PHOTO ALBUMS: Frou Frou - Details

 

February 2007.

The mid-morning light settled gently over the frost-tipped bushes and thin pathways that formed the scene. A fine drapery of cool mist wafted around the place, bothering the barren trees and itching the corners of the exposed brickwork. 

I stared aimlessly outside of my dorm room window. It looked stunning - the winter image outside - invoking such serene sensations, as well as charming the eyes. I was, however, content being indoors, what with the brisk chill in the air and I took comfort in allowing myself to gaze lazily out at the quaint scene. 

My attention became completely focussed outside, my eyes breathing in every aspect, every natural moment taking place. I became an observer of this tableau; acting as a witness to the small ceremonies of life playing out on the other side of the glass that separated us. I grudgingly allowed my gaze to drift back to the screen of my laptop, and the unfinished draft, for a brief moment. The work, an essay for my undergraduate Philosophy course, wasn’t due to be submitted for another week, but I had been quite taken by a sudden urge of proactive endeavour that morning. That feeling, however, had now dwindled effortlessly away, leaving me apathetic. 

My glare wafted back to the window. 

I was becoming easily distracted that particular week; It was the onset of spring, our lectures were on a break (as it was half-way through the term), and all motivation to physically ‘study’ had evaporated. My housemates were away, so I’d spent the start of the week watching the Zach Braff penned movie, Garden State, and I was subsequently savouring the quaint whimsy and ‘spirit’ of life purported therein, albeit, on my own. Furthermore, I was left reeling by the film’s wonderfully eclectic soundtrack, featuring such artists as The Shins, Coldplay, Zero 7, and Thievery Corporation. 

 

It was, however, the song playing over the closing scene of the film, ‘Let Go’, by British electronic group Frou Frou, that really grabbed my attention. 

Upon hearing the opening lyrics of the song, I identified Imogen Heap’s instantly recognisable vocal style (having been a fan of Heap’s 2005 solo album ‘Speak For Yourself’, during my college years), and eagerly picked up a copy of Frou Frou’s 2002 album, Details. 

I spent the following week listening intently to the album, while alternating between existing reclusively in my room and lazily exploring the countryside that surrounded the university campus located on Harcourt Hill in Oxford, all the while alone, and, yet, not lonely. In fact, it was this solitary period that allowed me to slow down and truly reflect upon my behaviour and perceptions of that particular time. 

The tone and feel of Details both manage to wonderfully complement this type of self-evaluation, as the songs featured appear to form images of delicacy, intimacy, vulnerability, and honesty, as well as a faint glimmer of hope, love, and salvation. The album’s sound is also significant in conjuring these emotions; Heap and co-producer Guy Sigsworth use a variety of electronic instruments and production techniques to construct a thick mesh of tones and sounds, weaving through glitchy-pop and experimental electronica, thus illustrating the frailty and complexity of the human condition. To put it another way, the delicacy and precision of the beats and calculated electronic sounds really cater, I feel, to the more introverted listener and manage to capture the frenetic nature of one’s mental state, when experiencing emotions. 

Tracks, such as ‘Breathe In’, ‘Hear Me Out’, and ‘Only Got One’ all stand out in my memory as being particularly rich in the aspects mentioned above, especially where it comes to describing the elation, as well as the sheer pain, of being in love. Other tracks of note include ‘It’s Good To Be In Love’ and ‘Psychobabble’, which both seem to explore the darker and more complex feelings regarding attraction, jealousy, manipulation and fear surrounding the act of reaching out and connecting with someone.  

One track that has always captivated me is ‘Must Be Dreaming’; an energetic, rapturous anthem that draws up to a glittering climax. This track encapsulates all of the pure feelings of being newly in love, as well as the doubt and fear that comes with it. Furthermore, it effortlessly evokes a sweet memory of a time of innocence and ‘spirit’ for me; where true experiences of ‘falling in love’, as well as ‘rejection’, had yet to be grasped, and where I wandered around in blissful ignorance, smiling out loud at the fresh world around me, at the age of 19. 

It’s also important to note that there exists a strong sense of inner-conflict threading through the narrative of the collection. For example, the aforementioned ‘Let Go’, which opens the album, explores feelings of failure and low self-worth, mixed with the pang of urgency; “Drink up, baby, down/ Mmm, are you in or are you out?/ Leave your things behind/ ‘Cause it’s all going off without you”. The song takes this sense of motivation and willed change and illustrates the message that it’s ok to feel vulnerable and that you should know that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. This sentiment is spoken strongly in the chorus, “So, let go, so let go, jump in/ Oh well, whatcha waiting for?/ It’s alright/ ‘Cause there’s beauty in a breakdown”. On closer analysis, it seems that this song is not only celebrating the nuances, or ‘details’, of emotion but also embracing the strength of the human spirit. And, this is just the opening track. 

