To a Lady

Exuding piercing utterances;

Mindless drivel.

Put the dinky digital down –

Come on, let’s be civil.

A polite request:

Please

Enjoy yourself.

Do not bore others

With tomorrow night’s silent show;

Blurred image

Upon image

Of a snapped music set.

Oh concert-goer.

Shot after shot.

Read up on gig etiquette:

Be engrossed, and be reasonable,

Thanks a lot.

You’re not paid by the press,

Don’t make this a chore –

Instead: stay at home,

Have a chat, maybe tea?

YouTube’s showing’s just the same,

I’m sure.

Death of the Musician?

I spent some months of my youth thinking Puressence vocalist James Mudriczk was a woman, and at some point naively believed that Nina Simone was male. My embarrassment as I watched a compact jazz advert featuring black and white images of a beautiful, rather feminine artist was unprecedented.

This experience changed everything about Feeling Good for me. It was just different from then on. But would my blissful ignorance mot have better permitted me to enjoy the exquisite orchestral arrangement and Nina’s unearthly notes for what they create: an extraordinary piece of music?

Two minutes glancing over Joy Division’s Wikipedia page will inform its reader of Curtis’ untimely and tragic suicide. But sitting in the dark enshrouded in Unknown Pleasures before tapping away in Google’s search bar should surely inform any attentive listener that

something wasn’t right there…

The reverse and you’re imagining something that isn’t there. Project yourself onto the sounds, rather than the unenlightened views of pale, one-track cyberspace faces.

Feel the mind in the dark.

 

Journalists love to press new talent for their ‘inspiration’. New talent loves responses like “a purple-spotted hedgehog” or, “a line from a classic book” (or from an elaborate brass-framed six feet tall hall mirror). The twisted tones of psychadelia or the richness of glam rock are often enough to suggest the latter, without turning the pages of NME or pouring over Pitchfork.

It’s all very well winning first prize in your local’s Sunday night Music Quiz for knowing dates and years, but it doesn’t mean you appreciate artists’ works any more than the daily punter propping himself up on the bar. If the music itself doesn’t tell you it’s from 1969, or that the band’s front man is dressed from head to toe in sequins, or that its inspiration is a dreary Manchester estate, then that might not be what matters to the artist. So why try to make that matter to you? If you’ve ears, shut your eyes and use them.