Ten count.

Here is a debut post from an old friend. For me this is one of those moments where I am hearing music that I literally do not get. At all. There have been far more of these moments since we started blogging and I am now starting to realise that it’s not important if I get it, as long as someone does.

This is Scott. He gets it.

London Bridge station, half past five on a Friday evening. Anything that may be construed as a point of information is surrounded by desperate looking commuters. Every screen displaying the same little line of error code.

The whole system is down and I’ve never seen more genuine panic in peoples eyes.

I have no where to be in a hurry but I can’t help but notice the shift in my own behavior; I’m getting tetchy and find myself beginning to slowly drown in the charade of nonsensical anxiety.

Then shuffle chooses Dancing Blind by Antares for me.

Dancing Blind – Antares

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With its achingly tense intro that always lasts half a second longer than I expect, the first car crash of sound snaps me back into reality. The instant aggression followed swiftly by glorious discordant swells sedates me no end. By the time the song breaks down to a single guitar line two minutes in I’m the Mayor of Calmtown, and as another guitar awkwardly snakes it way around the first I start to feel pity for the folks of London.

This song shouldn’t be mistaken for some back alley brawler swinging wildly in the hope of landing a knock out blow, its the exact opposite. Its the most athletic and adept of all the prize fighters. It knows exactly where every punch is landing and the effect it’ll have on you.

Its so very eloquent with its dissonance that for a brief few minutes I could see the beauty of chaos.


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