Bucket List Update— Andy Close -
Every month, we update our playlist with a new set of songs for the month, before starting again the following month. We also ask Andy to write about it. Well, we remind Andy to write about it. We don’t think he actually enjoys writing about it.
Do you still have genuine feelings or does your psyche just provide you with skilful approximations? I don’t think I have feelings anymore. Echoes of emotion show up sporadically and warm my mind with a pleasant but faded familiarity, before ricocheting back over the yawning ravine of my life. They don’t seem current though or visceral. They don’t make it to my face or heart.
Increasingly I find myself miming feeling, like playing a tennis racket to a song you like in front of the mirror, but without the joy or sense of freedom that used to involve.
I’m waiting for a tragedy to affect me directly in the hopes that either my head will burst into colourful and agonising life or my worst suspicions are confirmed, and my mind is left tugging desperately at the starter cord of a boat drifting aimlessly across the implacable surface of my soul …
… moving on here are some songs what have a lot of feelings in them and just so happen to kick off this month’s playlist.
“I’ve got friends in Kansas City with a motherfucking FUTON COUCH! If that’s how you wanna play it” GET DIVORCED! WHAT’S STOPPING YOU?! DESTROY YOUR FAMILIAL UNIT! SCATTER YOUR OFFSPRING TO THE FIVE WINDS! DITCH YOUR JOB AND START STEALING! SET FIRE TO ATTRACTIVE BUILDINGS! REACH INTO YOUR TWITCHING TELEVISION, TEAR ITS SPARKING POINTLESS FUCKING HEART OUT AND THROW IT INTO THE BACK GARDEN! ADD TO THE HILARIOUS, CARTOON CHAOS AND LAUGH JOYLESSLY AT THE SKY UNTIL IT FALLS ONTO YOUR SLACK, GHASTLY FACE!!!
ALL MY HAPPINESS IS GONE
“All our hardships were just yardsticks then y’know?” The Ex-Silver Jews front man moans about the fact that friendships are just as difficult to maintain as a middle-aged curmudgeon as they ever were during the preceding decades. He fiddles, frustrated, with his relationships over breezy synth strings and a dichotomous melody before shoving them in that draw we all have in the kitchen that’s full of cracked biros and spent batteries. And there they sit, lonely Tamagotchis, hoping that their batteries fail sooner rather than later.
Sounds like the Cocteau Twins with a slow puncture. Could soundtrack a decent Wicker Man remake or that new Ari Aster film. Expect it to drift seductively through the air the next time you visit a remote village you’re destined never to leave.
Future soul for one of the few future Summers we have left. Tash soaks gently into your skin like factor 500 as you sit under your smouldering asbestos parasol listening to the sirens of the gridlocked emergency vehicles wail impotently from the bottom of your driveway. Meanwhile the funky drummer, still completely exhausted by the nineties presumably, staggers about in the background.