I’ve been below par. That’s my excuse. I continue to be below par and, in fact, suffered a rare day off ‘on the sick’ today. There were no Yootha Joyce moving pictures to admire.
I have just looked back over recent postings and apologise for the prevalence of cheesy puns in the titles.
There are plenty of recently released albums I would like to own at the moment including offerings from Arcade Fire, Air, and, possibly, Laura Veirs. I have downloaded the new Tracey Thorn long player, Out of the Woods and, admittedly after a single listening, am far from impressed. It sounds a bit, hmmm, eighties. It may grow. It may grow. I have a huge soft spot for Everything But The Girl. I’m not sure that the melancholic popsters qualify for ‘guilty pleasure’ status but the duo’s numerous albums remain knowing, atmospheric, melodic, haunting and, importantly, covey a singular English charm. I like them enormously. I’m typing this as I listen to Thorn’s other solo album, A Distant Shore, which unbelievably is one quarter of a century old. These wistful, understated slices of moody bedsit gloom appealed to my sensitivities then and continue to move me now. I note that I included Thorn’s version of Femme Fatale from A Distant Shore in my list of favourite cover versions a month or so ago.
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