Oh great yellow god of the sky, we take your sighting as a blessing. The bees are buzzing by, flowers sway in the breeze, and Louis Armstrong is warbling away. Although this winter’s not been that cold, with no snow or ice, well, at least not in the south east of England, it’s still a grey–clouded, gloomy affair, so now it’s over, let the good times roll. And Jesus Christ, let the floods stop.
I got through far fewer albums than I thought I would for the winter album series, covering eight out of the twenty records I had anticipated writing about. I found writing about music to be interesting, fun and frustrating in equal measure, and quite rewarding when it comes together, although such acts of completion always happens at least a couple of days later than anticipated.
As you may be able to tell, I have thus far found that dissecting my own thoughts upon music to be an elusive undertaking, but I suspect this to be the case for most people. That said, and despite my earlier observation about summer being less conducive to the album format, I’m considering doing something for it similar to the winter album series. Until then, I’m going to try to write a few pieces on notable bass guitarists, and a few reviews via the first impressions of friends unlucky enough to have agreed to help me.
On a final note, one album I listened to with the expectation of including it in the winter series, and had a complete change of heart about, was Bob Dylan’s Blonde on Blonde. Why I thought it would be suitable for winter I don’t really recall through the wisdom of hindsight, but it now seems obvious that it’s music for Spring or Autumn; it’s rife with talk of times of transition, and its wry humour possesses neither the gravitas of winter nor the good–time–rock–out vibe of summer. Expect a piece on it soon(ish).
“And with a pen and pad I compose this rhyme
To hit you and get you equipped for the summertime.”
– His Royal Freshness.