Skip to main content

To a Canadian Guy I Met in Barcelona (on the Subject of Music)

I've tried really hard to get into Arctic Monkeys since your recommendation.  I like the lyrics (I think) but I've never really liked Alex Turner's voice.  It's a shame because alongside the likes of fellow Mercury Prize winners Alt-J, they're one of the UK's most popular indie bands. But while i think Arctic Monkeys are deserving of the hype (at their best, they're brilliant storytellers: this performance of Fluorescent Adolescent is one of my all-time favourites), I don't think Alt-J are.  Their lyrics are, quite frankly, stupid and the band have been deeply overhyped.   

I've been listening to a lot of songs by The National recently.  They've always been on my radar but it was only recently that I discovered songs like Don't Swallow the Cap and Bloodbuzz Ohio.  I don't highly rate them as songwriters; their songs lack coherence, but if you like taking lines on an individual basis, as I sometimes do, then they're definitely a band to check out.  

In terms of the songwriters that Britain has, I think Ben Howard is the one that has got it - should we say, most right - in his latest album, I Forgot Where We Were.  I'm still obsessed by a song of his called Conrad - a very deep, multi-layered offering that actually seems to have something to say.  Everything I've listened to recently (including the latest offering by Scotland's Paolo Nutini and Ireland's Damien Rice) just seems a bit empty, but I Forgot Where We Were has bucked that trend and offers something both emotionally and - I daresay - intellectually.  It's like your compatriot Neil Young said about writing tender songs: as soon as you try to write a tender song, they no longer become tender. 

Laura Marling is always one to look out for (What She Wrote, Goodbye England (Covered in Snow) and My Blackberry Stone are all near-masterpieces, and while they are sophisticated, they are slightly more elusive in meaning than the songs on her first album, Alas I cannot Swim), but she has never released an album without "I" or "Me" in the title, which should tell you something about the subject matter she tends to concern herself with.  But it works, especially her first two albums, which I absolutely urge you to check out.  They are essential.  The only other female singer-songwriters we have that can be put in the same bracket as her are Adele and Florence from Florence and the Machine, which - as major UK exports - I'm sure you've heard of.  

Out of all of our female singer songwriters we have, it is only Adele that has been able to detach herself from her own ego for 3 or 4 minutes and tell a good, simple story.  She speaks to The Everyman and is arguably the most popular female artist this century.  

As much as I love sophisticated lyrics riddled with deeper meaning, I'd love for a British Johnny Cash or Dolly Parton (not in terms of style, although my taste has tended towards country music for its purity in the last few years - a sign that I must be getting old!) to come along.  I need a storyteller who keeps it simple, who keeps it funny, who provides a narrative and does all of this without pretension. But perhaps I'm asking too much.  I think Rock Island Line, made famous by Johnny Cash, is one of the greatest songs ever written.  I think it's got everything.  I guess it's only a matter of time before someone like that comes along and produces songs so great that they get weaved into the public consciousness.  I'll have my fingers crossed for that.  

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Mr Pebble Pockets

I’ve called him Mr Pebble Pockets because if I don’t make a joke out of it I’ll cry.  It was about 10:30pm, I’d just got back to the boat from a late shift and I was waiting for my Deliveroo.  He was standing a little further down the towpath and staring at the water.  The night was clear and crisp and there was enough moonlight to see the shape of him: he was tall, late twenties and had a powerful sporty look to him.  He wasn’t crying, but he was shaking and he stood crooked.    Well, it doesn’t take a genius, does it?  I only came out to wait for a bloody curry.  Mother Florence bloody Teresa Nightingale springing into action, hungry and as tired as fuck and now having to stop this guy from jumping into the canal with an anchor for a coat.     I know now that the best thing to do was offer him a cigarette.   I don’t know why I didn’t.   I had the packet and the lighter in my hand. ‘Excuse me,’ I said.   ‘Ar...
Post a Comment
Read more

An Expert Analysis of Michael Fassbender's Running Style From the Film 'Shame'

Tom Wiggins: What are your first impressions of Michael Fassbender/Brandon's running style? Paul Whittaker: He's running nice, smooth and relaxed. He seems like he has a good amount of fitness and he is running well within himself in terms of pace.   TW: What improvements could he make to his running style? PW: The main improvement I'd make is his foot plant.  He lands heel first and this causes a 'breaking' effect when travelling forwards.  If he landed on his mid-foot/forefoot, this would be a much better for impact stress and propulsion going forward into the next running stride. TW: Regarding his speed, how many minutes per mile is he running? PW : I would say he is running approx 7-7.30 minutes per mile. TW:   What do you make of his stride lengths?  Is he overstriding/understriding? PW:  The actor is definitely overstriding in this clip.  It would help if his feet landed underneath and below his centre of gravit...
Post a Comment
Read more

Samsa & Shabeezi

Samsa was now a human.  He’d recently become a human after his architect decided to put a human heart in him and give him feelings.  The five litres of blood that now pumped around his body warmed him up.  It made for incredible nose bleeds, spasms, cramps and bruising, to name o nly a small fraction of the symptoms, but his architect assured him that it would all be worth it and that he'd feel normal very soon.  He didn't know what normal was, but he knew it wasn't puking and shitting and bleeding all over the place for the first two months and then just feeling terrible for several weeks after that.  Human life is agony, he thought, but he trusted the process.  One day, a little over twelve weeks after the operation, he woke up from his first good night's sleep and was able to open the curtains without the light splitting his skull in two.  Samsa had known Shabeezi before she became a human woman.   All they had done was fight.   Samsa es...
Post a Comment
Read more