trying always to belong

I've been trying to pull together a few good playlists in preparation for various train and plane trips I've got coming up. The Last Royals will be making a few appearances.

the lights fell down upon the world

This week, I've been rediscovering Mumford and Sons (not 'Mumford and Brothers', a wonderful interpretation by my dad). Memories: Summer days back in 2010 at Hop Farm Festival - the only festival I've ever been to where you could successfully wear flipflops all day, and Mumford and Sons played and I drank a lot of gin and the sun shone and my friend Simone turned 30 and there were these little after hours gigs in the campsite, which were just as wonderful, if not more so, and I wished life could be like that forever and ever because it was one of those moments when you're just so unbelievably happy. Or, you know, you've just had a lot of gin.

Of course, this isn't Mumford and Sons, obviously, but I just felt like reminiscing a bit, mostly because the weather is so awful and so I'm fed up of it I'm starting to come round to H's plan to move to San Francisco, even though (and don't tell him this) - it gets cold in San Francisco too. And then of course Tom Rosenthal draws a lot of similarities with a mellowed out Mumford and Sons, which in some ways I prefer, and is probably more season appropriate. I just wish this song was longer. And I wish it was spring, real spring.

I also like this song from him:

we will defend till the end

Yann Tiersen : not just the guy responsible for Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain soundtrack - and Good Bye Lenin!, one of my all time favourite films. Also now a third of his new musical endeavor, Elektronische Staubband. Review link below on Gigs in Paris...

[   Live Review : Elektronische Staubband   ]

we were hoping for a change of pace

Hold Your Horses played Storie at a secret showcase event at Storie last Friday, as organised by Gigs in Paris. I went representing VINGT Paris. Here's a review...

[   Hold Your Horses @ Storie   ]

this one's for dancing

Last week I worked my first Monday-Friday 9-5 in almost a year. With all those long evenings off, I probably should have revelled in some downtime, but it was one of those event heavy weeks, with Elektronische Staubband at Point Éphémère, the Girls Guide to Paris soiree, and Hold Your Horses playing a private gig at Storie, organised by Gigs in Paris (various write ups on their way). Plus I went to see La Dame de Fer*, which confirmed another of my Oscar picks although I just know that this dream will shortly be crushed into the ground, just like when Coldplay and Ed Sheeran came along and stole the BRITS away from Arctic Monkeys and The Vaccines (see entries on Alex Turner and my beach shelter).

But somewhere, in the middle of holiday class mayhem and running the length of Line 9 back and forth a dozen times, I found time to listen to Dancing Song, appropriate for the amount of energy I feel like I've had to put into getting through this week.

hey you mister interview

I work a weird schedule that comprises of mornings and evenings and a gap in the afternoon, which once, back in lazy student days, would have served nicely for naps, wrapped up in a Zara sale clear out of knits with elbow patches. Now, I at least pretend to spend my days more productively. So here's an interview I did with Jon Cohen (formally of The Doves and The Social Register, now a formidable one man band) for Gigs in Paris.

[   Interview: The Jon Cohen Experimental   ]

everybody living in someone else's debt

All my songs come from Gossip Girl. This is Wolf Gang's second debut on this blog. I don't care. It's my blog. I'm fighting flu. I work Saturdays. Leave me alone. I just want to stay in bed and drink tea and watch rubbish tv and play Fruit Ninja on my iPhone. Instead I have to take very long surveys to see if they'll let me in the States with a very battered 2004, non-microchip, barely machine-readable passport (yes, apparently, although they ask some very peculiar questions) and plan lessons and get over my writers block and constantly mistype everything due to the shift between a qwerty and azerty keyboard. And watch H enthralled over his 3D camera. Seriously: When did this technological advance happen? And when will these photos be of any use, since you can't print them out, or look at them on a computer screen, or even on a tv unless you have a 3D one, which we don't. You may have guessed that this week I'm choosing to wallow in minor levels of self pity, but surely that's acceptable, since we've now officially entered into the really shitty bit of winter when you thought it was starting to get warmer, but then you realise you might have to crack out the ice grippers your parents got you for Christmas after all (hashtag weirdest present ever).

right through that concrete wall

Confession time: Yes, it was the Gossip Girl soundtrack that hooked me onto Zee Avi. This has happened before: Someone over in their offices has good taste. And there's nothing wrong with liking Gossip Girl. Ahem.

I hear a lot of theories about music and the things we're drawn to: Music that runs at the same rate as our heartbeat, and that we like repetitive patterns. I've always been a little sceptical of the one about patterns - club music and I definitely aren't friends - but then Lali Puna comes along and turns that on its head, and then that beautiful simple, breathy, almost xylophonic sound of Zee Avi throws a final trump card. Uncomplicated, a little sad, but then isn't some of the saddest music some of the best?

looking over

It's been a while since I seriously listened to a noisy band. I think the seeds were set for my descent into mellowness years ago after I went to five gigs in one week, passing it of as an essential part of my journalism degree, and all those bruises and nosebleeds and beer hair just got old. Because you can't really stage dive or crowd surf or punch someone in your enthusiasm with Lana Del Rey or Regina Spektor or The xx playing. Well, you can, but it doesn't really have the same effect because everyone is too busy swaying and listening intently to the lyrics trying to find some deep and significant relevance to their lives. But some people just do these things anyway and everyone else just huddles and sways together and tries not to get a shoe in the side of their head. Yuck has that nice compromise that should satisfy both swayers and surfers. And I hope both of these types of gig goers never get a shoe to the head, because it really hurts.

