Just read a really harsh review of the new Beach House album, built on the concept of blogosphere indie, and how BH are just falling in old tracks laid down by the likes of Arcade Fire, Beirut and Vampire Weekend. Yucky. Is it really clever to know that you're being generous with your Balkan or African influence, isn't it just cleverer to go off and listen to the genuine article? I have music by all of those three, listed in my category of not-quite-unique, which literally means they may as well be mainstream. I read the reviews, understood the angles, but, on listening, it's just not blow me away stuff.
I like Beach House. There is a relaxed-ness where you feel you know that they know that they don't quite care about being hot in Kitty Empire's books. I know a critique is all about just that, but where's the soul, the life, the movement, the belief, the personal, the transformation. It's as I was thinking, watching her being a journalist in my kitchen, I can't do this. I can't generally like everything, when I strive to genuinely like merely some things. I actively Don't Like A Lot Of Things. To group Books&Music together, to 'know' about them so so much, but to really burn for them? Is it true passion? Or is it the way I just know a hell of a lot about coffee? I'm a tea girl.
I used to think it was issue that I was picky. Not having a mass of friends, not having a job a like, being grumpy at gigs, being grumpy at home, hanging at houses where time slowed down and outside got colder and I just wanted to be in bed. Now I embrace the unique. I am in a place where enough people are striving, mostly subconsciously, towards things that are just that bit curved. And when we come togther, it's like a secret society. With humour and lightness. Without Judgement or Criticism. I did a bit of autogenics last night, after I told them to move the party out back. I fell asleep immediately, felt bad but unbothered.
A work blur the last few days, both enjoying and tolerating it. An interesting food week, eating well whilst only cooking one day in nine. Boef stir fries fish messes. I am still waiting for crumpet dough to rise. I do have anger in my arms. There is still a path which connects the act of cooking with this frustration and disparate air. An amazing week of exercise, three bikes one run one lindy lots of skates and stretches. I feel thoroughly back on the wagon. Excited about writing and train trips and new environments. Now just to focus on the next three days and keep c a l m .