Self Help – Grand Hotel Ibis

People who have read this blog before may well have picked up on my long standing tendency to snark at music journalism, like I’m soooo much cooler (which actually I am, though that is irrelevant). (coolness is and always has been a bullshit concept). (concepts are and always have been over-rated). (this is what happens when writing a blog post is roughly the second conscious thing you do one morning after making a cup of coffee because you’ve remembered you actually get to start work a bit later today because reasons).

So anyway, because music journalists, I really didn’t want to like this album, as it contains man from The Quietus. To be fair to The Quietus, they are actually the least objectionable music publication by some distance, and I even read it sometimes. I hardly ever see the word ‘sophomore’ used when describing a ‘second’ album. This is to be encouraged. Also, other things.

Ponder for a moment what sort of mind listens to an album that he really didn’t want to like. Or don’t. Maybe working from home does funny things to you. Or maybe I actually listened because Tesla Tapes, because Gnod, because I just damn well listened to it.

It’s like nothing I can describe, which isn’t actually unusual in that regard. But it’s also brilliant. All four tracks are very different, and they’re all great.

Mésange – Heliotrope

mesange

You know, I’ve had a right old day of music today. I honestly can’t remember what I started with, but I went over to some deep house for a while after which I listened to the frankly fantastic Mr Wibblies Chiller, which is brilliant music for home working.

Well, how do you follow that?

You follow that with this.

This is all atmospheric and stuff, though I wouldn’t go as far as saying mellow. In fact, I don’t think I’d go anywhere near saying mellow. It responds to the need for background music but it also rewards deep listening. It is also one of those marvellous things which sits in my head as frankly uncategorisable. I like when that happens.

RIYL good stuff.

Right now, I’m rocking out with Rico.

 

Wart Biter

wart biter

And this is why I hate trying to describe music and gave up the futile effort. So non-sequiturs it is.

There is a pyramid above me, but it goes in both directions i.e. point up and point at the top. It’s really difficult to put it into words, bit like trying to describe music, really. But contained within those bounds are an infinity of possibilities.

Imagine: there are two lines on a single page. The lines themselves never actually meet, but the page they are on is finite. Nevertheless, the possibilities are infinite.

I could talk all day, and much to my children’s chagrin, I sometimes do. However, I only know so many words (roughly a hundred and thirteen) and yet, nevertheless, and although I often repeat myself, the possibilities are actually infinite.

The problem with infinity is that no one knows what it actually is, or even if it is. This, ladles and gentlespoon, is what I now suspect may be the true purpose behind the creative impulse (a.k.a. life) – trying to find out whether infinity is actually infinite.

So, what makes your head hurt more? The picture on the above album, or my essay? Me, it’s the lurgee.