After I published the latest apoplectic.me post in August, Paul commented that
the new music in 2020 hasn’t caught my ear yet. Nothing like last years Jaime by Brittany Howard, which I loved. I also fear we are about to get some not very good quarantine inspired music coming our way.
With thanks and apologies to Long-Suffering-Reader-Of-The-Blog-Paul.
Long-suffering readers of the blog will know I’m a huge fan of nineties British indie music. So, I was thrilled when a hot, skinny boy who looks good in an Adidas tracksuit came onto the stage this week.
Cast your mind back – it was the days leading up to Easter, and nobody knew what was next for us all…
As will become clear over the coming days and weeks, the narrative is being established. If Johnson pulls through his mild persistent illness, it’s because he’s gutsier than you and anyone you’ve ever loved who has died…
I’ve noticed a lot of writers on my social media talking about how hard it is to get any writing done, what with everything that’s going on, and I thought that it might be an interesting exercise for me – and for me – to examine how that’s working out here in this household. And see what insights that might provide me about how I’m doin.
I’ve been seeing folks doing calls for – and offering up – playlists to offer some kind of respite from The Lockdown that’s gone into effect here in the nations of Britain and Northern Ireland. So, what better time to belatedly offer up some of my favourite tracks from the happy days of 2019?
As it happens, the apoplectic.me post of my favourite choonsof 2018 began by noting that it was the death of David Bowie that had heralded planet Earth’s one-way trip to hell in a hand basket.
So, join me, won’t you, on a trip down memory lane to when things hadn’t yet gotten entirely out of hand? Or if you don’t like wurdz, just hit up the Spotify playlist.