The Blacklist

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Running a blog means that your listening habits are pretty erratic to say the least. Chillwave comes and goes, Chillstep does the same, hip-hop indie covers make up your entire diet for a month or two before subsiding a bit.

Regardless of fads and fancies, there are will always be a bench of regulars for you to call on at any time if you need a musical comfort zone. For me it roughly entails the album All Mod Cons by The Jam, Boxer by The National, a compilation of folkish beauties my friend Claudia made for me, The Last Waltz by The Band, a lot of Dylan, The Dirtbombs  and 2 more recent additions in the form of Germany Germany and Eastern Conference Champions.

I don’t know if they are actually top 6 collections of music but they are all up there and I have worn each of them in with relentless plays over the years. But the comfort zone has also changed, albums have not stuck around. Albums which were seminal for me at some point but which I haven’t touched for a while now, usually because they were a soundtrack to something or someone which is now not a lot of fun to reminisce about.

The classics example is Yeah So by Slow Club, a lyric form which gives this blog its name. I saw them play less than 24hrs after coming home from a 6 month trip. The few weeks after that I was a complete wreck and struggling to really enjoy what was going on at home. Then a girl came along in the form of someone who I had always completely been head over heels for. About a year of on-and-offing later things got messy, people got hurt bah blah blah, standard stuff. All the while Slow Club was playing in the background, now I barely even listened to their new album. Most things Slow Club got buried a while ago.

Dan Mangan fell foul, so did the Red Hot Chilli Peppers Live From Hyde Park album and The XX debut. All great soundtracks to another relationship. The list goes on with a few dark and morbid twists , but I’m thinking that stories of broken hearts are a bit more blog friendly.

It pisses me off that this stuff doesn’t really go away. It’s probably the case that when I’m an angry aging man I’ll sit in a room and listen to all these records as part of some masochistic nostalgic regret. It pisses me off that I can imagine that all too easily.

Today better be a good day.



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