Obviously, immediately, I’m trying to answer a question. I’m writing it down. I’m listening to the rain. I’m lying in bed. I’m trying to not get too distracted by music and odd lyrics. I’m wondering if that sound outside my bedroom means that my housemate is home, that is making me nervously excited. I am worried about the self-reflexivity of this kind of process, and the rules of the game being broken by a direct question about me. I am constantly eyeing up the icon in the corner that means someone’s said something to me on twitter.
I am probably going to to click that icon and see what’s going on.
None of your business, actually.
Anyway, I’m still writing. And you barely even noticed the break in attention, so maybe I have got more space to let my mind and thought processes wander. (Actually I’m already just waiting for this record to get to my favourite bit so I can start describing what my body does with the bass and the saxophone and the slightly awkward lyrics).
I’m lying in bed, with my legs bent up to cradle my baby laptop. Surrounded by pillows, feeling slightly fuzzy around the face. I’m wondering what I’m going to do on a rainy day off. All my plans are sporadic and wobbly.
I’m cranking the music up a little bit. The bassline thuds slowly as the saxophone drones upwards. Eleanor Friedberger is singing to me about living on manhattan (eversocool). But it’s the spaciousness of the music that makes room for me to be affected. A glittery but jangly guitar has just sprinkled into the mix and now she’s singing over herself. The music slowly thickening, then dropping out. The drums are where their’s so much space, she’s trying to say too much. The sax is getting sleazier, but it’s wrapped up in everything else. The bassline is the simplest thing in the world, but it pitches up on the chorus just enough to make my heart bounce a little. The whole is more than the sum. Layered delicately, letting me get lost in it. There’s some odd echoed percussion emerging from the mix. The cowbell that’s gone unmentioned is coming to the fore as everything else collapses and fades.
It’s a new song now, already, the percussion has led and the vocal has re-entered with a new sense of bounce. Add some upbeat guitar and hand claps and you’re suddenly somewhere totally different. It doesn’t matter where, but the journey he was fun. There’s even a melancholy horn in the midst of the bounceness.
I’m doing what I always do. Listening to music and thinking too much.
Harmonica warms it all. The wall’s come crumbling down along with the song.
Another break you didn’t notice and my housemate is definitely here. Tired head bunged hugs and hellos. Turns out our freezer’s defrosted. Which is troublesome.
Now I’m stroking a cat. And I don’t care about writing
Which is handy.
Illustration by Emma.