Listening to: http://grooveshark.com/#/artist/Patrick+Watson/4964
Alone it is, then. It’s taking all my might and oomf and gusto, but I can hear my housemate playing the Metronomy album that I’m so fond of downstairs, and yet… Instead of joining in for an umpteenth listen, I am compelling myself to partake in Close to Paradise by Patrick Watson…
… And halfway through, listening to Weight of the World, I am thoroughly fulfilled. This particular song reminds me of the Crimea, which takes me back to the first time I heard them – Losing My Hair was playing upstairs in Borders, when we had one in York, and I was a hopeful student enjoying the varied intellectual surroundings, picking things up at random, talking to strangers to pin down what it was I was listening to. Finally, I was not three, listening to the radio and falling love with songs and then never hearing them again, at least not at my own command, because there was no announcement, it didn’t matter to them if you knew what you’d heard, so long as you started yearning for it. So different these days. Everyone has the answers. But then… Then, I was taking charge for myself. Commanding my tastes, nurturing them, not just ignoring them.
I do this on and off. Sometimes I allow myself to talk to strangers, to ask what’s playing; sometimes I keep my eyes down, like I do on the street every time I pass a large, loud group of teenagers. I’m not sure what pushes me in either direction each day, per incident. I think I enjoy the freedom to remain quiet when I feel like it. I exercise it more than necessary perhaps.
This album is truly touching, the first thing I’ve listened to in a long while that has caught me and held me in a certain magical, nostsalgic, romantic frame of mind, and I would highly recommend it. Beautiful, haunting instrumentals in some moments, and gently cradling waves of tune in others.
Listening back to Wooden Arms as well, I’m amazed at the variety in the kinds of sounds that you’re swept along on. It’s like an epic journey across an ocean. Lonely, beautiful, surging, refreshing. Stuff that makes your skin prickle.
Moving on to Just Another Ordinary Day, a rather harmful thought is dawning on me: I should take myself more seriously. Everyone around me is having babies or getting married, or at least in a job that’s either well paid, or gets them some nice kudos. Academic credit would be nice. And oh how floaty a way to put it. “If it happens, it would be nice.” I feel that these accidental melancholy evenings sitting in on my own are probably getting a bit big for my clothes now. They are probably supposed to pass.
Rounding off my evening with waterproof9. I am reminded of Pink Floyd. I get up, press myself against the radiator, lean my forehead on the wall for a moment. I pull my jumper back down, and go to my window. I am allowing myself at least a little moment of pleasure tonight. I open the skylight. I hear the bangs. Enough of them. My window is on the wrong side of the house. Obsessions subsided. For now. At least I can Google image it.