I can't tell you anything at all / And that's the biggest joke of all.
Posts tagged Amusement Parks on Fire
Bohren & der Club Of Gore’s outrageous Sunset Mission is playing as I sit in a Travelodge with beer and curry remnants and start thinking about the logistics of cutting out to the venue just round the corner to see the greatest show on earth.
I walked down Holloway Road earlier - London was baking. The sunlight was garish, relentless, burny. I get sad - I get really sad. I walk past a curry restaurant - it’s changed names since, but me and my dad once went in there after seeing Robin van Persie score a peerless goal in pre-season to beat Inter Milan. This was summer 2007. My memories of that summer nearly all involve light - nearly every one. Even the absence of light was just a period of patience before I got it back again in real time. I walked around all morning discovering Hex by Bark Psychosis for my very own. It was mine, all mine! I realised this was something really special, not to be repeated or compared; it just happened. It existed, and everything thereafter was going to be OK. That was also before you - yes, you - fucked me up. Prophetically, the year ended with an impending, tangible absence of light, as I became permanently and nervously nocturnal; the genius loci was the imperceptible neon as my train pulled into Newcastle via a diverted back way. I was off to see Amusement Parks On Fire then too.
I got talking to a thoroughly lovely bloke from Leeds last night and heard myself three-quarter-drunkenly lecture on Hex - he hasn’t heard it, he now has a note on his phone to download it. I envy him. I fucking envy him. To have the opportunity of discovering the soundtrack of my half-decade ago is exactly the timewarp I’m bemoaning, seeking, grieving. Nothing about my life was better in 2007 - but it was simpler. I was moneyless, girl-less, my employment was shoving leaflets through people’s doors (i.e. being paid to walk around all forms of shit, modern architecture whilst making those Bark connections through my headphones. Architecture, music, light and weather became intertwined).
It’s the memory of simplicity that slays me now. I was still capable of getting routinely fanatical. There was new stuff from the White Stripes, Mr Hudson, Klaxons, Blanche, Fields, Bat For Lashes, the Kissaway Trail… this stuff was more than just excellent. It fully justified devotion. I remember mine and everyone’s genuine optimism about the Arsenal. Our squad was amazing. We were going to win the league - of course we were. We were phenomenal.
And then we went to St Andrews (in February, I think?) and Eduardo da Silva’s leg was shattered to the point he was lucky not to forever be footnoted as an amputee, and my love for football died hugely, never to recover in full, as our season shrivelled into the most impossible of should’ve beens. One day I’ll summon up the courage I need to write about that afternoon. But even five years later, it still hurts too much.
My (domestic) memories of 2008 are mostly set in darkness. I didn’t want that; I wanted sunrise. I didn’t want to have to deal with sunset. 2007 was the last year I was, in retrospect, able to be naive, able to live entirely how I wanted to, wasn’t jaded, still felt I had things to offer other people; didn’t have to just get by and make do. I didn’t want to do things on my own. Holloway Road today felt like that momentary passport back to that state of being. But it didn’t make me happy.
Light or none, laughter or not, I was blessed any of this ever happened, and I’m equally blessed now, tonight, today, this week. I’m off to stick my head under the noise. Ciao, bella.
The Convex Mancave of Indifference
Mr Lewis over at The Tidal Wave Of Indifference has been very nice about Convex Mancave during a splendidly entertaining interview with us today.
“This is music to be absorbed. Don’t even think about doing anything else while it’s on – it just won’t work.”