Friday’s listening

“Heard melodies are sweet” wrote John Keats in 1819, “but those unheard are sweeter.” Perhaps he had dreamed the perfect song, the secret chord that David played and it pleased the lord, the harmony that unites nations in peace, the sleep melody that elates the subconscious mind while at rest but which, when one wakes, and tries to capture it, becomes Eid Ma Clack Shaw.

Or maybe he was just writing about having the entirety of Your Mother Should Know by The Beatles spin around his head while he took a morning shower. Because that’s how my musical life started yesterday, and how it continued (bar a real moment of Love Spreads and an imagined moment of Against All Odds), until circa 6pm, when I got home from work and listened to The Milk Of Human Kindness by Caribou while I made myself dinner and wrote yesterday’s entry. When I sat down to write, I had to turn the volume down.

After the record had finished, with writing still needing to be done, I reached for the nearest unobtrusive (read “without prominent words”) music to hand, and found The Field’s second album again, which I put on to sail me through the last of my prose extraction. I got to the start of the end of track four, the title track, when everything fades away and leaves just the bass and the (real) drums, and I had finished. Which meant I could stand up, volume up, and do a little dance in the backroom, with the cats, because that is my favourite bit of that song, and one of my favourite three bits of that album, and I wished that it lasted forever, as I always do, and I wish that someone could point me in the direction of music that sounds like that 2-minute glimpse, but for more than two minutes. Just synthetic-sounding, trance-y bass, and John Stanier drumming, swinging, percussing.

And then I went back to the pub, where I had been briefly straight after work, and spent some time with my wife and her colleagues. And then I came home and watched a little of the tellybox.

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