“Where are your great posts on obscure modern music, retiredmartin, we love them”
said no-one ever you all ask.
What a good question.
Last year my posts on melancholy melodies at the start of the first lockdown seemed to strike a, ahem, chord with my more discerning readers, but writing about music is about as useful as writing about beer in my experience.
Anyway, I’m cataloguing my albums at the moment. Here’s a classic from my collection, which Discogs reckons might be worth as much as 40p.
Someone make me an offer (sold as seen).
Actually, I haven’t bought a physical record since that Maria McKee CD a year ago, and have been receiving refunds on gigs postponed twice and then abandoned. I feel sorry for the artists.
If someone shows me how, I’ll download the new Julien Baker record, which is better than I dared hope.
Moving away from the sparse, almost “Pink Moon” plucked guitar stylings of “Sprained Ankle”, there’s a fuller sound here but the same intensity of lyrics (I just copied that off the Record Mirror review).
This track is a classic.
That line at 3:15 about the drunks at the bar talking over the band reminds me I last saw Julien at London’s Lexington in 2019 with Mrs RM in front of a reverent crowd who barely breathed.
Similarly at End of the Road, my annual music festival of choice (early Sep, PLEASE be on), crowds at the front are notoriously well-behaved, shushing the chatterers at the rear, and the loudest things are the shirts;
But I’d tolerate the talkers at a pub gig anywhere right now.
Incidentally, Julien comes from Germantown, Tennessee, whose top beer pub the Flying Saucer Emporium seems ill prepared for social distancing,
and drunks playing darts could do some damage to those plates, never mind each other.
NB No prize whatsoever for naming the pub at the top.