The Copper Top
Birth, love, and death: the only reasons to get dressed up.
100 Kilo Herz
With no prominient off-beat, no up-stroked guitar, and no walking bass-lines it's not ska.
Taijin Kyofusho
The trickling brook of sound is fed by new tributaries of soundscapes that build together into a roaring rapid. The torrent doesn't really let up until the last minute when you're spat out into a smooth calm sea. Floating gently thinking back on what you just experienced.
Black Dogs and Songbirds
"Pink sky at last light, sailor's delight. It's going to be be a beautiful day."
Kuiper
Swelling synths, some of the crispest drums I've heard, and huge guitar shreds. The songs build further than you can imagine and when the tension releases it is bliss.
Canola Fields
There's no way that they would have known just how much that would mean. How meaningful just the title of the song would be. The memories - emotions, smells, sounds. Even the physical sensation of the wind and sun. Grass and gravel underfoot.
DISPATCH
That's when I discovered the song Only The Wild Ones. It's a magnificent piece of uplifting music. It starts gentle, builds, and adds layers of delightfulness. One of those songs that inspires engagement with the world, with the wilderness, with our connection to the earth.
Streaming services suck...
I can find a dozen new artists that sound a bit like Lulu & die Einhornfarm in a matter of minutes, but there's no buzz to it all. There's no spice. It's all delivered on a platter. The music is the same, but there's no chase.
Back to the country.
When you have a dog you start going to parks. Your dog meets other dogs. You meet other dogs. And those dogs have humans.
Rosy and Grey
The proprietor at the time's name was Pa. Short for Patrick. And pronounced like the first couple of letters of Patrick. Loved a cup of tea. Loved a pint. Loved a hand-rolled cigarette. I think what he loved more than all of them together, though, was playing music together with hostel guests.
Acht Eimer Hühnerherzen
I was instantly attracted to the name. It translates as Eight Buckets of Chicken-hearts. If it was black metal you'd kinda give it a nod and just assume that it's part of their rider, or something. But this is acoustic-ish jangly punk.
Pass the Goddam Butter
I love a polyrhythm. I don't know if they appeal to me so much because they feel out of my reach. I've tried using phrases - like pass the goddam butter - to make it easier and it all makes sense until I need to convince my hands to tap the different beats.