Arguably, one of the most unique aspects of the album is its ability to focus so succinctly on the intricacies and inner-most elements of thought, or feeling, and manages to make them immensely applicable to the listener. One supposes that this is the basis behind the album’s title, Details, as the band appear to be drawing close attention to just that - the details of a given situation or feeling, in order to provide a more clear explanation and definition, perhaps in an attempt to help the listener to process trauma more successfully. In this light, it seems that the message being presented here is that paying attention to the details provides the most effective and true catharsis for those of a vulnerable state of mind. Perhaps, even an argument for the pursuit of hidden truths, as well as championing the analysis of the world around us, and within? 

Ultimately, the ‘half-term’ week ended, and I once again thrust myself into the essay, that had been sat on my computer, patiently waiting to receive more substance than just the opening paragraph. But, I was, once again, distracted by the substance of life that already existed outside my window. I returned to settling my gaze through the frosted glass. 

It seems that this act of being the spectator has been a practice that I’ve perennially observed throughout my life, and will likely do so onwards. I often find myself wilfully drawn to the smallest segments of information, the details of a matter, rather than the bigger picture. Perhaps, this is due to my fascination with how a given situation, event, or feeling is formed, right down to the tiniest degree. This thoroughness of consideration has, of course, often led me to dwell too much upon my own life and the world around me, consequently causing me to miss the important moments, when they’re staring me right in the face, thus rendering a vast amount of my analysis irrelevant, and a complete waste of time. 

My lazy staring out of a window, being a spectator to the life outside, becomes, it seems, my everyday view, forever.   

MUSINGS FROM A WINE-FUELLED VIEWING: The Exes

 

During this time of reflection, stuck indoors, evaluating who and what we are, and our place in the world around us, one might feel compelled to question the relevance of one's existence. Your mind dances through the idle hours, speculating whether your reaction to the world would be at all different if you had existed in another point in time, in another location. Perhaps, you would always have been staring in bemusement, wearing the same gormless expression, no matter who or where you were? Who can say? I suppose such notions are fruitless and one should, instead, focus on the distinctions that make us what we are and we should, in turn, grow to appreciate the importance of our very being and, ultimately, accept our true selves, in this given moment. 

Alternatively, one could succumb to the boredom of such folly, sit down, and scroll through the extensive archive of free content on one's Amazon Prime subscription, in quiet desperation for a sweet distraction. 

Personally, I opted for this alternative. 

It's through such breezy navigation of Amazon Prime that I stumbled upon the American sitcom The Exes (2011-2015). Drenched in the thrill of discovery, I decided to press play and see what delights were in store and whether they would be worthy of lifting me from my existential musings. Four seasons later, and I found myself in a state of quandary. To briefly explain, The Exes (2011-2015) is a sitcom which follows three male divorcees; an oddly matched trio who share an apartment, thanks to an arrangement made by their mutual divorce lawyer, Holly (played by Kristen Johnston), to help them collectively pool their 'out-of-the-game' insecurities and expectations, as they navigate the modern New York dating scene. The first thing to highlight is the wealth of comic-acting talent present. With performers such as Kristen Johnston, David Alan Basche, Donald Faison and Wayne Knight starring as 'the exes', and Kelly Stables as Holly's legal assistant, Eden, the show has the makings of a comedy show that you can truly trust to make you laugh. Sadly, the talents of these seasoned actors are somewhat squandered, as the show continuously wallows in a stale state of charmlessness, invoked by poor jokes, badly written innuendoes and awkward jibes. The actors simply seem embarrassed to be there, as if they had collectively lost a bet. 

And yet, I couldn't stop watching it (hence my quandary). 

As mentioned above, the jokes and situations that occur throughout the run of the show are generally gauche. That being said, however, the show seems to benefit from an odd sense of familiarity in its longevity; the viewer comes to spend so much time with the characters that the 'comedy' stems from their natural affiliation with them, making the whole experience more palatable. A similar example would be the way in which the tone of the hit sitcom, Friends, shifted around season 7 from being sharp-witted and fresh, to become overly familiar, and yet, comforting. It seemed that the show began to rely less upon smart observations and, instead, drew its humour from the characters simply saying 'their famous catchphrase', or relying upon the audience to react with “that's classic Joey!”, or something to that effect. The same can be said for The Exes, as the plot tends to become less important, and less smart, over time. But, at least the viewer knows where they stand with Holly, or Phil, etc. 

