Welcome all to ๐๐ผ๐ป๐ป๐ผ๐น๐น๐โ๐ ๐๐ผ๐ฟ๐ป๐ฒ๐ฟ, a series of weekly reviews by Charles Connolly – an artist in his own right. Here, Charles delves into the greatest brand new singles brought to you by the best unsigned artists on our electrifying and eclectic set of ๐๐๐ฌ ๐ผ๐ง๐ฉ๐๐จ๐ฉ ๐๐ฅ๐ค๐ฉ๐ก๐๐๐๐ฉ playlists.
๐๐๐๐ ๐ค๐ ๐ฉ๐๐ ๐๐ค๐ง๐ก๐ – ๐ฟ๐๐ฃ๐๐๐ฃ๐ ๐๐ฃ ๐ ๐๐ง๐ช๐จ๐๐ก๐๐ข
Charles imagines a journeyโฆ
I am writing from the comfort and safety of my own home. Well, not my OWN, but โmy ownโ. I dwell here for as long as I keep up my monthly chunk of pennies. I OWN nothing. Not a brick of it. But here, I sit. Peacefully and calmly. This chair of four legs, dutifully upholding this body of two. Day after day after day. This is the life of a producer. Or rather, the life of THIS producer. And despite all that I relentlessly produce, what with my own music, other artistsโ music and indeed these very articles, I cannot help but wonder what lies outside these walls. I see it all through the window. The light, the dark. The rain, the shine. The angry drivers shouting at each other at the junction. Sunday was a particularly sunny, warm day and I was waiting to hear back from a client about his thoughts on my mix. I was โbetween jobsโ. I decided to see what the outside was actually like. After snatching my earphones and sunglasses, I ventured out for a wander. A much needed breath of air. A chance to make my legs go Left Right Left again. I realised there and then that if life were a journey, then I should perhaps start moving and see where this journey takes me.
Most people seem to feel the need to travel. To see things. To experience โlifeโ in as many places and guises as physically and geographically plausible. They canโt all be wrong. So I went to the park around the corner. This is me being a jet-setter. Look, bit by bit, give me a chance! Donโt laugh at me. I heard that titter. Donโt pity me either. I saw that frown. Now, I mentioned my earphones. I am pretty much incapable of going anywhere without music – if on my lonesome. It is my soundtrack to life. Yes, I know, Iโm missing out on the sound of nature. The birds tweeting away, the trees rustling in the breeze. But I do however get to block out the lesser beauty. Car horns, mums blethering about their childrenโs school lunches. I see and hear it like in films. I choose to go out on a sunny day and go to places of simple beauty, so the visual scene is set. And just like in films, the soundtrack serenades and compliments the mood. No popcorn necessary, though. The warmth of the sun on my pale skin with the hug of the music on my sensitive ears, is surely enough for me. So this is my journey. Or the start of it.
In fact, physically it is the end of it. Nothing much more happened. So the journey ended? It was complete? Is my life to be simply THIS at its peak? Is this as good as it gets? Thankfully, no. Itโs a walk in the park. What more could it be? Ah, but you see, it WAS more than that. Because I realised, I was being too literal in the idea of seeking a journey. The journey was happening throughout, and had BEEN happening for pretty much my whole life. It was in my mind. It still is, and will be for as long as I live. It is not a secret that I am not a traveller. And yet, I travel. Jamiroquai coined it well: Travelling Without Moving. And I do not mean I pop two pills of Lord-knows-what with every morning coffee. My mind is constantly buzzing and bubbling. It is thinking, pondering, pensing, focussing, working, absorbing and indeed, travelling. I love to see and feel beauty in the various few parts of the world I have actually been, but it is with my mind that I am most comfortable. My imagination is quite often more exciting, interesting and amusing than what is ACTUALLY there. I suppose I am therefore a private type, despite spieling all over this gaff every week. Sure, I miss out on things that most people naturally do every year. But perhaps they miss out on what I do every day. As Lennon put it: โLife is what happens to you while youโre busy making other plansโ. My personal journey involves my mind rather than my legs. The view from my window is enough to make me travel continents in my mind.
Art is purely mind and heart. And of course experience does often come into it. I am not alone in creating a journey from nothing. An experience of its own. This is what artists are there for. THIS is experience for me. THIS is the journey. Dancing in Jerusalem (an unusual artist name for a German duo, but we wonโt go there) have just released the final part of their trilogy โThe Wayโ, with a track called โEdge of the Worldโ. It follows on from โThe Wandererโ and โAcquaintanceโ, to complete an almighty journey worth experiencing. At heart, Pascal Yung and Max Backs (yes, the coolest name ever) are folk musicians, which brings us open honesty in spades. But pure folk is not for everyone, and can frankly (for me, anyway) get a little nauseating and feel a little trite. Not so much a journey as a small circle. But folk does lend something that few other genres or styles can muster. It is inherently human and relies more on people rather than machines. Aside from the purity, there can also be darkness in much folk. Which I like. But Pascal and โMaxBaxโ (sorry, I still love the name) go so much further than this. They then venture knee-high into all kinds of genre fields. In fact, it is not just the trilogy in 3 parts (as trilogies tend to be) that makes the journey. No no no, just this song in itself is quite the journey.
We start sparse, but satisfyingly warm and round, in the happy key of sunrise major. Bleary eyed with optimism. A minor chord strikes with a jazzy following, and doubt creeps in. But this concern is instantly cast aside and tossed into the much needed early morning fire. Its flames lick at the brick in a way it knows so well. Yet this wooden mantel stands firm with the courage and honour of a soldier. It will not be brought down. The stern determination despite the heat, but the woodโs eyes cry their remaining sap. The voices soar as the guitars start to jab uncontrollably and instinctively. The door swings open and the fire is immediately extinguished. With one hurdle completed, the guitars step up their defence with hindsight and slam on the distortion pedal like Ghostbusters. All the while the voices are relaxed enough for you to feel safe, but urgent enough to keep your attention as they will you to stay for the next movement. The drummer gets in to the swing of it. All drummers like getting heavy. But all too soon, with their fighting gear, ready for war, they realise is no opposition. They are confronted by a cool, still, deserted landscape. A mountain stands proud in the not too distant distance. They venture forth to see if perchance there is a single living soul on the other side. A lone goat, even? They climb the steep hill like determined explorers, using their bayonets as hiking poles so as not to slip and slide and crash to their end. Two thirds of the way up, they hear something. It sounds torturous. Their pace accelerates, as does their heart. As they approach the peak, they are consumed by something they had never even envisioned. A mile-long ring of screaming, howling monks surround a bloody battle of Vikings fighting unarmed civilians. Simple people, simply living. Can it be called a fight when the opponent has little with which to fight back? This is slaughter! Pascal and MaxBax sing in medieval harmony as they charge forward to stop the carnage. It turns out the Vikings werenโt much of a task to deal with. Vikings shmikings. The monks kneel and pray.
Our final half is spent healing the innocent victims in the most unusual โproglyโ classical way. Almost like Pink Floyd singing us a lullaby. A smile through the tears. A dirty face wiped clean, while the unseen scars will remain forever.
I have been quietly watching (listening to and thinking about) Dancing in Jerusalem for months. So many times they have made it to my โmaybeโ list. But having noticed and realised that they just keep getting better, I kept staving off talking about them. Being the final part of this current journey of theirs, it only felt fitting to do them justice. This is a journey you wonโt forget in a hurry. We came close to the edge of the world, but the world just keeps on turning.
As to my own little excursion, I hurried back home so as not to deprive my four-legged friend of a bit of company. I then sat on it.
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