Eighties fan
When I were a lad, I was a big fan of indie music. If it had jangly guitars and whiny adolescents singing about how crap it is not to have a girlfriend, I lapped it up. So I recently bought the Rough Trade Indiepop set. It's chockers with good stuff from the 80s: When you're sad, I could be in heaven, Safety net. Okay, there are a few bands missing (the usual legal problems) but it's a decent representation of the scene of that time.But also lurking in there is a slice of pop perfection, something so fantastic it knocked me off my feet. I'd never heard of the band and they weren't around in the eighties, but Camera Obscura's Eighties Fan is as good as it gets.
When it comes to music, I enjoy a range of stuff but in my view the peak is the three-minute pop song. Nothing moves me more. Nothing makes me take joy in this life quite as much as belting out the chorus of a song about nothing much and everything. Who can listen to Say a little prayer and not think it's the most wonderful collision of tune and voice? Who could hear All my loving and not join me and Zenella as we tunelessly clout the chorus for six? Who does not feel a lift in their heart when they hear Heavenly pop hit? If that who is you, what is wrong with you?
You don't get that from rock. You don't get it from Bach, whatever pleasures he has for you. You don't get it from your fucking Aphex acid. You get it from three, four minutes of nothing much in particular and everything that matters. And like all small wonderful things in this life, you can just about only find it when you're not looking.
posted by Dr Zen @ 1:44 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home