Speaking of the plot, the premise that Phil, Haskell and Stuart (Faison, Knight, and Basche respectively) are living together as 'exes', and that Holly, also a divorcee, is their lawyer and neighbour, seems to remain consistent throughout the four seasons, albeit weak and vague. Apart from the odd reference to the divorce process, alimony payments, or the sudden re-appearance of an ex-wife, the whole 'these guys are divorced' aspect tends to dwindle and, instead, gives way to focus on the blooming friendship and dependency that these characters have with each other. 

This aspect could allow the show to become easily confused with the likes of Friends, Seinfeld or How I Met Your Mother, (the nearest examples, that this writer can think of, involving a bunch of companions living, and dating, in New York). However, it feels like The Exes intentionally uses the inter-personal relationships between the characters to build subtly towards something that resembles more than just a friendship, but a union, of sorts. Thus, illustrating that these people are incapable of being 'exes', as they are so incredibly dependant upon the validation of each other, that they naturally form a strong bond; they've simply inadvertently drifted from one 'marriage' to another, as is their fate. Perhaps, the show's true intentions are to make us question our own placement in life; maybe we are all merely 'exes', floating between love affairs and flights of fancy, attaching ourselves to others, with vigour, in order to navigate our way forward in comfort, finding safety in numbers, avoiding the seeming inevitability, and fear, of being alone. 

Heady notions and supposed commentary aside, alas, the destiny of the show was somewhat ill-fated, having been cancelled after season 4, apparently due to poor ratings. Taking this into consideration, the 'finale' is managed exceptionally well. Sure, the plot is jostled around, causing otherwise life-changing situations to be thrown into the mix from nowhere, to justify the character's respective destinations. But, then again, the show actually succeeds in capturing a true feeling of achievement and 'closure', in its final scenes. The ending is handled with the type of tenderness, which physically urges the viewer to look back over the time that they've spent with these characters with a profound fondness, as well as the inherent sadness of a final goodbye. One feels like they are completing the same journey as the characters, and being suitably rewarded. Ok, so, it would be, perhaps, inappropriate to count the show's ending in the same league as the climax of the behemoths of TV comedy dramas from over the years. But, if it's only straight-forward comfort and reassurance that you're looking for in the future of these very two-dimensional and applicable characters, then that's exactly what you get. 

With all that having been said, the show's real charm lies in its innocence, and with its place in time. To clarify, The Exes, having ran from 2011 through to 2015, captures that beautiful sweet spot in commercial 'humour', before mainstream television started to take itself overly seriously, and constantly gleam itself with the polished sheen of social consciousness. The Exes doesn't attempt to hide its brashness, ignorance, nor its obnoxiousness towards a variety of social attitudes, where dating, gender, racism, and sexuality are concerned. Aside from the unintentionally conditioned awkwardness that this evokes in the viewer, this approach actually feels oddly refreshing. In a world full of 'woke' consciousness, infecting the sanctity of show running, writing and form, The Exes acts as a gentle study of a murky chapter in our recent social history, allowing us not to wince in shame, inciting judgement over the whole affair, but to, instead, embrace what we have now. It somehow feels more comforting and liberating to revel in the blindness of the past, with open eyes. 

It is for these reasons that I was finally able to wipe away the mists of confusion and conclude that The Exes is just the sweet distraction I was searching for. What the show lacks in sharp wit and smart observation, it more than makes up for in a wealth of welcome familiarity and integrity. It would be foolish to believe that the show was ever likely to be lavished with awards for outstanding comedy writing. But, it is fair to say that, unlike some of its contemporaries, The Exes isn't attempting to waste the viewers time, nor does it endeavour to insult the viewer's intelligence or ensnare them with puffed-up pretension, but is, instead, simply just trying to make you feel 'alright', and maybe even to make you smile. The Exes casts no illusion about its identity in the world and doesn't question its place in time, instead opting to simply exist and to do so with honesty and grace. Perhaps, we could learn a thing or two from The Exes' glittering example, as we traverse the uneven ground of the near-future, but this time, with our eyes open, and with a smile. 

So, like a tacky wine, stinging the dome of the mouth, The Exes is a thing that happened and whose existence we can't deny, no matter how hard we may try. But, we must remember that in a world of musty and ostentatious craft beer, at least we have wine, albeit cheap. 

*spills wine on keyboard*

PHOTO ALBUMS: Röyksopp - The Inevitable End

December 2014.

The bus pulled out of the depot and edged its way through to the main road, to join the cluster of traffic heading south into the city. The afternoon sun was slicing through the thin mist and piercing through the huge front window of the upper-deck and stinging my bleary eyes.

The previous night had been a heavy one.

