Song of the day – 653: Astro Children

You’re going to walk straight on past this one. Go ahead. See if I care. At this late stage, I have no idea who’s the bigger loser… you or me. 

I’m not particularly open-minded just a little more random than yr average robot ‘bot. I don’t know what it is – the smell of plastic burning on a bonfire in the wind; a miasma of pencil shavings lingering in the Cornflakes box – but everything in the past seven days or more has reminded me of The Velvet Underground. I never really thought about The Velvet Underground before: no more than anyone, least ways – and probably a lot less than some. The days of Stephen Pastel visiting my Peckham hovel are long past. Before the events of last week, I’d be thinking of that vague 2013 echo chamber reverb sound, female vocals and everything a delinquent haze of frustration: ennui, enervation,  a useless dreaming. Now, I just hear this song or that song, even though I don’t even know which either song. Not really. I mean, this music is hidden and soothing and mildly disturbing and…

Why am I even telling you this? You’ve already walked by, more suited to your coterie of…

The second song on this new single from this Dunedin NZ duo is way better than the first, cos the second song on this new single from this Dunedin NZ duo clatters and scatters and unsettles because it knows how loneliness and paranoia are at the heart of most everything we hold dead. Dear. I mean, oh dear. I like this, because it’s not fully-formed and will dissipate into nothingness rather than let you come closer: I like the clattering and the nerve-end scowling. I like the psych rock traces, of course. And I particularly like the way everything reminds me right now of ‘The Black Angel’s Death Song’, a song I didn’t even know the full title of until about three minutes ago.

Go on. Walk on by. We are all children of the stars, but some of us are lapping noisily in the gutter.

BRING THE NOISE!

Please don’t make fun of me. I promise I won’t make fun of you.

by Everett True

My name is Everett True. I am a music critic. This is what I do. I criticise music. The clue is in my job description – music critic. I do not consider myself a journalist, as I do not research or report hard news. I do not consider myself a commentator as I believe that everyone should be a participant. I criticise people and in return I am not surprised if other people criticise me. It is part of the whole deal of being in the public arena. I am Everett True. Believe in me and I have power like a God. Quit believing in me and I no longer exist.