Marcus came over yesterday.
We had a photo session to do.
The new album requires pictures.
We had an 'its grim up north' directive from Bazza.
Di dutifully stood us up against a white wall.
We held our breath.
She pulled the trigger.
I think that it's safe to say that we can no longer be regarded as 'totty'.
There goes the 'Smash Hits' cover.
Those of you with a keen eye might recognize the venue as the same industrial estate where The Sunday Times photographer took shots to ornament our double spread interview which was to launch us upon the world and the future domination of its' charts.
Those shots would then become the cover of 'Glow'.
Look closely.
Don't you recognize the green door?
It still needs a lick of paint...
Anyway, job done.
We now await the production of the album and the offer of an Esquire fashion shoot.
We might have copies of 'In Cassidy's Care' available before the end of the month.
The 'hard copy' release via Proper will be a few months as we await review slots in the monthlies, but we're hoping that the 'High Quality Studio Master' download will be available before that.
I've been a bit dismissive of the new Ed Harcourt album 'Back in to the Woods' rush recorded as he reportedly could only afford 6 hours in Abbey Road studios. On first listen it sounded like it was recorded in the toilets using their famous 'bog echo' on the voice. This is now growing on me and I'm loving Ed's way with a melody again.
There's an interesting piece on The Quietus here where the bearded wonder chooses his favourite albums and what an eclectic bakers' dozen it is.
Meanwhile, I'm listening to the new Bowie album and willing it to be wonderful.
I think it's working...
There's devilish wizardry afoot; Toronto Tim's at it again; invading my mental space; reducing my list to nowt but post dated premonitions. I'm using TT's words to describe this wonderfully bleak album. I've been accused of 'verbosity' after my Roddy Frame choice(s) at 40 so, why not let someone else do the donkey work. Eeaw, eeaw, he always know what I'm thinking...
Here below isTim from yesterday over on Cathedrals of Sound, followed by my response, placed under 'Comments'.
I'd probably have gone for the same track choices from this subdued but beautiful concoction but then I'm sure he knew thatanyway...
Now Tim, once more, I'm peeling a root vegetable.
Is it: a: a carrot b: a parsnip c: a prefab sprout
#40 - MARY CHAPIN CARPENTER - Between Here & Gone (2004) Toronto Tim: This is one of my favorite records of the last decade. Trev has mentioned MCC a couple of times on his blog. I've barely spoken to him about her work, but I've been secretly hoping he'd spotlight this beautiful album eventually 'coz there's no way my words can do it justice. For me it's her strongest release, a serious introspective record which compares with Gretchen Peters' best work, and mostly avoids her usual detours into uptempo Nashville twang. The title cut is absolutely stunning; 'In My Heaven' is well... heavenly. There's also the haunting 'Grand Central Station' one of the finest 9/11 tributes (along with SunKilMoon's 'Gentle Moon' & Miracle Mile's 'Falling Man'). Again, I can't decide which samples to post. Every one is special, so here's a bunch... Between Here & Gone:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MFvoPClJSDE Grand Central Station:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tl7vrDS8UQk In My Heaven: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kBMCFPQSeJY Goodnight America: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZmSOhATmQL4 Shelter Of Storms:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Snx5AhMP6Jc
TJ:
There is an intensity to MCC's work that can come over as overly earnest; on occasion it feels as though you're being straightened out by your favourite primary school teacher. She is seriously sincere. 'Mawkish' is a stone oft cast, unjustly, in her direction. 'The Calling' and 'Age of Miracles' are excellent (as are the early pleasures of 'Stones in the Road' and 'Come On, Come On') but I concur with Tim's choice of 'Between Here & Gone', a moving work of wonder that initially seems as unremarkable as its cover. It then proceeds to insinuate itself imperceptibly into the chambers of your heart and squeeze very gently until you can't help but fall heart over head for it's world weary tenderness.
Yeah, I'm just wondering how we know where we belong Is it in the arc of the moon leaving shadows on the lawn? In the path of fireflies and a single bird at dawn? Singing in between here and gone
Mawkish my arse...
I bought some black Doc Martins yesterday.
I'm also considering getting a surf board, tattoo and piercings.
Maybe even a punchy pup that I'll name 'Sandinista!'
I'm even starting to admire many of the left field 'Editor's Musical Choices of 2013' on the ever excellent Quietus blog.
'Best tracks of 2013' in March?