I had arrived in Oxford on Saturday afternoon and had subsequently embarked on a night of heavy drinking.  I was visiting an old friend, who had planned a walking/ pub tour of the city.  The tour began that afternoon with a host of bars, sites and Christmas-themed attractions on the agenda.  

One such attraction was a Christmas light show situated in the Botanical Gardens in the city.  Our visit coincided with the recent felling of a large pine tree, with its limbs surrounding us, nestled peacefully on the grass, beneath the twinkling lights.  Said pine tree was said to have been a particular favourite with J.R.R.Tolkien (the tree had once featured in a famous photograph with the author) and was, therefore, billed as being the 'star attraction' of the event.  Furthermore, the detached pine cones had been collected and were being offered as souvenirs, with the opportunity to have them glazed with glitter and adorned with string, thus transforming them into Christmas decorations.  I remember the child-like thrill of obtaining a pine cone, slathering it with glue and showering the glitter accordingly, all the while filled with gratitude that I would get to keep this gift beyond this night.

The event was glorious; the avenues of trees festooned with lights standing so quaint and serene in the darkness, amidst the chill of the December air.  One could really taste the flavour of 'the magic of Christmas' in that scene and I remember allowing myself to sink further into the spirit.

Leaving the Botanical Gardens, our tour continued.  We weaved our way through the narrow streets, often appearing in and out of pubs along the route, right through to the early hours of Sunday.  Naturally, my memory becomes hazy, in patches.  However, I do remember being introduced to The Varsity Club's rooftop bar/ terrace (located above the covered market in the city centre).  I recall traversing the many steps to the top of the building, and walking out into the brisk evening chill and being struck by the sheer spectacle of the view across the rooftops and spires.  The memory of standing braced against the cold wind, wrapped up in a jacket, with a mulled wine in gloved hand, still stirs a fondness within me.

Mulled wine turned into regular wine, turned into cocktails.

Sunday morning hit me like a hammer.  I was slouched on the upper-front seat of the bus, with my head resting against the glass.  I was listening to the recently released The Inevitable End by Norwegian band, Röyksopp and, feeling drenched in the warmth of the music, allowed myself to sink back against the cushioned upholstery.

I had been a huge fan of Röyksopp for many years, but this bias didn't influence my immediate adoration for this album.  The entire collection exudes warmth, drama and emotion while conjuring wonderful images of pain, fear and regret.  The album evokes so many emotions, feelings and atmospheres, which are often at odds with the tones of the world outside of the album, and yet, seem to fit so incredibly comfortably within in.  It is, quite simply, a masterpiece.  

There are so many tracks that I could mention and discuss at length (such as 'Sordid Affair', 'Something in My Heart', 'Save Me', 'Thank you' and 'Compulsion'), for having affected me so strongly.  However, no other track perfectly encapsulates the tone and sentiment of the album as a whole, nor has any other track on the album affected me to such a great extent as 'You Know I Have To Go'.  This arguably simple love song, where the singer is declaring how their departure is the only way to preserve their love, is lifted and enriched through a dense, smooth and expansive landscape of sound touched with the delicacy of melody and emotion.  Listening to this track, even today, makes me want to cry and smile, all at once.

It almost shames me to think that I somewhat sullied the artistry of this album, by listening to it while in such a foul and sorry state of affairs.  However, I have to say, The Inevitable End represents more to me than just that weekend, and always will.

So moved was I by that weekend, or, more specifically, by the amalgamation of sounds and visuals that I had experienced, that I made the decision to return to Oxford every December.  Naturally, my annual visits became a Christmas tradition.

Years later, the pine cone has since taken on another identity and location. Today, it hangs solitary on my bedroom wall; a stark personification of the existence that I myself have seemed to inhabit as of late.  And, maybe, that was always its purpose – to act as a grim foreshadowing of my fate.  And, yet, it sparkles.  It has, somehow, retained its glitter after all this time.  Sure, some of the grains have since fallen and/or vanished.  But, many remain.

I am, unfortunately, unable to enjoy my tradition this year, nor will I be able to imbibe in my personal festive wonderments.  But, I remain hopeful.  I have to hope that joy, warmth and spirit will return, even after these sour times, where our comfortable way of life constantly seems to be reaching towards its natural conclusion.  For me, The Inevitable End holds the transitory qualities to remind me of times where one could reach out and touch the many wonders of winter, and, ironically, allows me to revive this spirit into tomorrow's new world.

The pine cone survives, it's glitter remains sparkling.

PHOTO ALBUMS: Fenech-Soler - Rituals

November 2013.

