
Michael St. Over’s “Crave” Turns Desire Into a Rock-and-Roll Ghost Story
By Nathan Cole There is a moment in almost every durable rock song about desire when the person being sung to stops being a person and becomes something else. A promise. A threat. A memory. A drug. A door that should not be opened and, inevitably, is. Michael St. Over’s “Crave” lives inside that moment. The song does not begin by asking permission. “I was born to love you baby / You were born to drive me crazy” is the kind of line that carries a century of popular-song baggage with it, from blues boasts and jukebox declarations to arena-rock excess and the lonely mythology of the highway. It is obvious and ridiculous and completely sincere, which is often where rock and roll becomes interesting. The point is not whether anyone was actually born for anybody else. The point is that the singer believes it for the length of the song. That belief matters. “Crave” takes one of popular music’s oldest metaphors, love as addiction, and refuses to dress it up as anything more respectable. Desire here is not elegant. It is not therapeutic. It is not emotionally optimized. It is hunger stripped of manners. The central line, “Your love’s

















