Most heinously depressing* song in the history of the known universe:
-It has very little beat, tune, structure, etc.
-The lyrics are quite twee
-Neither vocalist sounds their best
-One day, I will be found dead to the tune of this song, underneath a pile of Stars CDs with 'I COULDN'T GET IT OFF REPEAT' written on the wall in my own blood. Admitedly, this is really quite a cool death in terms of a)kitsch, b)possibility for wearing Cradle Of Filth pyjamas during the event so I am not sure I will mind too much.
Edit: it just occurred to me that I failed to mention the name of the above song, which is 'The Life Effect,' and that it is written, performed, indied, etc. by Stars, who are proper shoegaze and have incest with Broken Social Scene.
*NB: by 'heinously depressing' I don't mean it's shit, I mean it's just one of those songs that sends you into a spinning hole of intense remorse.
Tuesday 13 November 2007
tiny children
I feel I've really got this colour scheme nicely virulent now.
This is my music blog, in an attempt to actually regularly write about music- I write reviews for some places but the demise of Stylus magazine means I feel a bit redundant lately and, well, it's that or my dissertation research proposal on this fine evening and as we all know I am not going to do that until 4am tomorrow.
The name (listen closely, I will say this only once) comes from a conversation I had with my good friend Helen (whose name I have consistently typed as 'Hegel' all week, no doubt Freudian urges dyslexically surfacing there) about the fact her nine month old nephew had been dancing to Daft Punk and that, although she considered this cool now, this will become the sort of thing the poor kid is tormented with shame over by the time he's fifteen. All returns to the dadrock womb eventually.
Most of the things I listen to are embarassing at the time, mind you.
This is my music blog, in an attempt to actually regularly write about music- I write reviews for some places but the demise of Stylus magazine means I feel a bit redundant lately and, well, it's that or my dissertation research proposal on this fine evening and as we all know I am not going to do that until 4am tomorrow.
The name (listen closely, I will say this only once) comes from a conversation I had with my good friend Helen (whose name I have consistently typed as 'Hegel' all week, no doubt Freudian urges dyslexically surfacing there) about the fact her nine month old nephew had been dancing to Daft Punk and that, although she considered this cool now, this will become the sort of thing the poor kid is tormented with shame over by the time he's fifteen. All returns to the dadrock womb eventually.
Most of the things I listen to are embarassing at the time, mind you.
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