We are all just stood there, instruments in hand, facing each other.  The buildings around us cold and empty, going nowhere.  This stark contrast to the tight intricacy of the tramlines at our feet, causes a stir within us, as we anticipate what we are supposed to do - why we are here.  The four of us have our respective instruments, and we know how to play, but, at this moment, cannot muster the confidence to actually play, nor play together in concert.  But, we know that we must.  Suddenly, only I am in this scene.  Alone, sat behind my drum kit, I am now the focus.  It must be me who starts the song and who begins this process.  I forcibly activate some strain of confidence. I raise my sticks, ready to strike the opening beat.  Cut to black.  I am suddenly awake.

On a Saturday evening in mid-November 2013, I stuffed piles of dirty clothes into a small rucksack.  The washing machine in our apartment had ceased in its functions the previous Wednesday and our fears mounted as news of a visit from an electrician was not forthcoming.  Alas, in the meantime, I resorted to making the journey, traversing my way across town, to the laundrette.  

I had loaded the recently released album Rituals, by Fenech-Soler, onto my mp3 player, to accompany me on my trek, such was the distance to what was 'the nearest' laundrette.  I remember walking across Montpellier Gardens, located just south-west of Cheltenham town centre, in the evening twilight, observing the white gusts of my breath in front of me, while feeling warm inside.  I had packed a book and had acclimatised to the prospect of spending the following hours, alone, in the presence of the tumbling of clothes - the mechanical, unconscious cleansing of human filth.  I recall that particular evening to have been dark, but clear.  Balmy.  I remember feeling sufficiently warm and 'settled', as I made my way north-westerly, guided by the lights of the town.

Rituals sizzled in the space between my ears, behind my eyes. 'Magnetic', the bouncing, pounding pop-house track, danced in my mind, as I gazed across the Gardens to the various eateries and bars, teaming with Saturday-nighters; The lyrics “There's a world outside that we've never seen/ Can you feel it too?” taunting me.  The track 'In Our Blood' echoed this sentiment, with its anthem “It's in our blood/ It's in our blood/ It's in our blood/ In our blood tonight”, soaring over a punchy beat and a twinkling, rhythmic synth melody.

There was definitely an energy in the air, with the population heading to bars, restaurants, and clubs, for their Saturday evenings, blissfully unaware of other people's journeys and fates, nor the journeys and fates of their own lives, after this night.  And why would they even have considered this?  The fears and uncertainty of tomorrow was just that – tomorrow's problem.  The air was thick with vibrancy and assuredness.

Nowhere on the album was this feeling better portrayed that night than in the tracks 'Ritual 1' and it's successor 'Last Forever'.  I've always held a strong fondness for this couplet, with 'Ritual 1' acting as an introduction to 'Last Forever', as I really admire how effortlessly and wonderfully the tracks bleed into each other.   So majestic is their relationship, that it gives a transitory feel to the mid-point in the album.  I remember being suitably lifted from my quandaries at this point in my journey.  But, more specifically, the lyrics of the track 'Last Forever', seemed to speak of a larger concept – that now was the time to celebrate life and not to be concerned with tomorrow; “Now that we're here/ we feel so alive/ We could make it last forever/ We could waste time together”.  I could almost hear this message being sung from the masses in the bars and restaurants, as I passed.  Because, that was just it – that was the time to be alive, to play innocently in the follies of a Saturday night, away from fear.

So, why wasn't I out frolicking with the others, embracing the wonders of the night, instead of transporting dirty clothes, hermit-like, to the dreary laundrette?  Could I not feel it too?

Well, apart from my affliction with shyness, preventing me from being actively social, it's highly likely that I favoured the menial task of laundry, as I deemed it more necessary to maintaining my immediate comfort, at that particular point in time.  I would like to say that my attitudes have changed over the years, but, alas no, as the smaller things in life still beset my daily existence and prevent me from accomplishing my dreams.  This, of course, frustrates me no end.  It's as if I'm constantly in conflict with my desires and earthly requirements.  I grow angry and weary of the emotional strain this takes on me, as I constantly regret missed opportunities, especially when I have felt so fired up in the first instance.  I feel like I'm always on the brink of starting something, something great, but then yield.

I am reminded of a previous dream.

I forcibly activate some strain of confidence. I raise my sticks, ready to strike the opening beat.  Cut to black.  I am suddenly awake.

The dream itself was a vague representation of when I had once been a drummer in a band.  But it now, clearly, takes the form of another perception; I am so constantly consumed by the anticipation to 'start', that I never actually start at all.  I never actually 'hit the beat'. 

