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.
๐๐ผ๐๐ ๐๐! (& ๐๐ข๐๐ก๐) – ๐๐ง๐๐ฃ๐ ๐ก๐๐ฃ & ๐ฝ๐๐ก๐ก
Charles loses an idolโฆ
Monday morning. For Mondays are when I write these things. I woke up – an achievement in itself. Quick scan of the phone before making breakfast. A sensible person would perhaps make breakfast first, but ya know – I’m just so young and modern! Bleary eyed and stumbly (I would say zombie-like, but those scary days are behind us), I look at the messages that I know I will have to read again when I am awake enough to reply. Get rid of the red dots all over the screen (those with iPhones will know the curse), and so to the ritual of the coffee. Quite amazing what that smell does for oneโs soul. NOW I am ready to start the day. Time to look at the โpaperโ. Itโs an app (ugh). What news lurks in store for me? What shenanigans have people been up to? What catastrophes have encroached on our peaceful land? Ugh: Trump, Harris, Harris, Trump. NEXT! Politics politics. Economy economy. NEXT! Baby switched at birth. NEXT! Oh come on, there must be something. Oh JESUS!! Ah gawd. And I am stopped mid slurp. That hollow feeling, as if my chest holds only lungs and nothing more. Our great gilt past continues to evaporate, leaving little but a plastic, mediocre present. Quincy Jones has died. He was 91.
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