Preview of ‘Black Licorice’ by Julienne Dweck, out on 19th October

This is akin to fulfilment, how some other song reveals her song on a specific. I love, I recline into the armchair that always has a blanket on it for some reason and figuratively sip into an evening ale accompanied with a Gauloises cig, salty quantum possibility swerve – what I wake up calling some concept that I’ve slept on. Ah, forget it, anyway, this album, the songs:!

Conviction. And openness. How a song can sound like conviction and openness? ? = Julienne Dweck, her album coming out on 16th October. Waking-up-and-knowing-what-to-do emotions pour against, draw against each other in these two preview songs that are available to listen as the first two tracks of the aforementioned album. In this case, I woke up, opened the e-mail, and had it playing loudly on a whim whilst I brushed my teeth. 8 hours later, and although my eyes are now heavying a little because I’ve been walking around breathing in falling young children park leaves playing through that old newly air, these durations of Dream of You and If Only are keeping something making sense, cosy-ing up to, an eclipse of something social nothing something to be cool with, traversing through minor-episodes / memory with this undercurrent of unquestionable person behind the songs, emotions behind the songs –

traversing through melodies with these lyrics that do more than to pass you by because they’re so solid and honest, universally there, open with conviction – without denying but rather realising the backdrops she has swayingly painted around .. aforementioned .. lyrics – reverb up and sometimes dissonant / distant, suitably daydreams, and sometimes somewhat not always unlike a little haunting / jaunting / surprising and “it feels so surreal” to boot . She got it, -ah-, course she got it:!

*19th October album release and a New York gig on 17th, ye loyal consumers of genuine things that make a sound who are perhaps from new york

hi: don’t hover, do click

attic noise – how to never stop being sad (dandelion hands cover)
Jonny Hill – Fractured Narratives
lee (asano+ryuhei) – ima
elizabeth veldon – a map of privilege/ a map of pain


you’ve washed up it’s okay, settle in settle in, some things have changed yes, yes, no, no yes they’ve gone unfortunately, it’s just me, but that’s okay, right? okay, right, take a deep breathe, a pause, a pau–se, , , I don’t know where they’ve gone, but I can tell you where, I can tell you who hasn’t gone, no give it a chance, ok don’t give it a chance, just let me speak. sit, click, listen. this world you’ve washed up in it’s overall more potentially great than the world from which you came , look, here, we have elizabeth, she’s almost up to the four hundred mark, she’s real, one of her four hundred is the one you see at the bottom, called a map of privilege / a map of pain – it’ll ease you into the first phase of sleep, I hope you sleep – settle into a world where music is that young handsome man who emotionally monologues about his innermost emotions to the mumbling sound of his guitar and records it, and then gets covered, the cover? that’s the sky, if you click, you will find your thoughts replaced by this guy who just like a legend talks onto a sound, it’s somehow powerful, but enough about powerful, we still have superhits like lee (asano+ryuhei)  – go no further – this world is one big busy – you? asleep? ok. the one with the words: fractured narrative: the more times you listen, the more you know you’re completely alive through your ears? the more you know that all that this might come down to is a live gig exhibition in Milton Keynes for which that music may have been made, the only thing that really matters is that is that it doesn’t really matter if you’re already half-asleep wholly peacefully half-asleep, click, click, click ok, bye-bye

Eef, with some covers for october

There are hardly any new male singer-songwriters these days. Perhaps loads are getting released, not many if any are getting through

Eef Barzelay is an exception, here is a sing-songer that still seems to sing songs to a guitar as if it hadn’t been done before. I know this to be true because the most recent release that’s got through is a cover album. I don’t think in the good end of 5 years has this blog ever posted a cover song, perhaps 1 or 2 in the earlier days of the decade. So things are perhaps more strange than usual, covers and all, but that’s okay, Eef is okay, he’s got your back as you press play and stare at the ceiling, well covered, contented. His songs are contented I guess – a big grinning voice, a sadness at the edges I guess, his album “Girls Come First” helped kill me for a while – poor happy listener for a singer so rich in the kind of tangible tactile social capital that a strong voice can never be denied if it resonates the right way, if it gets through. Somehow different, indifferent like the sound of a wise trunk of feeling, standing out in an opaquely breathing forest of not much but beauty right now, accidentally catch your attention, that’s what the new few new singer-songers are doing.

If you don’t believe me, believe the fans who suggested the songs for Eef to cover to compile his album of Fan Chosen Covers 4, the fourth instalment of what must be the sign / signal of someone you might really like soon if you listen up a little.

Hipster Folk Revival!

Another soul just got a little saved and well-distracted by its discovery of Sandy Denny. So we’re talking 1970s, that myth of time, where it seems there was some sort of revolution in music fanaticism and the actual listenership partly turned away from the many modernisations of popular gospel and attended more towards the only thing that still held existential substance: the folk music. It’s astonishing, finding repose and a final -peace- in company of these singers like Shirley Collins singing very old songs, recommended merely exclusively by to 90s-born like me. It’s astonishing to have a perspective on the folk revival in 2015, it’s beyond comprehension how exactly we are to make sense of ‘revival’ as it was experienced in the 1970’s trending hash tags of a connection that controversially turned electric, uncontroversially accepted.

