blast from the past: UK garage - the album pt. 2

Not sure why the huge delay in garage flashback posts occured. They are easily the most enjoyable pieces to write. Apologies. Full speed ahead to Napa kids.

Receiving a CD Discman at the age of ten was a big thing. A landmark moment because I no longer relied on other people to listen to whatever the hell I desired. I began cultivating a collection of CD singles as well as a series of crushes. One was Shola Ama. No joke. Others included Louise Nurding and All Saints.

Ama's career arguably peaked with her version of Randy Crawford's You Might Need Somebody. In my view, the follow-up single, You're The One I Love actually bettered it. Unfortunately for Ama, the second album bombed despite the successful collab with Glamma Kid in between. What WEA should have done was got Club Asylum to remix the whole album. Their stellar work in sprucing up the otherwise snorefest Imagine into the best summer smash that never was testifies to that. The crucial addition? Speed.

Freed from schmaltzy production, the Ama vocal is forced to compete with itself whilst that classic beat and simple 2step flourishes weave a masterpiece that would definitely have been on the stereo whilst chugging a fishbowl or ten. The money shot occurs around the two minute thirty part, the track seemingly meandering out before the vocal counterplay comes waltzing back in to love you endlessly.

Shola Ama - Imagine (The Asylum remix)


///buy UK Garage - The Album from Amazon Marketplace. I think there's a warehouse full of the CD's that needs liberating!
///head back to the previous post of Kristine Blonde eyecandy.

It's a pity the next track on the album is by Gabrielle. Despite the best efforts of Artful Dodger it's most definitely a skip. Two more tracks from this record to go. Sadie Ama for 2010 by the way??

digging at the air

Jack leafed through his wallet, touching the photo as he pulled out his time-card and punched in. The Bundy clock had no answer as to why she hadn't replied. Still. The past week had been pure water torture. The relish he applied to the railroad grind evaporated into a viscous haze of insecure self-loathing, leaving the monotony bare. He didn't give anything away to his fellow workers, the banter continued as per usual. The only recourse at his disposal was to write again, as the last letter had obviously reached an untimely end in transit. It wouldn't be the last to undergo such a fate. His name wasn't really Jack.

The Zutons - Railroad


///taken from Who Killed The Zutons (2004)?
///photo

if you're looking for

another end of year list, you have come to the wrong part of blogville. If you're looking for the best Friday night about, then head the hell to Dalston and Barden's Boudoir. Our good friends at Dollop and Dummy have got their heads together to bring the party. Be there or be a big, fucking loser. Free sambuca for those there at the getgo.

///visit dollop for exclusive mix from Arne Blackman.

i thought i was crazy cos you told me so

In lieu of creating boring boring lists, apart from the faintly glamourous one which will emerge soon, I took the decision to recount a few of the songs / bands I have deeply enjoyed over the last decade with a bunch of pretty words that relate somehow.
Condensing my faves into some kind of order is not my kind of fun.

Whisky thursdays seem like the best way of combatting the incessant chill that silently beats about the windows. The Talisker fug descends, bringing with it the sensation of being in a warm bath for a smattering of fleeting instants. Shut the window, curtains, door. Ferme la fenetre, rideaux, porte. You're going to have to leave the house at some point but bathing in coldwarm melancholy on the divan seems to be all that's on the menu for now. Knock back another small. It's not like business has been booming lately.

The Dears - The Second Part


///taken from 'No Cities Left' where you can hear more of Lightburn's morosely tender outpourings
//photo

we are all friends. we are all enemies.

How does one cram so much into so little?
Laurel stared at her suitcase which still refused to close.
Eight hours earlier, she'd been dancing, feathers in her hair.
Seven hours earlier, she'd been swimming in open waters.
Two hours earlier, she'd been exchanging goodbyes and warm embraces.
An hour earlier, she was sleeping on a bus, the seat worn by previous exhausted departees.
Now she was standing in the check in queue at Chiang Mai airport.

Laurel Halo - The Cult of Optimism


Chiang Mai to JFK could take a day, or more of total transit.
Waiting with headphones, journals to scribble the time away.
Calculations of "am I nearer to home or am I still on vacation?"
You can't forget that easily.

Eleven hours later being rudely awoken by the hostess.
Thirteen hours later drinking actual coffee in the stopover zone.
Thirteen and a half hours later running for the shuttle train.

Twenty six hours later, slumping into the back of a cab.
The journey spent trying to reassemble the broken Balinese clove
cigarettes in your pocket into something salvageable.
Twenty seven hours later, victory collapse on the apartment floor.

In about fourteen actual hours, she'll take to the stage in Manhattan at the Lit Lounge.
If I could get there in time, I'd probably go. Watch out for the Ambrosia EP.

//photo

promise you'll never lie to me.

- Go on try.
- Okay, I'll try. What shall I say?
- Promise you'll never lie to me.
- I promise
- Promets-moi que tu ne me mentiras jamais
- Je promets
- Do I sound any different?
- Just the same.

The summer rushed in through the window, the breeze made it bang. The lock no longer held like it held at the cremaillere. I wasn't sure who was guilty. Truth economist and easily distracted, my thoughts returned to the saucepan. I never questioned what she said.

She was smoking luckies out the window. I went to the bedroom to find the soundtrack.

Organ Morgan - Broken Heart


I sunk into the bed as the beat dropped. Also dropping was the end of the cigarette, hurtling through peletier wind pockets in a motion that twirled and twissled before gently nestling in a stroller's hat. I saw grey, orange, green and white.

- This reminds me of that film. Can we watch it?

I know the one she means.

- I've seen it so many times.

She doesn't know I watched it last week with Alexa.

- Please?

Alright. Alright. Already.

Kraked Unit - Poupées Russes


Mathew Mayes aka Organ Morgan is a purveyor of sample based delights.
Broken Heart occupies the prettiest of middle grounds; a thumb war between Bibio and Kraked Unit that continues to engross after the twentieth replay.

ce soir.

It's going to be mortel.
Normal posts to return tomorrow.