I’m not going to say that this is the weirdest thing I’m ever going to try and claim is pop for the sake of this blog. But it’ll be in the running.
A cut and paste mass of archive recordings, sliced up guitar, percussive plonks and who knows what else.
But by god, it lifts my heart, it wraps me up, and I think it has something deep and important to tell us about music and life and everything.
For the first time in the history of the world a young girl climbed into a tree one day.
She climbed down from the tree next day.
God bless her.
Music is a fundamentally temporal experience. It is the arrangement of noises over time. Normally fitting particularly familiar patterns.
This song is a clear instruction. Take time. Take time.
It asks you to do it, and it makes you do it.
Music is a way to spend time, but also a way to make you notice it passing. Music has a habit of pulling you into a moment. Deepening the moment. Whether sat in bed writing, wandering through a forest with headphones, pressed up against a train window or dancing the night away, music can be with you, pulling you deeper.
It never tells us what to take the time to do. I recommend you take some time time to take time with take time. It’s worth pouring yourself into its odd little headspace, and just listening to the wonderful array of voices on offer.
The glorious, joyful laughter of it.
Something is happening that is not happening.
It’s okay to take time for yourself. To not happen, and revel in that. Music begs you to do this. To experience the now as deeply as it can allow. To be in your body and feel what it feels when presented with such a particular, alien and specific stimulus.
Music is probably the most unnatural thing that feels the most wholesome.
I take that back, because I don’t believe in the words nature or unnatural. But it’s important to remember that music doesn’t really exist outside of time, mathematics, and familiarity. The patterns make sense only because of that mathematical specificity (the intervals between particular pitches, and particular moments) and the amount of time you’ve spent exposed to those particular patterns.
Music makes you take time, because it is made out of time. It is simply sound objects manipulated in time.
The abrupt artifice and bluntness and spasmodic pulsing of this song should help make that clearer. It starts insistent and unpleasant. Wraps you in a recording of Medea. Then laughter, laughter and whooping.
It’s all people.
By the time you hear the first simply played guitar, you’ve already heard so many voices. Each speaking directly to you, and tugging at you.
If music is alien, on closer inspection, then what happens when you make music out of humans?
For me, it’s a burst heart. A thoughtful mind. An affirmation.
You won’t find the meaning of life in this song, or any song. At least partly because there isn’t one. Maybe.
What you will find, though, is a way to remind yourself what life is.
Just the organisation of actions through time.
A chance to move and feel and listen and be.
Take time to do that. Take time to listen.
Fill your heart with time.
Let time pour out from you, through you.
And revel in the fucker. Because you won’t have it forever.