Welcome all to ππΌπ»π»πΌπΉπΉπβπ ππΌπΏπ»π²πΏ, 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 πππ¬ πΌπ§π©ππ¨π© ππ₯π€π©π‘ππππ© playlists.
πππ©πͺπ§π – πππΌπ
Charles by name, Charles by natureβ¦
I am just back in London. Like, JUST. Right now, it is 3:30pm on Monday (time of writing). I got back home just before 2pm. So with just enough time for a quick bite to eat, here I am. Duty and all that. I can tell I am back in London because as soon as I left my nearest station, the air had a strong smell of weed. Then I was deafened by a helicopter and an angle grinder (which I morbidly call an angel grinder). And then I turned onto the cheap, filthy high street. Ah, home sweet home. So where have I beenβ¦? Well, I was at a wedding. Not my own. It was to be the wedding of a dear old friend of mine, who I have known since I was 14. Iβm older now. And so is he. In recent years, he has moved to Canadia. Which is probably nice. His wife is Canadian. Who is probably nice – I met her for the first time at the wedding – seemed nice. There was most certainly a theme of niceness throughout the whole shindig, for my dear friend has always been known as the nicest man in town. Whichever town. So, they had a wedding in Canada, and then had a second wedding in England – quite a nice gesture, considering plane ticket pricesβ¦ But this was not to be in London. No no, they wanted it to be somewhere actuallyβ¦ How shall I put itβ¦ Nice. So they picked somewhere in the middle of nowhere. A farm. A barn, to be more specific. The Barn, to be quite precise (for that was its name). What this meant for me, of course, was the possibility of a rather lovely weekend away with my girlfriend. A weekend in the English countryside, away from the horror of London (itβs truly getting to me these days).
To my delight, surprise and amazement, it truly was a lovely weekend. All of it. Well, almost. We stayed in an old country manor. And when I say old, I mean it was built in the 15th Century. So quite old. I gather the other guests were staying in a slightly more modern affair nearer The Barn itself (possibly a mere one or two hundred years old), but the two of us tend to do things a little differently. We opted for this old place. And it was absolutely gorgeous. Surrounded by its own plot of nature, its manicured wilderness suited us down to a tee. I say tee, but we did have tea on the lawn. So that was that place. Ancient, untouched, and still very much suiting a similar purpose – making people feel comfortable, happy and content. Oh, by the way, the highest point of the ceiling in our room was apparently 20 feet – not that I checked. I tried reaching it, and failed, so it must be around 20 feet. Not sure why I told you that. I just thought it was quite cool. So what about this wedding, then? Well, it was weddingy. Ya know. Bubbles, flowers, dresses and speeches. Lovely stuff. But of course, there was music. A DJ and a live band. I danced the night away like a loon – but of course. I have the crippled muscles to prove it! It was all great, in this funny old barn. There was even a mammoth barn next to it, absolutely chock full of hay. I wondered at the time if this might have been the couple skimping on accommodation for the guests, but no. It was just a barn full of hay. Hay which got climbed on as guests got more squiffy/sodded/plastered.
The next day (only yesterday! [Sunday for you]), we decided that hangovers are to be ignored, and proceeded to board a train to a nearby city. Thought it might be nice. A sort of blend of the rural and the urban. It was awful. Truly depressingly awful. So after just one or two hours, we got back on the train and went to another place. A town this time. It was not only better, I have never quite felt this way before about a town in England. You see, while there are always positive things about pretty much anywhere, there are always negatives too. The initial city we went to had the rarity of not having any positives. The town we ended up in, had nothing but positives. To the extent that I am very much considering living there. Of course, I will probably find that it is just as expensive as London (if not more so), and therefore completely out of the question, but it really did open my eyes to βhow it could beβ. That life could truly be a thing of beauty, as well as function. A perfectly lively town, surrounded by nature. Actually, it was better than that. Nature ran through it. I canβt quite explain. Everything worked in perfect harmony. God, itβs bound to be a place for the uber-rich. I havenβt had a chance to check, you see, having been back only a matter of hours. But having come back to London, I seem to have acquired some sort of PhD. But not the kind I spoke of when I reviewed Kaminski (seems to be an article to remember). No no, not that kind at all. The PhD I mean is no degree or accolade. It is nothing to be proud of. And it is perfectly common to most of us, I would imagine. The PhD I mean, is Post Holiday Depression. A term I quickly made up, but I think one with which most of you will be quite familiar. You have a week or so in paradise, and you come back to THIS. While itβs not that bad at all here, itβs just not what you meant. These days, I do seem to need peace. I need tranquility and beauty. I need good, kind people. I need honesty and manners, and I need nature. But I also need some sort of buzz – because I have spent my life in London. This splendid town I discovered seems to have just everything I feel I need and want. Yesterday (only yesterday!) I found exactly where to live. And yesterday I found exactly where NOT to live.