And I'm making lists too...
Does this equate to a 'Mid Life Crisis'?
Maybe we could list the signs...
Please advise but keep your sniggering to yourself.
It's only a matter of time my friend.
It's the way of all flesh.
Meanwhile, I'm off outside to plant some bulbs.
I may be some time...
When I was young the radio played just for me It saved me... Tuning out the darkness, turning on the dawn If life was like the songs I'd surf across the curved horizon Forget her and be gone...
Is it ok to expect more from life than is reasonable?
I was as taken as the rest by the boy wonder's coltish confidence when he initially exploded onto the scene in 1983 with Aztec Camera and'High Land, Hard Rain'. Let's forgive the clunky drum sound, there were classic melodic wonders within, like 'Oblivious' and 'Walk Out to Winter'. But with 'We Could Send Letters' there was a song that contained real magic. The melodies lifted and ascended the heartache, as minor verse became major chorus'I found some blood I wasn't meant to find' then the key lifted to yet another, better chorus, 'just close your eyes again, until these things get better". And then there was that brilliant guitar solo...
The song contains everything that I initially loved about Roddy; the luster of youth was tempered with a wisdom and musical dexterity that belied his age. The quirks of this song in particular still remind me of the swoonsome dynamics of Prefab's debut. 'High Land, Hard Rain'promised so much that Roddy was surely doomed to disappoint us. And... he didn't disappoint. Sure, there were great moments of shiny pop along the way, the odd melting ballad, but they were like letters home, infrequent and insubstantial, Roddy never really felt present.We waited long for his return, for an album that would solidify the early promise. Maybe it was a production thing. Mark Knopfler attempted gravitas with 'Knife', replacing the debut's charmingly direct indie folk with sonorous keyboards, burdening the songs with a bleeding obvious, lumpy ambience. Double chin rock; there were no surprises anymore...'Love' brought bright, all too perfect pop that was as predictable as its success. 'Frestonia' however was a fine return to form with some real highlights. 'On the Avenue' was a beauty and yet... it still sounded a bit like Roddy singing a Dire Straits song to me... What had happened to the quirky boy wonder? Well, I guess he just got older. I felt a bit like a parent looking wistfully at baby photos in a wallet; wishing that the kid was still cute and cumbersome; wishing that I could still care for him. There was no need to protect Roddy anymore; he'd grown into a consummate musician; proficient and 'complete'. I think that we often crave vulnerability in our heroes; it helps us to invest our hopes in them, they become our 'duty of care' part of that strange commitment and connection. I didn't feel a part of his world anymore. I kept apace with the solo albums but still remained unmoved. Roddy obviously had a great record collection for reference, each album showcasing great taste, and yet he seemed content just sitting pretty...
And then in 2002 he reigned everything in for 'Surf' when Roddy downsized to just a voice and an acoustic. Released ironically on the Redemptionlabel, it was a chocolate box of lovely songs, beautifully presented, and yet... once you'd sampled the apparent plainness of Surf's soft center it was tempting to crave the odd hard centre to test your teeth. Then came 'Western Skies'. I'm unsure as to what happened there; the songs are still acoustically based but what drums there are are strangely prominent in the mix. It's this odd balance that keeps you leaning in, engaging. So, I chose 'Western Skies' as my favourite Roddy album, but then... I put'Surf'on again and, as Oscar said 'only a fool cannot change his mind'. I wasn't just listening, Surf's caramel pleasuresjust wrapped around me, I was involved again. Production values were as unimportant as the video, the quiff or the new leather jacket; it was all about the power of the song and the charm of the performance again. Roddy had sent letters, but here he was, back in the room with me. The once wide eyed boy wonder had returned, squinting, stubbly, worldly, a prodigal son; showing his scars, owning his disappointments, recognizing that regrets are as inevitable as victories, happy to holler that hope and redemption are options and possibilities that need to be celebrated with grace and good cheer. All roads lead to home they say and, for me, 'Surf' is a kind of homecoming; a return to high land.
Gushing?
Sure: the boy done good...
Barry Cross is a talented designer who runs his own Hot Cross Designs.
You're about to see his work as the cover of the forthcoming Miracle Mile album 'In Cassidy's Care'.
He is seen on the right at his 50th birthday party where Miracle Mile's present to him was to let him join the band for the day.
Frankly, it didn't go well.
