Jul. 3rd, 2013

[identity profile] amethysting.livejournal.com

Kill Kill Kill
Club 8
Above the City

Wading through the zillions of files on my hard drive, I stumbled across a folder labeled "Club 8", last modified May 2013.  I thought, what the fuck is Club 8? and then, how can I not remember something I apparently downloaded a few months ago? and then, I wonder if they/he/she is derivative of S Club 7?

I dropped the folder into iTunes (and not immediately into my iPod...I wasn't feeling all that optimistic) and clicked on "Kill Kill Kill" (the fact that it is the opening track and something about the title made me choose it over the others).  I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this--what a departure from all of the female-fronted punk I have been listening to.  It starts with a sound like that made by a razor-sharp blade cutting through the air bounces from headphone to headphone before that bassline kicks in.  I had been so dismissive of the files I had unzipped over the last few hours that it was almost strange to stop and listen.  To wait.  For that sort-of-unsettling blast from an organ.  My interest was piqued.  That ethereal voice floating above the beat ("Floating, floating", the opening words).  And then,

The wondering smell, the sensual touch
you lick your fingers and enjoy the sight

Ouf.  Those words on a hot summer night; when I was looking, waiting for something to grab me.  The album varies...from this strange, churning opener to slow songs with a meandering fun-house vibe to disco to straight-ahead Swedish pop.  I don't know what I'll make of all this after repeated listens, but finally something that sounds a little different; something with an immediate impact.
[identity profile] cabaretlights.livejournal.com

Clipped Wings
Man Without Country

: Sometimes I am a victim of my circumstance: a bad year puts me in a bad state, convinced I will always be lacklustre, pointless. And then everything shifts: a haphazard documentary inspires a full teaching unit; a flash of memory sparks an upward tailspin; revisiting Claire Voyant with revolutions in mind, last week, reminds me of what it felt like to be 18 and vibrant. And then all the circumstances align, or something like that, and suddenly I feel like myself. Dancing at 1am to bad pop; breathing in open windows; wanting nothing more than another hour of feeling exactly like this.

I used to listen to music while watching specific DVDs and getting up to dance. That's how I discovered most of my favourite, most loved songs, and how I created the memories attached to many of them. I don't really do that anymore, for various reasons, but when my heart's in the right place, I remember what I used to do and I explode. And the song I happen upon that night, whichever one has the right connotations or melody or key change, that song will suddenly mean everything (because, for all the writing we do here, I, at least, will never be able to articulate precisely why a song means the world to me).

Tonight (writing this early, on Monday), it was "Clipped Wings."

I found it listening to an electropop mix I downloaded via Polly Scattergood's Facebook page (she is also featured), and it stood out brilliantly. I'm sure I skipped this album's release on NAR because it was labeled "shoegaze" (and because the cover screams the same, haha) but don't be fooled: this is shoegaze at its absolute finest, swirling and spinning and surprisingly melodically well-defined. It sounds like I imagine my heart would if it could sing what it's feeling, tonight. Vibrating, vibrating, vibrating, up and down and in my entire body.


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