This weekβs pick is not only the powerful, inspired beauty I hunt down, but it was produced in an ancient farmhouse. The song is called Nature. Now, howβs THAT for a segue!! My song of the week comes from an artist who is perhaps a stranger to many of us so far, as he is pretty darned new to the New Artist Spotlight. He has only been with us a mere eight weeks, but I have a feeling weβre going to become rather attached to him very soon. His name might become familiar to many as the weeks continue. Please welcome MOAS! Unfortunately, I can tell you very little about this chap, as he seems to want the music and the lyrics to speak for themselves – rightly so, I would have said. He is however from Stuttgart in Germany, and his real name isβ¦ Ah, I donβt have that, Iβm afraid. So Iβll stick with MOAS. Which possibly/probably stands for something or means something, but I canβt for the life of me find that either. MOAS seems to be very much a humanitarian in all ways. From his lyrics, he evidently cares about preserving and maintaining our past in order to have a future. It was this that made me wonder if he was perhaps linked with (or took his name from) MOAS, the βinternational humanitarian organisation created to alleviate human sufferingβ. But then again, it could be the plural of Moa, an extinct bird similar to the emu, and that he is suggesting that if we keep going the way we are right now, we might ALL very soon be extinct. You see, I just couldnβt tell you. Although I would like to know the facts, I do quite like the mystery about it all. I like to ponder and wonder.
While in the countryside, I realised what I was enjoying the whole time. It was the lack of the city. It was simply nature allowed to be natural. The way nature is treated these days sometimes feels like it is deemed a filthy, dangerous rag to be disposed of for good. Quick!! A tree!! Cut it down before it shows its powerful beauty! Quick!! That rural dirt lane! Get some tarmac on it before it gets in someoneβs eyes! Quick!! That view is seamless and uninterrupted! Stick a massive great hulking chunk of misshapen glass in the middle before anyone starts to smile! Nature seems really to be a threat rather than a danger. A threat to the destructiveβs ego. This is what MOAS sings about. Exactly this. Our need to hold on to nature. To nurture the nature rather than to destroy it. His final line even subtly speaks of climate, and how without nature, we will simply not be able to live in such heat. Either that or he means that we will burn in Hell for having taken part in such disastrous deeds. Either way, his message is strong and clear. And I wholeheartedly agree! Iβm all for progress, but swapping one for the other is not progress. Hence my new found love for this ideal town of which I spake. This place manages to have an equal measure of both, while each enhances the other.
So thatβs his lyrics. Wise, sane, and inspirational. Moving and hopeful, yet with an urgent force. That balance doesnβt just come in the form of nature and its opposite. It comes in the form of words and music. While this songβs sentiment would remain the same in any genre and with any ability, it perhaps would not have the same passion and plea. You see, the voice of MOAS is incredible. It is a voice that grabs the oxygen in front of him in order to keep the heart beating. It is hunger and need. It is one last gasp before it is too late. And he sounds uncannily like Seal. Save the Seal before it too becomes extinct! Of course, I am talking about the singer, rather than the mammal. I am not sure I would be reviewing this song if MOAS sounded like A seal. The voice of MOAS is something I rarely hear in music these days. The triumphant surge in his vocal cords is proof that he cares. This is evidently more than music. In fact, in this 300 year old farmhouse (a mere baby to my manor), MOAS self-produced an entire album with a solid theme. The first track was called Forest. The second is called Nature (the current release). He will be releasing the entire 12-track album over the course of the next two years. Hereβs what MOAS had to say about the recording process: βAll the instruments in my songs are real. I think itβs important to follow the concept of traditional music. Only real instruments can convey the emotions that I want to achieve with my songsβ. While others may attempt to argue with this statement, he is talking about his own emotions and his own songs, therefore there is no argument. I personally adore his reasoning. And his playing of these instruments is thoroughly impressive and frankly pro-standard. And you know what I most like about MOAS? He is MOAS, like no other. I finally found his real name! But I’m not going to tell you what it is. I’m annoying like that. I just continued looking because I donβt like to be stumped. Besides, the fact that it was so hard to find suggests that he would rather be known simply as MOAS.
Now if youβll excuse me, it is 8pm and I must eat again and fall over. Welcome back. Phew!
It turns out that all one really needs at a wedding is good manors.
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