Bazza's drumming might best be described as an enthusiastic mix of Phil Collins and the sound of R2D2 falling down a mine shaft.
His response to my latest 'Chicken Skin' is just too good to reside in the 'comments' box so here it is below.
Personally I'm a little uncomfortable with his use of 'Mayo' and 'masturbation' in the same sentence but I'm sure that he couldn't give a toss...
Barry writes:
I worked from home during the nineties. There was an overwhelming urge to spend the morning watching Richard and Judy in my pants, but with bills to pay and deadlines to meet I managed to stay computer bound on most days. Part of my routine to stay at the computer and prevent the inevitable recreational activities associated with being in an empty house (eating cereal, masturbation) was to fax my '11.33' to Simon Mayo. I wasn't a personal friend of Mr Mayo, this was his Radio 1 morning show, which included an item whereby listeners phoned or faxed 3 records to be played just after the 11.30 news - hence the 11.33 (things weren't just thrown together in those days). I'm not quite sure of the categories for the 11.33, it may have been an 80s song, a 90s song, and a 'current' song. I do remember though, the day my choices were aired. I remember the end of the news being heralded by the stunning synth stutter of New Order's 'Shellshock' (12 inch version - yes I was that pedantic!). This was followed by 'The Sound Of Crying' by Prefab Sprout, and my final 'current' choice - 'Family Life' by The Blue Nile. It was the longest 11.33 that had ever been aired, so Simon says! I don't think I'd ever heard The Blue Nile on the radio before, in fact - at the time, I was quite sure I was the only person they were making music for. I still believe I am the only person to own the vinyl single 'I Love This Life'. Paul Buchanan's dulcet tones certainly created a reaction from the Radio 1 listeners. These ranged from 'thank you for finally playing The Blue Nile on national radio' to 'I've just taken a left turn and I'm heading towards the nearest cliff…' It probably wasn't the usual Radio 1 listeners fare - this wasn't The Fugees or Gina G, and possibly not the best time of day to be confronted by such an emotional piece, but I'd like to think a couple more people found The Blue Nile as a result. I have a C90 of the show somewhere, probably titled 'the day Simon Mayo read out my name'. I never bothered faxing in to the radio again, I'd had my moment of radio fame and - along with a new box of Coco Pops, there were more pressing matters at hand.
I've followed Thompson since his early days as Fairport axman through to his well earned lofty seat as folk rock's elder statesman.
I initially balked at the rough, gruff voice, expecting a man in a fisherman's jumper with a finger in his ear, but every so often there would be a nerve shredding guitar solo or a tender ballad that would sideswipe me.
Since going solo he's released a string of fine but inconsistent albums, notable mainly for having some of the worst covers ever. You kind of know from the man's presentation that he's got ducks on his parlor wall. This lack of taste is odd given his sublime guitar playing and keen eyed and canny lyrical observations.
1991's Rumor and Sigh is his most consistent and accessible work. Maybe it was specially prepared for the American market; check out the title's spelling; produced by Mitchell Froom with his usual rich velvety sheen and baroque 'n' roll arrangements, the album was actually nominated for a Grammy. He even had a video in which it seems pretty obvious that the director was directed to keep Thompson's rugged mug (a face for radio) either out of shot or in the shadows. Mission accomplished, albeit not too subtly, his brief seems to have extended to giving the soundtrack a similar soft focus; the song sounds like it's filtered through cotton wool and vaseline...
There's a mish mash of styles on Rumor and Sigh that works surprisingly well as a whole. It shouldn't. Medieval horns meet heavy metal on 'Backlash Love Affair' and 'Keep Your Distance' has a hurdy gurdy solo for christs sake...
The album hosts what might be Thompson's best loved song, '1952 Black Vincent Lightening' and tells the story of star crossed lovers and the bike that brought them together: "When I was a kid, that was always the exotic bike, that was always the one, the one that you went "ooh, wow". I'd always been looking for English ideas that didn't sound corny, that had some romance to them, and around which you could pin a song. And this song started with a motorcycle, it started with the Vincent. It was a good lodestone around which the song could revolve."
This is getting ridiculous; I'm being mind stalked by the musical thought police. Seamus zoned in on me as I penned my paean to 'Kentucky Avenue' and then came Toronto Tim's intrusion as I scribbled about this song:
"The entire song/performance gives me goose bumps & leaves me in a puddle. It was only last night that I realized that those "yeahs, yeah's" might be the most emotionally affecting words/vocals I've ever experienced in a song. Swelling strings... then PB rips your heart out with a series of simple but absolutely staggering "yeah, yeahs"..."
