Music Archive

Retro review: Raggy-Conceptual “Form and Funktion (Original Mix)”

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April 26, 2013Writings on...1 Comment

  A mess – there is no other way to describe it. As intros go, the drum pattern on “Conceptual – Form and Funktion” is a mess. The pace, without knowing what is to follow, feels too excitable; too pronounced. Why would you start a track as though imitating a panic attack? Why would you then throw in a squelch sound other than to dampen the drums; the very same drums that you want people to believe in? Because he can – because Raggy knows what is about to follow. And what is about to follow is the ultimate clubbing moment; that last tune of the night. That pace that seemed too pronounced, too excitable; quickly leads you in to the heart of the tune.

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  “Vodka Limon por favor” I said to the young lady behind the bar, as she sloped off to quench the thirst of yet another local ahead of me. She sniffed the air – my money obviously not good enough for her. Deciding this could take awhile, I turned, instead, to resume my conversation with the youthful and ever so dashing Indian Diplomat, Anurag Jha; whom I had just this minute been introduced to. “Apologies for cutting you short there, dear boy. You were going to say something about working on a gramophone record. What did you call it, Mumbo? Oh how I do like the Latin records.” Mr Jha said something about a Russian female playing his record. It sounded like jolly good fun;

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  There is something I want to share with you. It is something; they are something that I have started to share with your sister. It is music. The music I love. You may be named, in part, after a footballer. To see your namesake Marco Tardelli celebrate. To tell your mum how she makes me feel like Marco Tardelli celebrating – to sit looking at you and your sister and imagine my own, lost in the moment celebration, suggests that with hope, rather than expectation, I will want to share sport with you both; but it’s not essential that I do. What is essential is to share music with you. To see your expression when you first hear a song I love. To see

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As I sit here listening to Daphne “Change” (great track by the way, you’ll love it – or at least I will try to encourage you to love it), it’s starting to occur to me that change is somewhat dominating our lives at the moment. We watch a cartoon called Humf, where the main character this morning proclaimed his sheer delight at the fact he could change his mind on the things he likes. Obviously the lyrics of the record I’m listening to are all about people changing their minds – I even opted for a beer from the fridge, when I had initially gone to the kitchen for a glass of wine before I started to write this. But then those examples of change

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So, do you find me a changed man? Did I have an epiphany in the Upper Circle? Am I a convert, or will I continue to struggle blindly over the opera based questions on a University Challenge? The answer to the first three questions is a resounding NO; but… The fact that I have left that sentence to hang could suggest that Opera North failed in their challenge; for a collection of bloggers not to feel indifferent about their latest production, Carmen. Though I don’t necessarily think they are to blame. It was a big, bold and brash looking production; full of positives running through the first two acts. I thought the stage design and lighting conveyed a sense of place – the hot, muggy

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The image to the right of these words is of a book. The actual book is not important. The fact that it has a cover is. I don’t know if the book is any good. I can’t tell that simply from looking at the cover. To find out if I like the book I have to open it, read it; follow the dialogue and then – not always at the end – put it down and make a judgement upon it. I’m off to see “Carmen” tonight. My judgement already is that I will not enjoy it. What I know of Opera North’s “Carmen” is through the snippets I have read online – including a set of fairly prosaic reviews and claims it is “sexy”

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I’m stood, hugging a bare-chested man. I’ve been in this embrace for the last five minutes. I don’t know his name, or why he is hugging me. All I know is that his shirt is round his waist, I’m covered in his sweat and his mouth is moving but no sound is coming out. He reaches his hands round to the back of my head, and with delicate fingers, starts to massage my neck. I don’t remember this being advertised as a service when I paid to get in here? Still his lips move – his eyes darting around as they do. He points to someone in the distance, someone I can barely make out through the mass of bodies. Bodies interlocked with each other;

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I’m going through what can only be described as a mid-hair life crisis. Or is that a hair’s midlife crisis? Either way, it’s not a midlife crisis. I’m not fantasising over expensive Italian cars, nor am I considering throwing my lot in with an employee who leans in seductively as we talk about the Petersen Account. The crux of the problem is simple – I no longer feel comfortable in my hair. The stuff on my head that is, not the creeping, vine like growth over the rest of my body. It started a couple of Christmases ago. A trip down to see the family got me thinking: “Everyone’s foreheads seem bigger than they did last year.” Then I noticed a scar on my own

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What is the greatest film you have ever seen? What is the best album you’ve owned, so tattered or worn that you’re well past the first copy you picked up? What about food, drink, places or people? To determine the best, how did you rate them? Did you give them stars, thumbs up, a number between one and five, 10, 100? When you did so, were you aware of your mood, your surroundings – what had happened in the run up to encountering and experiencing greatness, and did you think to consider what you were about to do once greatness had passed? I have a problem with ratings. Especially those where the parameter is often as narrow as zero – five. Where is the scope

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Have you ever been kicked in the face by a pretty girl with a pair of Doc Martens and thought you were having the time of your life? If yes, then there’s every chance you are either a sadomasochist – or you spent most of your teenage years stood, in a moshpit, less than six feet away from your musical idols. northernwrites – New Horizons (A Spotify playlist for you to enjoy – excuse Spotify’s limitations on early ’90s Indie Music) The boot in the face would regularly happen to me. It came with the territory. The bands we saw – the venues we frequented – it was just a night long cavalcade of head banging, stage diving and avoiding a fat bloke with gaffer

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