As I sit writing this post, I remind myself that this has been a long time coming.
As slight changes emerge within my day to day life both with this site, new silly ventures, and PhD and work life, I remind myself that all of this has been a long time coming. As I finish off with Hayden Calnin’s masterpiece of a track ‘Cut Love’, I steady myself. Feet firmly on the floor and the words flowing steadily from my hands, appearing on the screen in front of me.
All of this. Everything leading up to this very point in time.
As I sit with old favourites like Arthur Wimble, LANKS, and Ciggie Witch, I mark out my territory. And as I sit and be floored again by Marcus Whale, Luke Howard, and LUCIANBLOMKAMP, I wipe away those old tears. And then with those new infatuations – Alice Ivy, Isabel, and the almighty Dogood, I slowly fall back into a feeling of warmth and knowing and remind myself.
This has been a long time coming.
For some time now I’ve made it a habit to talk around the music. This was how you write. The story on Catalyst the other night about music being used to elicit memories for people living with dementia as they sit, still in those old people’s homes I became convinced that fuck it. What’s the point. If music can do that then it’s indescribable. You’re always going to do it a disservice.
But then I read those others who also do music writing. Those others who write about the music itself. None of it’s perfect, but that’s the fuckin’ beauty of it. This game is about getting close, slowly scraping away at the surface and finding some through line, no matter how long/short/narrow/wide and having that one person sit back and think, ‘fuck, that’s it. that’s what I hear.’
As I start afresh, I see that I’m here. This is where I was heading.
I was going to begin this month’s with some long winded metaphorical ramble about names and hey, what’s in a name you know?
Big statements make us take notice. That immediate impact, no matter what, can be pretty hard to forget. Statements that are distinctive in their voice, in their makeup, hey even in their words.
It looks like a scene from The Great Gatsby out my window – a low lit swimming pool with young, attractive people, cavorting around, champagne in hand. They’re making impacts. Drunk, flirtatious immediate impacts. You’ll see what’s underneath those pert bods soon, the distinct beings that they are. But for now, those quick smacks in the face’ll do you.
A tape, full of everything, all marked and unmistakable in what they’re conveying. All for you. And please try the download – you won’t regret it (ha mate, hopefully).
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