He's right of course, Buchanan taps right into an uncomfortable moment in memory that I'm sure all of us have; no childhood was that happy, we edit and review the tough stuff, ironing out the wrinkles. PB focusses on what might be a reflection on domestic violence or just a moment of wishing that things were better, quieter, as the inevitable disappointments of Christmas are about to unleash themselves.
Christmas could be a difficult time in my house when I was a kid; my mum didn't cope that well with the season's challenges, she argued a lot with my Dad. We kids braced ourselves rather than anticipated joyfully. 'No more shout, no more fight' resonates profoundly...
In 'Family Life' the unhappiness unravels, reveals itself in breathless fragments; 'Jesus, Jesus, you…" it's that 'you', the resignation and precise lack of control is what is breathtaking, those silvery slivers of strings, then 'wipe the tears from her face'. And then you have the 'yeah, yeah, yeahs' from 4 minutes onwards...before that final payoff, and you realize that, yes, he is alone, "Jesus I go to sleep and pray for my kids for my wife, family life".
You'll find a fantastic deconstruction of the song on The Blue in the Air which renders these mutterings as ramblings.
Here is the album version followed by the best live rendition I could find. Chicken Skin: particularly from 2.48 onwards...
Starlight do you know me? Please, don't look at me now I'm falling apart Silver on the window Like the bike I once had At home in the yard Jesus love let me down and I know where you are It might lead somewhere Gather me in snowfall And the cars going by the north and the south Flowers on the table And the coffee gets cold Like the milk in my mouth Sailing on no honeymoon Just separate chairs in separate rooms Jesus, please Make us happy sometimes No more shout No more fight Family life Tomorrow will be Christmas We'll be singing old songs And light up the tree God and all the mercy And say all your prayers For little old me Jesus, you Wipe the tears from her face And the sound of his voice Family life Yeah, yeah Mystery Jesus, I go to sleep and I pray For my kids For my wife Family life Yeah
Back in 1968, insecure and hoping for some kudos from her peers, Dusty had signed to Atlantic, the label of her heroine Aretha Franklin.
Recordings started in Memphis Tennessee with top session band The Memphis Cats, quality control guaranteed in the knowledge that it was produced by Jerry Wexler with Arif Mardin and engineered by Tom Dowd.
Apparently the sessions were difficult as Dusty was a renowned perfectionist. In his book 'Rhythm and Blues' Wexler noted that, out of the songs originally recorded for the session, "she approved exactly zero. To say yes to a song was a lifetime commitment." The vocals were later completed in New York City.
The Memphis Sessions were also notable for Dusty advising the heads of Atlantic to sign Led Zeppelin. She was mates with bass player John Paul Jones who had previously backed her.
Zep's advance of $200,000 was the largest ever paid at the time.
Back to this recording, I love the sound of this album, hear the subtlety of the playing, just listen to the weight of the snare in 'Son of a Preacher Man'.
He tickles the thing...
A lot more subtle than Dusty's miming here, not to mention the beehive...
Note: There is a great classical twist on my, not very original, idea compiled by New York Times art critic Anthony Tommasini over on the ArtsBeat blog here.
There was a bit of weird serendipity in the air with this one.
Seamus over at Vapour Trails had kick started my idea for 'Chicken Skins', pinpointing magic moments from songs, and then responded to my first post in the series (Sinatra) suggesting this song.
He did that as I was preparing my next 'Chicken Skin' which was the self same song.
What are the chances of that? Spooky.
Anyway, Waits always had a talent for emotive balladry and has never been more potent than with this heart wrenching tale of vagabond childhood from 'Blue Valentines'.
According to Barney Hoskin's excellent biography, it's a true story, although you can never really trust Waits when it comes to his elusive past; the truth for Tom is apparently over rated; he still swears that he was born in the back of a New York cab, even though his mother was no where near the city at the time... 'Kentucky Avenue' nails me, always reduces me to a blubberer, particularly when Waits gets to the 'I'll take the spokes from your wheelchair and amagpie's wings' and the strings swell at around 3.20.
Please listen to the whole thing though, especially if you're new to the song.
I've followed the album track with a sublime, ramshackle solo performance from way back.