It's fascinating, listening to Rituals now in 2020, seven years after it's release, and really feeling the innocence streaming from it.  It's soo representative of another time, a distant time compared to this current time of restriction and uncertainty.  The feeling of lost innocence and liberty has become somewhat heightened, as a result.  I look back over my shoulder and see the heavy shackles of shyness and regret dragging far behind me, shackles that have bound me for a long, long time.  Since long before that night in 2013 have these binds held me captive, which, in turn, has led to long stints of sadness and despair.  If only I could have been more confident, made changes, or, made the 'right' decisions earlier, then, perhaps, I'd feel less alone today.  Perhaps, if I'd ditched the laundry and gone to the bars, to be among the people that night, I'd be happy.  Perhaps there will soon be a day where I can, once again, say with confidence “now that I'm here, I feel so alive!”.

Perhaps.

PHOTO ALBUMS: Mellow Gang - Play EP

November 2017

The heavy, automated train doors opened with a squeal, and the few of us waiting on the platform filed into the carriage. I found an empty seat, sat down, positioned my suitcase and satchel bag on the floor, around me. The subway train doors closed and the train began to move. I adorned my headphones and loaded up Mellow Gang's Play EP on my mobile phone.

I had spent the preceding week in Toronto, celebrating my 30^th birthday. Staying with friends for the duration, I was filled with the warmth of memories and companionship. The week had been full of excitement, parties, drinking, and unforgettable adventures. Fifteen minutes previous, I had said an emotional goodbye to two of my close friends, and now, here I was, alone on a subway train, heading west across the city to the airport. The sadness came quickly. I was drenched in emotion within seconds and hid my face in the collar of my jacket, attempting to hide my tears from the other commuters in the carriage. My tears spoke not only of longing but of dread, as I processed the prospect of the near-24 hour-long journey ahead of me, back to the UK, alone. Twenty four hours imprisoned in my solitude.

Attempting to combat this fear, I cycled through my memories of the week, coasting across the multitude of feelings that had been conjured by the dazzle and charm of the great times I had experienced and been treated to. Through further tears, I came to realise that this had been somewhat ill-advised. Alas, I preceded to instead think back to events from the weeks, and months that had led up to my trip to Canada, in November of 2017. This would also prove to be in vain. At least, however, it allowed me to re-connect with my reality outside of this particular week. It somehow allowed me to connect to some semblance of normality to a time before all the dizziness.

One such event had been the Ritual Union festival, which had taken place in Oxford in October of that year. A few friends and I had attended the festival, which showcased a wide assortment of, predominantly, indie-rock/ post-rock artists. We saw many interesting acts that day, but the one that truly captivated us the most was the London-based outfit, Mellow Gang. Following their performance, I purchased a copy of their 4-track digital release, Play EP, and had taken to listening to it on repeat. The EP had a charming quality to it, which took me back to the enjoyment and pleasure I felt while seeing the band perform the tracks live in Oxford.

And, then, there I was, a month later, crying on the train, once again allowing the EP to transport me to a happier place, somewhere more comforting.

Play EP features four tracks, all of a dream-like quality. Mellow Gang's washed-out, guitar and synthesized indie sound wafts gracefully through the brief selection and truly makes for a lovely taste of escape. The tracks, however, vary very slightly in tone. For example, 'Lagoon – Solina' strolls with confidence and perkiness, and stands as possibly the most 'upbeat' sounding track on the EP. Whereas, the EP's closer, 'Mirrored', is more of a brooding and slightly prickly moan into the stratosphere.

I would, however, like to draw special attention to the haunting, yet sensual, opening track, 'My Last', which builds at such a satisfying pace. I specifically remember feeling like I was in a dream, sitting there, alone, on the train, with this song floating through my head. That is not to say that the song in any way enhanced my sadness at that moment. Not at all. Instead, it gave a somewhat meditative context to my feelings, allowing me to reflect upon my situation in a broader sense. I began to view myself, in that space, in the cinematic – I was a character going through a contemplative process, my mind spreading across vast distances in space and time, while traveling in the physical sense, aboard the subway train. The Play EP had become trans-formative.

I'm quite sure that I am not the first person to be overwhelmed with sadness on a train, nor am I the first to grasp for the sanctuary of memories, to heal deep wounds. But, I feel that my experience stands as a testament to that oft-referenced, magical quality within music – the quality to bend time and space and to carry us through from the darkness, towards the light. Quite the praise for a little EP, from an up-and-coming London based indie-rock band? Well yes, I think that's justified. After all, surely it doesn't matter how grand, intricate, and heavily-crafted a piece of music is - whether the art is complex or simple in its nature, is it not enough for it to simply be effective?

I cannot honestly deny the effectiveness of Play EP by Mellow Gang, nor it's effect on me, that day in Toronto. To have one's mind, in all it's infinite expense, be so wonderfully nurtured and comforted, deep underground, in a tin box, moving quickly beneath the earth is no small task. The journey within and without.

