books, music

Words And Music

This is what I’ve been listening to, reading and watching. For disclosure, if you click through on these, I have an Amazon Affiliate account and I get something for it.

Music.

Bilal, In Another Life.

One of the unsung geniuses of neo-soul. The duet with Kimbra, ‘Holding It Back’ is a song I can listen to on repeat without being bored by it.

http://amzn.to/2DFpDmC

Prince – Purple Rain 25th Anniversary Edition.

Remastered brilliance and some gorgeous unreleased tracks. I have a lot of love for his music, and I’ve said before, even his bad stuff is interesting. He set a high bar for musicians with me which only a few of them have ever met.

http://amzn.to/2nbTvMa

Nine Inch Nails – The Downward Spiral.

It has an operatic intensity without forgetting the dichotomy of beauty and ugliness which informs the best art. There are some beautiful melodies and deep, hard drops of harsh intensity which adds up to a classic album of anger, love and madness.

http://amzn.to/2DGIJIU

Books.

Nick Harkaway – Gnomon.

A complex, rewarding and challenging meditation on surveillance culture, digital selves, mythology and society. It is exciting, complex and beautiful storytelling without compromising on the need to explore and expand on these ideas in the service of the story.

http://amzn.to/2Ee1ArJ

Jordan B Peterson 12 Rules For Life

He’s lauded as the next popular intellectual. I enjoy the pragmatism of his ideas, and his delivery is compelling. His ideas speak to a direction men should know, or consider. I don’t agree with everything he says, and I might put my thoughts down in a post at some point. His lectures on YouTube are fantastic and he is stimulating to listen to. I have this on audiobook and also a copy reserved for a present. I’ll get my own copy too, but he’s compelling and passionate.

http://amzn.to/2Bw3YHB

Joyce Carol Oates A Book Of American Martyrs.

She goes after the issues lesser writers avoid, and finds the innate humanity in disparate positions. Oates’ work intimidates me as a writer and she channels a terrible intensity into her work before she gifts us with prose and emotion as subtle and involving as a missed connection.

http://amzn.to/2Gm4JGv

 

 

Advertisements
Standard
beauty, love, music, poetry, women

Mixtape

 

 

 

It arrived in

The post

His writing on the envelope

Your hands shake

And it starts,

A warmth in your pelvis

Like the moment you begin

Singing along

with a beloved song

Taking the tape to bed

You slip earphones in

Lay down and slip away

Enjoying being horizontal as

The music

Explores you

You run your fingers

Over the handwritten note

Send prayers through

Your fingertips

To him

Standard
beauty, love, lust, music, poetry, women

Mixtape

It arrives

In the mail

You recognise

The handwriting

The tape is warm in your

Hands

Press play

Because this is

How he expresses

Feelings too large

For words

He could write

That he loves

Misses you

But you know

When you press your

Fingers against the words

He’s written

And he tells you

Shows you

Each time

You

Press

Play

 

Standard
music, women

My Favourite Things – Music.

These are a selection of albums I love and listen to. For disclosure, if you buy through the given links, I get a few pennies thrown my way as I have an affiliate account because writing doesn’t pay well at the moment and prostitution is a tough market to crack, even when you’re as handsome as I am.

 

It’s a lovely album I missed the first time around, a raw and angry record awash with a frank and gut-level sexuality which never forgets the appeal of a solid riff and melody. Ah, 90’s guitar albums are a large part of my psychosphere and this is a great album. My favourite song is Johnny Sunshine.

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B01LZ5D7UT/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=mbblissett76-21&camp=1634&creative=6738&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B01LZ5D7UT&linkId=79a731618accd5e93639d03f79e4092b

 

History is cyclical, and I found this album dense and less immediate than Voodoo, but in turn it was less immediate than his first album. D’Angelo is a living archive of black American music, from the helium croon of Wonder and Gaye through to the dense polyrhythms of Parliament and Sly and The Family Stone. I love the challenge of an album like this as repeated listens reveal new nuances and pleasures. My favourite tracks are The Charade and Ain’t That Easy.

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00QR7ZN16/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=mbblissett76-21&camp=1634&creative=6738&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B00QR7ZN16&linkId=cb45eeb362de8d6fb7a396ada5d8ced6

 

Everyone loves Purple Rain but this is the album which best represents the glacial, inventive genius of the man. The Revolution did not have the detailed jazz-fusion chops of later line ups, but they could groove with a fearless invention and gave this album the fluid grooves and gorgeous soundscapes which he wouldn’t explore in the same way again. It also has Kiss, which everyone knows, or should know. I can lip sync to it like a boss. Sometimes It Snows In April was a song I played on repeat after the loss of a close relative, walking around with my dog and crying my

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B000002L9B/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=mbblissett76-21&camp=1634&creative=6738&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B000002L9B&linkId=0622d595a1f55a00b0be92cca444189b

 

Beneath the slabs of noise and dissonance there are beautiful, complex symphonies at work within the music of Nine Inch Nails. This album is a masterpiece, including the song covered by Johnny Cash ‘Hurt’ and March of The Pigs which enlivened many an indie disco in my youth. It’s an album which speaks to me during dark times of rejection and discontent without falling prey to accusations of adolescence.