Who needs those beautiful swelling strings?
Devastating stuff...
Well Eddie Grace's Buick got four bullet holes in the side And Charlie DeLisle is sittin at the top of an avocado tree Mrs. Storm will stab you with a steak knife if you step on her lawn I got a half a pack of Lucky Strikes man so come along with me And let's fill our pockets with macadamia nuts And go over to Bobby Goodmanson's and jump off the roof
Well Hilda plays strip poker when her mamas cross the street Joey Navinski says she put her tongue in his mouth And Dicky Faulkner's got a switchblade and some gooseneck risers That eucalyptus is a hunchback there's a wind down from the south So let me tie you up with kite string and I'll show you the scabs on my knee Watch out for the broken glass put your shoes and socks on And come along with me
Let's follow that fire truck I think your house is burnin down Then go down to the hobo jungle and kill some rattlesnakes with a trowel And we'll break all the windows in the old Anderson place We'll steal a bunch of boysenberries and I'll smear em on your face I'll get a dollar from my mama's purse, buy that skull and crossbones ring You can wear it round your neck on an old piece of string
Then we'll spit on Ronnie Arnold and flip him the bird Slash the tires on the school bus now don't say a word I'll take a rusty nail and scratch your initials in my arm I'll show you how to sneak up on the roof of the drugstore I'll take the spokes from your wheelchair and a magpie's wings And I'll tie em to your shoulders and your feet I'll steal a hacksaw from my dad, cut the braces off your legs We'll bury them tonight out in the cornfield Just put a church key in your pocket, we'll hop that freight train in the hall We'll slide all the way down the drain to New Orleans in the fall
'Cheat' I hear you cry! 'Two for one' my reply.
And with good reason.
I saw these two acts as a double bill way back in 1978 and it still remains one of my top 5 gigs of all time.
Tom Petty cut an androgenous figure back in those days, he had a toothsome All American beauty that was compelling to both sexes. And didn't he know it; lack of confidence has never been part of the Petty make up. He strutted and pouted his way through this great set of songs as if he were performing to his own bedroom mirror.
They called it 'post punk' in those days; incredible as it would now be labelled old school 'Americana', maybe even just 'Rock'. The Heartbreakers would go on to become one of the great backing bands of the 80s & 90's, eventually working their way up the totem to Dylan, but here they were desperate to just shake a few trees and make us notice them.
Mission accomplished; 'Follow that' I thought as they they were dragged off after several encores.
Then on bounced Nils Lofgren with a wry smile. He proceeded to whip us up into a greater frenzy; he span in circles as he solo'd and then somersaulted on a trampoline without missing a note. I was recently reminded of his flippingspinning dervish thing when he pulled it out of retirement during a Springsteen song on the recent tour. From 4.14 onwards he whips himself into a euphoric frenzy which borders on blissful ecstasy; once seen never forgotten.
Then there's a reprise of 'the flip'. Warning: I tried 'the flip' recently at a children's birthday party, egged on by a bunch of 10 year olds and with my ambition sharpened by a few 'sharpeners', indeed holding a full pint at the time.
It didn't go well...
These two albums were the then current releases and I still can't play them (or Lofgren's previous 'Cry Tough') without beaming at the remembrance of that intoxicating evening.
I had a brief chat with Seamus over on Vapour Trails recently.
He'd chosen Frank Sinatra's 'Songs for Swinging Lovers' on his 'Best 102 Albums' and talked about his love of 'I've Got You Under My Skin'.
I love the song too; it brings back so many memories:
- My young Dad mugging the trombone and drums in the solo section, me and my siblings playing along.
- Our beloved Corsican (first) friend Antoine doing the self same thing on our roof terrace in Corsica.
- Ditto our neighbor Des at our first BBQ at Denny's when we first moved into Lisa Cottage out here in the sticks.
It's a magical musical moment that seems to liberate even the most self conscious; they should precede every therapy session with the playing of it...
Whenever I hear the song I brace myself in anticipation for that highlight; it never fails to deliver. Indeed the line that Sinatra sings after the break 'Don't you knoooow little fool...' is cited by Elvis Costello as the single most exciting sung moment in popular music...
With that in mind I've decided to waste even more of my life by starting a new series: 'Chicken Skin'.
These will be magic moments that elevate me or bring me to tears; inspired flashes of brilliance that induce the tingling feeling that the French call “chaire de pole” (hen's flesh)
Why not play along with your comments and suggestions.