I also quite like this musty, muffled sound quality of this video. Demos and bootleg copies always make you feel like you've gained access to something shut out from the rest of the world. Those little spots of imperfection are actually very sweet and very real.

you're faking it son

I feel like this video sums up everything about my life in France. Particularly as there's now a French Weekends rule imposed in my apartment. Don't be fooled by the fact that this could be something really fun and interesting. In actuality, it just means I have to speak French all weekend. It's really making me appreciate Monday mornings.

holiday, oh, holiday

My Asian geographical knowledge is better than my European geographical knowledge. It's actually probably better than my knowledge of towns in England. One day, in a pub quiz somewhere, this will prove useful; I just know it. My African geography is shamefully rubbish, but I feel that this all of this is directly in proportion with where I've spent my adult life.

But in an attempt to counteract this, for New Year, H and I went to Marrakech - my first time to Africa. I tend to take photos of a) patterns b) doors and c) my shoes - so that's really all you're getting. H just tends to photobomb, but you're not getting any of that. One day, I'll take the plunge and buy a DSLR camera and photography lessons.

close my mouth, words fall out

A little late, but since the New Years is very much upon us, January calls for resolutions. I didn't make any last year, and 2011 was pretty amazing anyway, even without the benefit of promises to make life improvements. One year, my resolution was to learn to balance three plates in one hand, so don't expect anything momentous.

1. Run more. My sister has roped me into running 10k with her, although in all fairness, it was something I wanted to do anyway, and was even throwing the words 'half marathon' around. She believes 'we could run 10k no problem', which is probably right. Apparently we can't just go to the pub and get drunk and fall over together like most normal British sisters do.

2. Speak more French. I didn't just say this to win over my French teacher, who made us list our resolutions in our first class of 2012. Mostly because when I have cute half French babies, I want to be able to understand everything they are saying when they tell stories like this.

3. Write more. Both here on this blog, and in the journalism world in general. My irregular work schedule has made this difficult. Also - scrape what is salvageable from my NaNoWriMo Novel into a new novel. I wrote 15,000 words, admittedly in a week, but surely something there has got to be good.

This all, of course, has absolutely nothing to do with This Weeks Song, which comes from The xx, and is indefinitely more relaxing than running half marathons. Demo record, perfect listening for the flight to and from my New Years' Marrakech trip. Pictures to follow.

you've got so much more to dream of

I always feel that The Shins, like Belle and Sebastian, are something of a go to as far as indie films are concerned. Dream pop before hipsters got their hands on it. Gone For Good headed up my summer soundtrack when I was in Thailand and Laos, whatever the Koh San Road's best intentions to make it Dragostea Din Tei and You're Beautiful were. This week, rather than turning to my age old faithful iPod soundtracks, I decided to just shuffle, which is usually a safe-ish bet, since I've purged it of almost everything I wouldn't skip over. Hence Girl Sailor.

i'm a moving picture and i could be anywhere tonight

When I was doing my undergraduate degree, which now seems like a shockingly long time ago, The Sunshine Underground released their first album. I remember this, because I trawled around York for days trying to find a copy. CDs back then, remember. No one really knew what iTunes and who Steve Jobs were. Apple was a piece of fruit, and only a handful of universities in the UK had Facebook. People had Nokia phones and black earphones. It was a different world. Apparently, back then, no one in York really knew or cared who The Sunshine Underground were. Eventually, someone at HMV or similar dragged up a singular copy from the back of a cupboard, which I think was meant to be reserved for someone else, but I found joy in the fact that I was about to purchase the only available copy of Raise The Alarm that existed in York.

The Sunshine Underground have that very rare quality of not immediately sounding like anyone else. Last.fm, who are usually my go to for 'I like this band, so tell me who else I'll like' have them pegged as The Courteeners and Reverend and the Makers, which just isn't right.

Plus there're working well to block out the sounds of the builders working on my parents' house. It feels like they are all drilling immediately into my bedroom walls. They're also listening to either Heart.fm, which has the same effect on my ears as an electric drill and an angry warthog having an argument, or Radio 4, which I feel is really inconsistent to the general stereotype of builders, because how can you shout out leary comments at passing woman if you're blasting out The Archers?

let this be our little secret

It emerges I'm getting pretty slack on monitoring what I wrote and when it was published, because this has probably been up for a while, and I just didn't notice.

[   Seven Secrets of Paris   ]