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B0000262Q8/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=mbblissett76-21&camp=1634&creative=6738&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B0000262Q8&linkId=0302623d21bbbfe1834b30f3162e62ac

 

People think jazz is insular and elitist, but I appreciate the intricacy and beauty of it, how it underpins so much of musical progression and history. This album is three hours of intricate, gorgeous music which demands your attention through its virtuosity and passion but also allows you the privacy of your own head, as all good instrumental music does.

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00UVIR4G4/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=mbblissett76-21&camp=1634&creative=6738&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B00UVIR4G4&linkId=7fb53d4d436433989e44759b4c77e2ff

 

Some albums, and it feels quaint to think of music in those terms these days, define a band. Here you have Dave Grohl drumming like his life depended on it alongside Josh Homme at his most impassioned and inventive, set on a bed of monolithic riffs, sensual vocal melodies and punch the air choruses. Songs For The Deaf is fifteen years old and it feels utterly timeless.

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00006IJXT/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=mbblissett76-21&camp=1634&creative=6738&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B00006IJXT&linkId=8b8b2d2949e586b1fae4cd60f3091928

Next I will be selecting some of my favourite film and television shows, then more books and albums. Please share your favourites with me below and thank you for reading.

Standard
beauty, love, music, romance, women

Bass Vibrations

The people carrier sat on the kerb outside. The two men moved shining refuse sacks, reusable carrier bags and boxes inside, but for the oversized guitar case, the taller of the two insisted on taking it inside. His head gleamed with perspiration as he kept an even pace of removal until he invited his friend inside. I had watched them whilst the washing machine ran through a rinse cycle. The apartments here were pauses not new beginnings.

I thought about the man on the commute, making up stories why and how he came to be here.

The twilight beat me home. I poured a glass of wine, switched on the oven and wandered into the living room, slipping my shoes off with a sigh of relief.

His windows were open. I saw the magnolia walls, their expanse broken by the monochrome poster he had put up. He sat on a stool, guitar on his knee with black headphones over his ears, a lead trailing off to a speaker about the size of a mini refrigerator; I opened the window and sipped my wine.

He turned the pegs with his left hand whilst strumming the strings, nodding and adjusting them until he gave a short nod. He curled his fingers around the neck of the guitar slow and cautious as he plucked with his right hand. He had tan skin, a shaved head and lean, strong arms. He wore a white shirt, with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and his forearms were vascular from the effort of playing. He lifted his head, smiling to show his white teeth, caramel eyes gleaming with delight. I liked the dimple in his chin when he smiled and how his eyelids had fallen, heavy with some quiet brand of ecstasy as he played. His feet were bare as he tapped them against the floor, keeping time to some internal rhythm.

His lips were parted and he tilted his head back as his thick, long fingers gained boldness. My heart was pounding in my chest, frustrated to not hear anything but enthralled by the fierce, boyish purpose he took to as he played.

I stopped watching only when the smoke alarm went off. By the time I came back, he had finished. I sighed and fought a twist of disappointment which stuck in my chest, hurting with each breath.

He practiced each day. I would get home from work, grab a glass of wine or a cup of coffee and watch him play. He played like he were taking flight, an act of purposeful liberation which became the quiet highlight of my day.

I had needed milk, gone to the shop across the road and had a carton in my hand when he walked in, slipping behind me in the queue and saying hello with a gruff, low voice vibrating with warmth.

‘Hi. You’ve just moved in around here, haven’t you?’ I said.

He nodded, gave a quick, pained smile and looked at me with amused interest.

‘You play guitar.’ I said.

My voice sounded tight as he raised an eyebrow.

‘Bass. I use headphones though.’ he said.

I shook my head.

‘I’ve seen you play. I mean, I see you. I live opposite you.’ I said.

His smile softened. I paid for my milk and left, wishing I had idled in the shop. He called as I left and I turned, steeling myself for a confrontation or a laugh at my expense.

He gazed into my eyes, asked if I wanted to come over.

‘You’d enjoy it more if you could listen.’ he said.

His smile made it an agreeable decision.

‘If I could hear you over watching you.’ I said.

I had work to do for the office, half a bottle of wine and something for dinner. An ordered, comfortable existence but here was a stranger, prone to flights of pleasure when alone, and I wondered if it would be as sweet to listen as it was to watch him.

‘Yes, I think I will.’ I said.

He said his name was Mark.

Later that night, feet bare and with my hands cupped over the headphones, enraptured by the womb-dark sea of sound and vibration as he played as I was by his expression. I felt myself soften, and when he touched my shoulder, I put my hand over it, enjoying the warm strength of his fingers on my skin.

I carried the bass vibration along with the touch of his hand, let it move me towards him and took flight in my own way.

Standard
beauty, love, lust, music, poetry, sex, women

Funky Then Slow Mixtape

We dance barefoot to this

(you say i put too much hip hop and would it kill me to put some girls with guitars in there once in a while?)

You give me this sideways lapdance

Where you sidle up and dance away again

It’s ridiculous and glorious

And your smile is like hitting three in a row

A perfect hand at poker

That first sip of something cool

Even in your lowest, darkest places

I just dig deeper

Through the dirt where the

Light is

Either I bring it or find it

But for now

Shut up and dance with me

Beautiful

This one

There’s breath and clothing

Between us

My hands shake as I touch you

Almost shy with the weight

Of how much I want to

Touch you right now

And as we move to the floor

There is only breath between us

In

Out

IN

Standard