But first; why not just play along... trombone anyone?
Here it is, it HAS to be the brilliant Nelson Riddle arrangement from 'Songs for Swinging Lovers', not the later, more polite version that turns up on the many 'Best Of' albums...
The chicken skin fun starts at around 2.10.
Thus does Jane Siberry introduce herself on her own website.
Followed by: Welcome! All animals, birds, fish, insects, reptiles and our other brothers and sisters live full, expanded lives in this universe. No cages, no pens, no messing with their diets, genes, hormones. No beaks are cut off. No young leaves its mother until the mother decides. Flocks of parrots fly from tree to tree, busy, living large. In return for us removing our arrogance from their flow, they are teaching us more and more. Allowing us to see their 'real' intelligence. Magic leans closer.
You know that you're dealing with a well intentioned bag of frogs.
I have seen her live a couple of times and she certainly puts the 'd' into 'ditsy'...
She also invests her songs with more heart and beauty than almost any other female song writer that I know. Her early albums were a mixed bag; wrapped in naff DX7 keyboard sounds, flanged guitars and clunky electronic drums; though the songs were often beautiful the spell was always broken.
The previous album to 'When I Was a Boy' was 'Bound by the Beauty', it was just great and had fabulous
compositions such as 'The Valley', 'The Life is the Red Wagon' and
'Hockey'. However there was still something not quite there for me with the production. 'The Valley' is widely recognised by many as Siberry's finest song, and yet I still prefer fellow Canadian K.D. Lang's version.
She nailed it; Siberry didn't quite.
On 1993's 'When I Was a Boy' the stars alined for Jane. Production values became more ambient with Brian Eno and Michael Brook shaking their magic sticks to great effect. K. D. Lang makes a telling appearance on 'Calling All Angels', a song that has been used in a couple of soundtracks and to devastating effect in the brilliantly dark TV series Six Feet Under, where members of the cast sang the song at a wake. And death does seem to be a prevalent theme here, 'The Vigil' seems to be paean to a dying mother, 'The Gospel According to Darkness' and 'An Angel Stepped Down' all seem spiritually rooted. The beauty of 'Love is Everything' is almost overwhelming.
Here it is, taken from the album then followed by a stunning live version.
That's then followed by 'Calling All Angels' and the undeniably holy profundities of 'The Valley', as performed/owned by K. D. Listen and you will surely walk in good company...
There's not a lot to say about this other than it's a terrific collection of songs released in 1989; it's one of those easy listening 'jukebox' albums that is always better than you remember it to be.
It was the band's 2nd album, there's an unfussy approach that is oddly compelling; it's not lofty stuff but the tales all ring true.
This, for me, is perfect road rage retarding car stereo fodder...
You've got somebody who loves you I want to see you fan the fire Mistaken shyness can be costly Too hasty a goodbye and then you've lost me
This sultry slow burner was never off my turntable when it came out.
It is classic singer-songwriter material from 1976, a time when females were rare in that category.
Producer Glynn Johns wrapped some fine songs in a warm velvety ambience that made you want to hug the speakers.
Everything fits just fine.
In my early college days I remember this fondly (alongside Hall & Oates''Silver Album') as my 'shagging album'.
And how could I fail with such an irresistible soundtrack?
Not a duff track, the sequencing and pacing is perfect, the playing is superb, including some sublime pedal steel from Miracle Mile mainstay BJ Cole.
Armatrading seems to wander the middle of the road these days but here she nailed it perfectly with this pitch perfect mood piece.
I can't find a link for my favourite track 'Somebody Who Loves You' but these 3 corkers should suffice.
This was more acoustic than their previous rockier, funkier albums, with James Grant's voice and sensitivities to the fore. I'm sure that you all know this inside out so I won't bang on.
I'm realizing that 'gentle' bordering on the soporific is my thing; odd that I have trouble sleeping...
Boy, were these boys serious.
The album is a lovely thing though.
You can sing along in Spanish or marvel at Marilyn here...
I've been a bit dismissive of the new Ed Harcourt album 'Back in to the Woods' rush recorded as he reportedly could only afford 6 hours in Abbey Road studios. On first listen it sounded like it was recorded in the toilets using their famous 'bog echo' on the voice. This is now growing on me and I'm loving Ed's way with a melody again.
