The New Pornographers: Sing Me Spanish Techno As I Walk Through Streets Of Fire

With The New Pornographers I have the albums Mass Romantic, Twin Cinema, and Electric Version, but I must say that I am quite partial to Twin Cinema over the other two (if you can't get it from the title my two favorite songs of theirs are "Sing Me Spanish Techno" and "Streets of Fire"). I'm kind of stuck on where to place these guys through way of the mood situation. 

What I'm kind of feeling, I'm kind of unsure of, because most of what I say by way of creating mood for music is based of personal experience and trial (like when I say Camera Obscura is good for the shower, it's because I've listened to it in the shower and a whole lot of other places . . . but I get the optimal feeling from it when in the shower . . . it just you know, connects). However, I've not actually tried or experienced what I'm feeling now . . . I'm just feeling that this is what I would do if possible. But anyways here it goes . . . the sitsu:

It's about 7:00, and you're going out for a night on the town with this wonderful guy (this situation is better suited if you're a female) and you're liked expecting this night to be totally cool, you know cause you've been out in the past and it was like . . . awesome, total connection, you know. So you're going to meet up at the cafe down the street and then go out for one of those dusk lit picnics in the quaint garden/park across the way. Obviously it's May or late April . . . still spring, but it feels like everything's on the brink of summer, but not quite yet because you still have to wear a light jacket for the cool nighttime. Anyways, you're at the cafe to meet up. You've been waiting for 20 minutes . . . you wait some more . . . then 30 minutes into your wait, you see a familiar someone walking along the street carrying the same basket he wooed you with on a previous date, except now on his other arm some other totty is chatting is up. You've been a) stood up and forgotten about, b) tossed aside for this complete lesser version of yourself, and c) totally hungry because you wanted to save some space in your tummy for that nasty food he always packs on the picnics anyways. Completely bashed, you walk back saddened and disheartened to your flat back down the street. Go up the flights of stairs; unlock the door. Throw down your jacket, purse . . . grab an apple from the bowl on the table . . . switch on the sound system . . . put on your headphones . . . crank up the volume . . . and listen to some New Pornographers. Now, everything is better. 

Wasn't that, like, completely picturesque. Don't you wish it had happened to you so, I don't know, you could actually know what the experience feels like and know if The New Pornographers actually does turn your frown upside down. Wow, that was a lame thing to say. Whatever.