock, Mat picks up an outdated but trendy-again red phone, punches in a number, gets some woman’s answering machine, and then proceeds to leave this entire song as a message.
I know, right? Way cool. My friends have never done that for me. They now officially suck.
Anyway, Mat’s singing, and we start getting shots of this woman wearing a sweater and looking kind of blue about something as she wanders around somewhere. It might be the woman who really should answer her phone more often, but we don’t know. Then we get scenes of the other band members answering their own phones and starting to play their instruments. Again with the cool, and yet another confirmation that my own life is pretty drab and boring.
We check in on Wandering Woman, and she’s now getting in an old-school car, where she proceeds to sit behind the wheel and cry. Did she forget how these things work? Poor thing. Maybe she’s just not good with technology. Oh wait, she finally gets the car going and drives down the road, still crying, so perhaps she should speak with a pharmacist about a nice regimen of pills.
Now we have a montage of the Tear-Drenched Woman tooling around in her boat car, mixed with scenes of the band doing their nifty musical conference call and Mat warbling into the phone. (We’re already starting to run out of interesting angles to show Mat doing this, so hopefully they’ll jazz it up here in a bit.) Sad Woman just keeps driving, at one point apparently barreling over some train tracks without bothering to look, so she’s probably not going to win any safety awards.
This montage goes on for a while, which is fine, because the song is quite lovely, with the vocals alone helping us get past things like the lack of special effects and an actual plotline. Eventually the Reckless Woman and her block-long car pull up at some house, and we’ll assume that it’s hers since she has keys that magically open the front door. Inside, it’s dark and gloomy, which is the first thing we need to fix if she’s ever going to be happy again and stop wearing oversized sweaters that are unattractive and fashion-repellant.
Oh look, she just hit a button on her ancient answering machine, and she starts smiling, because at least she has musical friends even if they won’t come over and sing to her in person. She and her unavoidable sweater sit down and listen for a bit, which cues another montage of the band members doing the home-school jam session, then we cut to Mat jumping in his own car, which is also from back in the day, so either the people in this town love them some vintage or they are really, really poor.
Mat and his hat drive for a while, passing some telephone poles that look suspiciously familiar, as Sweater Woman rests her head on the table while still listening to her message, so she might have some vitamin deficiencies that need attention. Mat pulls up outside a house and then just stares at the front door. It might be Anemic Woman’s dwelling, but nobody bothers to clarify anything, in that murky way that music videos have of skipping over things like continuity and plot resolution.
Then everybody hangs up all their phones and the video ends. No word on the fate of the sweater.
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