So we’re talking Sandy Denny and this song that may have changed your life, now:

I’ve always been one for honesties, so I shall admit that this is a 7 hour impulsive moment I want to share, and a moment in which I want to discover a lot lot more about the 1970s and folk rock music, I want to find people who lived through an interesting thought and I want to know what made it tick, I don’t want to know facts, I just want to feel like they felt because I think maybe I’m feeling something similar right now. I want to find the people who know why Fairport Convention were one of the most influential British bands of the 60s. The only music genre that makes sense in hipster-discussion anymore is Folk, the only genre that I am sincere with until the end, I am not at all insecure about vaguely saying Folk, it’s an unwavering category and I recognise it’s the word that we use to describe so much of everything that sounds even slightly traditional or instrumental or lyrical, whatever the culture or language or people from which -it- is derived..

This was a meditation that someone did, sound-doodling all the while with that hug of a chorus of It’ll Take A Long Time . A sensible follow-up was checking wikipedia on Sandy Denny and confirming that that she was (1947-1978) alive and this reminds you how time flies and ends and 1970s.

The following counts as a review because its audience are people who want to experience some kind of review on music, the holistic etymology of review supports this, reviews make you want to listen to the song again (and stop attending to the review), and reviews isolate any examples and sentiments contained within the song, highlighting them and/or mediating and/or juxtaposing them.

# (Time, Long, Folk, Revival, Sandy Denny)

Pega Monstro Right Now And Aspiring To Describe

The first of the last two songs on their newest album sound like the soundscape of your headspace when you transfix upon a band whose members are so engrossed in their instruments that they actually accumulate you, they play you hard like they strum and hit drums hard and fast, unlike you would imagine if you tried, you just watch, stop abstracting, their sound hits you in that gullet you washed up in and around before you stayed still – the sister’s vocals are the sisters vocalising a kind of visceral fist, unclenching in the other hand, the guitar chords are acquainted with, that’s all you need, that’s all you’ll ever know, the sisters’ vocals are awry alive and really filling your throat with something feeling as our mouths opened a little, gazing while they gaze the other way, engrossed all over again; the first of the last two songs on their newest album is the heaving sanctuary of sounding a daze of a sole thing taken care of gently rocking, securely softening and transfixed, I get the language at last.
If the first song of the last two songs on this album sculpt the sense of how we felt so coaxed and dazed in opposition to this band’s perpetual dance-hard rock sound, then let the second song be some kind of online transcription of what the latter actually sounded like – of what the actual fuck, some aural stimulation by way of protruding ideas to just lose it all, stop pretending, stop reading into the fact that the gig was great and it did great things and need more be said?

Said like a true inconsequence, nothing ends well except this album right now and right now again, everything ends well like this album right now and right now again –

go head see Pega Monstro for y’selves, get blown away and write your memory around it like right now again –

Rose, and who are you?

I’ve had this song in my pocket full of seeds for a few now, one of those songs that points out to me the fact that -here I am- and it’s great because it has this staccato poke going on as if the song is poking me (as opposed to prodding me): here. I. am. like a beak pecking at me underneath an adorable bird’s expression. eep! eep! And I’m a heron nodding to the song

Or alternatively like the photo sieves through a though^t, like two firm shoes-that-know-what-shoes-are shoes kicking (as opposed to touching) to the toes of each other, another staccato thought process assuring me here. I. am. like your friend’s children clapping in your ears beside the big roaring sea. And you’re the waving clapping before the feet get covered

Most likely sometimes like the space bar over and over hitting down (as opposed to pressed) every other second – the rhythm of an essay being written, of an assignment being gulped to be later -click!- here. I. am. And I’m still typing, each space is an assertion, dance to all the self-explanatory life, think later, reflect later, later later later later.

-Later- perpetually through the breath of how she sings the ending of “rose”, prolonged, more delay; the convention congruence confrontation between those staccato kids clips clops space bars heron beaks of imminent attention there (t)here t. t. t. turns to words like remembering -> remembring, who knew remembering could sound so short like a flicker, sing you’ll miss it &&&&& the delayed, sustained notes where her voice leaves a little longer over the others, every three units of time, a recollection, wow! Here I aaaam! I suppoose, yes I caan – > it’s all developing slowly from the immaterial indeterminate of a pronoun or a verb towards a little blue for a little bit before the rose vs. remembering, rose vs. remembering, rose vs. remembering.

Space bars of appreciation for this:

Music that is composed for a performance of The World is Round by Gertrude Stein, in Baltimore.

the artist behind it is Flock of Dimes (Jenn Wasner)

so check check check!

ty, george