PHOTO ALBUMS (SPOTLIGHT): Filter - Take A Picture

 

6^th November 2017

I looked at myself in the gift shop's mirror. Physical signs had not yet presented themselves. But, at this moment, the pressure, that had been bubbling away just below the surface, seemed to have finally subsided. Over the course of the day, months of worry, anxiety, and fear had disappeared and had left me comfortably empty. I was older, but I was free - free of the shackles, self-imposed 11 months previous, in an act of desperation. Was it happiness I was feeling? I think so, at least, it certainly felt like it. Then again, it had been such a long time, I'd forgotten how it felt.

In January of 2017, the realization that I was to turn 30 years old in November of that year slapped me hard in the face. I began to reflect upon my position in life and recall the plethora of wrong, or misguided, decisions that had led me there. I looked and found nothing to sufficiently justify my time here; I had no credible accomplishments, nor did I have anything of value to offer. I felt ashamed and small. Riddled with regret, I set to making a plan for how I would see in my 30^th year, in an attempt to redeem myself. I knew it had to be special. Something good. Something memorable.

I would often feel stupid for feeling so daunted and so constricted by this fear. Yet, I also felt so compelled to strive to better myself, in time for the November deadline. I, therefore, ultimately decided to visit some close friends of mine in Toronto, in an attempt to vindicate the importance of the occasion. I had made no further plans than that and just assumed that we would spend the time drinking, heavily. I had exhausted all of my will-power on the decision and had, in turn, succumbed to small-mindedness and a complete lack of imagination.

I was, therefore, pleasantly and thoroughly overjoyed when my friends surprised me with a trip to Niagara Falls.

So, there I was, on my 30^th birthday, at Niagara Falls.

We had spent that afternoon exploring the Falls and we were now in one of the many gift-shops located at the border with America. While wandering through the jungle of novelty items, a distant song floated across the room, from the store's stereo, and tugged at my senses. A song that was so familiar, yet unplaceable. I was sure that I knew the song, but I desperately searched my memories in an attempt to try to recall what the song was, and exactly how I knew it. Something in my mind made a connection to something cinematic. The mystery song had a sparse and wafting quality to it that somehow evoked thoughts and conjured images of 'release', 'abandon', and 'youthful exuberance'. This, of course, seemed very fitting, on this particular day.

I honestly couldn't help but attribute the same themes to my own feelings, at that moment. There had been such a self-enforced build-up of pressure and meaning leading up to this day, and yet, ultimately, it had all been rather unnecessary. Not only because of the small passage of time that saw my 29^th year bleed into my 30^th, but also because it all just seemed so inconsequential, by comparison.

Everything in this place had chosen not to be governed by such trivialities, such as birthdays, ceremony or social pressures, and would go on forever in blissful ignorance. The water pouring over the rocks paid no mind to the passage of time, so why did I, and, why did I dedicate so much of my time to such an aimless endeavour. Standing at the Falls and breathing in the natural air, looking around, I came to realise just how small and insignificant my fears had been. I felt a sudden burst of release. The shackles were loose, finally. The happiness began flooding in and I felt content and safe. I felt alive and I hoped in desperation that the feeling would never leave me.

I, ultimately, established that the mystery song was in fact 'Take A Picture' by the band Filter, and that I only knew it from a vague recollection of a scene from a film I'd once seen, The Girl Next Door (2004). In said scene, the song plays over a montage of moments, which depict how the two central characters are 'falling in love'. I assumed that this somewhat explained my affiliations to the aforementioned feelings of 'release', 'abandon', and 'youthful exuberance'.

'Take A Picture' flows along with a comfortable and soothing tone and has a charming way of lifting one's spirits and senses, as it drifts along. The echoed guitars and heavily effected atmospherics, along with the coherent and, yet, emotional feel of the vocals, really creates a dream-like blanket of sound, making one feel free, as if floating softly through the ether. Furthermore, with the provocative chorus “Could you take my picture/ 'Cause I won't remember?”, I found it extremely easy to attach the sentiment to my own circumstances.

The interpretation I drew, that day at the Falls, was that I wanted to capture that moment, for posterity, just in case I later didn't remember, or even worse, if I couldn't believe that it had actually happened. And, so intense were my anxieties, leading up to that day, that I genuinely thought that I could, potentially, forget the happiness, or even lose the revelation that I had landed upon.

So, now, when I hear 'Take A Picture', I don't just think of The Girl Next Door (although, it is a classic!), and I don't just think of Niagara Falls, but I am also reminded of the magical healing quality of music, and also of nature and how, sometimes, all it takes is the perfect combination of the two to make you feel joy, and to set you free.

A smile breaks, as the irony dawns upon me.

