Music is Math

Broken Record, Auntie P, 2005

Like a broken record [industry], people are constantly portending the death of the album. In an age when every released track is a potential chart entry the album is an obsolete collection of songs.

Originally the album was a collection of physical media containing a lengthy coherent piece. The limited length of a single record necessitated that something like Beethoven's Ninth be split across many records bound together like photographs in a photo album. With increasing storage and a commercial and cultural shift in the post-war era toward self-contained songs, the album came to be a compilation of a group's output.

Ask (GA-Slag FAQ)

Two years ago in the GA-Slag Retrospective I wrote about the genesis and development of said site. In this second background feature I've collected some questions about the GA-Slag, addressed some issues, and provided a little background to events depicted in prominent editions.

Walk Out To Winter

Ecosse C285, Dave Hamster, 2009

See Christmas? Christmas is a bastard.
-Still Game, Cold Turkey (2005 Christmas Special)

It goes without saying that Christmas is an exceptional time of year at Royal Mail. It's fittingly the antipode of summer. Whereas the sunny season is so light that overtime claims are banned, December is a cash bonanza for those willing to take on as much work as possible - morning prep, doing parts of other walks, IVO, RLB, driving lorries, working your day off. If you need the money, so be it. I'm not interested in working myself to death so I only opt in for the early starts, mainly to deal with gone-aways and do the detective work required of the mal-addressed items that people continue to post every year.

There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

Home From Above, NASA (Public Domain), 2010

Looping hypnic orbit looking down. In the twilight I've looked up. Unfathomable distances separating the beacons. Laser light decoheres and planets resolve as less than a smudge. The universe is an explosion in which we exist. Soon we'll be blasted apart beyond horizons. The stelliferous era will be a faint memory as the stars extinguish and galaxies degenerate. DNA strands huddle round an ocean vent for warmth. Somehow the connection is made. We'll leave the cradle, disappearing into eternity. We'll slide through forever. Slide away.

Listen Carefully While I Sing My Comeback Song

Mirrors, Olly Wright, 2006

When all else fails resort to a post about blogging...

When last January rolled around this blog was stagnating. For whatever reason I couldn't write - whether that be writer's block or the limitations of the interface - and resolved to at least post once a month. From all the drafts and notes I decided to work on one of several delayed (seven years) editions for my old website from school. Having spontaneously returned to form, I quickly found myself facing a self-imposed minimum of four posts a month. By June I had completely exhausted the long-standing pool of draft posts and was either resurrecting abandoned posts, republishing old essays, or simply hoping something would come along and inspire me.

Music For Your Tape Recorder

This year was by far the most contemporary year I've had since I stopped listening to Radio 1 - only two songs from this year's selection pre-date my living memory. This is probably because I stumbled into the "chillwave" genre and am currently consuming all the in-print material available. The lack of releases from the eighties or earlier is also because I haven't obtained any offbeat and out of print albums. Or rather, I'm not willing to shell out £30+ for an out of print album (again) and can't get it by 'alternative means'. As such, there is no now-out-of-print-good-band-your-parents-shunned award this year. Since this is the year of chillwave, I will instead present the Roygbiv-eargasm award to Imprint After by Toro Y Moi. Not since said BoC track has a song withstood incessant listening and accelerated toward the top of my most played Top 50.

Waking Up And Getting Up Has Never Been Easy

Postmen in the Snow, Rupert Brun, 2010

Throughout this productive year I've maintained the post-a-week pace of writing by planning out the following month in advance. Usually there's around ten drafts in varying levels of completion If I'm struggling to bring a scheduled draft up to standard I'll postpone it a month and bring forward a more complete one. December was to be no different, only accommodating a two week gap between the first week and the Christmas week for obvious employment reasons. Unfortunately I fell ill in the first week which scratched the first post and the past two weeks has seen the Royal Mail network buckling under the strain of the seasonal post and periodic blizzards. I've been waking up early, on the streets till late and going to bed early - rinse and repeat. As such, I've neither had the time nor energy to write.