PHOTO ALBUMS: Paul Oakenfold - Greatest Hits & Remixes

 

October 2007.

I remember being in the grip of wonderment, as new and exciting opportunities opened up before me.

I was young.  I was confident.  I was free.  I think it's for these reasons that I've recently found myself being compelled not only to revisit this particular album, but also to recall that exact point in time, clutching for posterity.  My life seemed so vibrant back then, by comparison.

I was 19 and I had just begun my second year at Oxford Brookes University.  I'd moved into a student town-house with university friends and I had recently taken on a part-time job as a sales assistant at Boswells of Oxford, a department store in the centre of the city.  My wage, along with the student loan payments, provided me with enough cash and filled me with the dizzy hunger for hedonism.  The implications of 'maturity' and 'responsibility' were completely lost on me, and I remember being constantly distracted by my world outside of work.  Lost in innocence.  I was dazzled by the intrigue and fervour of an active social life (remember social lives?), with a flurry of parties and club nights often on the horizon.

Again, a very vibrant time, by comparison.

I remember the evening of Wednesday 31 October 2007, well, I distinctly remember my journey home from work, and more specifically, the provocative quality of my journey's soundtrack.  I walked out of work at 5:30pm into the chilled stillness of the autumn air and I, like the other pedestrians, was replete with jacket and scarf.   My head was full of buzz and anticipation, for my house-mates and I were to have a Halloween party that evening.  As I made my way down Cornmarket Street, I yearned for a soundtrack to guide me home.  I plugged my headphones into my Creative Zen Touch mp3 player (that's 2007, folks!) and loaded up an album that I had purchased the previous week, and the focus of this re-appraisal, Paul Oakenfold: Greatest Hits & Remixes.

I had picked up a copy of this compilation album the day it came out, as I was eager to hear the vast array of remixes it contained, having been a fan of Paul Oakenfold's work for some time already.  As such, I was already familiar with some of the tracks, such as the punchy-fun 'Starry Eyed Surprise', Oakenfold's instantly recognisable mix of Joyriders' 'Big Brother' and the high octane charge of 'Ready Steady Go'.  However, I was pleasantly surprised to also hear Oakenfold's remixes of tracks by some of my favourite bands, including Mansun's 'Wide Open Space' and Radiohead's 'Everything In Its Right Place'.  And with the album acting as a continual mix, on both Discs, the party kept on going. 

I'd, however, like to make specific mention to a few tracks featured on the double compilation album, which really encapsulate the unique feeling of that evening, as well as the feeling of that time, for me.

Disc One opens with a remix of Skunk Anansie's 'Brazen', which perfectly personified the harsh and brooding autumnal scape that I was walking through, whereas the Balearic-disco tinged remix of Justin Timberlake's 'Rock Your Body', comfortably set the tone for the playfulness and exuberance that was to ensue that night.  But, it was the triumvirate of tracks at the beginning of Disc Two that really formed the feeling of warmth, joy and youth.  

The album opens with a glitchy-techno version of Olive's 'You're Not Alone (Oakenfold & Osbourne's remix)', which transitions seamlessly into the confident club-anthem 'Faster Kill Pussycat', before settling into Oakenfold's 2008 tech-house remix of the aforementioned 'Everything In It's Right Place'.  The way in which the mix elevates and flows through these tracks really affected me, seeping through my pores and invigorating my bones, and I found myself lost in the wall of sound, on my journey home.  In retrospect, the mix tends to keep to its well-oiled craft and remains relatively consistent across the double-album, with a few mild exceptions.  That being said, the tone generally holds true, making this a fine collection.

Regardless, on that particular night, the pumping energy of this double album filled my ears and guided me the rest of the way through the streets, and onto my destination – party.

That was 2007, and that was a very different time, not just for me and my naive little brain, but for everyone.  You don't need me to tell you that dance music, and, of course, the world and our lives, have changed, transformed and spun off into interesting and unknown directions since that time.

Yet, is it not music that we rely upon to take us to places of comfort and joy?  Is it not music that we cling to when yearning for familiarity and acceptance?  Is it not music that we reach for, a place to which we travel, to feel safe and enriched by life, rather than in dismay of it?  For me, when in times of sadness or disillusion, I escape into my memories (as you may have noticed).  Personally, I've always found that music is the ultimate trigger and mechanism to help me create new memories, as well as revisit the past, more than any other medium.

And so, here I sit, in my lonely room, on 31 October 2020, and I insert Disc One of Paul Oakenfold: Greatest Hits & Remixes into the CD deck and travel back in time.  Back to a time when I was not alone.  When I had no worries.

When I was young.

When I was confident.

When I was free.

When everything was in its right place.