Connolly’s Corner

  • ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Night To Day – Skinny Dippers

    ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Night To Day – Skinny Dippers

    Welcome all to ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ, 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 ๐™‰๐™š๐™ฌ ๐˜ผ๐™ง๐™ฉ๐™ž๐™จ๐™ฉ ๐™Ž๐™ฅ๐™ค๐™ฉ๐™ก๐™ž๐™œ๐™๐™ฉ playlists.


    ๐™‰๐™ž๐™œ๐™๐™ฉ ๐™๐™ค ๐˜ฟ๐™–๐™ฎ – ๐™Ž๐™ ๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™ฃ๐™ฎ ๐˜ฟ๐™ž๐™ฅ๐™ฅ๐™š๐™ง๐™จ


    Charles catches the sun and puts it in his pocketโ€ฆ


    The sun is a wondrous thing. It shines bright from behind the blue. It both creates and eradicates shadow, turning dark into light, and light into darker. Leaves and yolk-filled petals bask, as we burn and cower. Said scented blooms will turn in synchronisation with its beam, always to be head-to-head with the god of the sky. Those of us who do wish to confront its rays will do so with a youthful pride. Head held high, arms glistening with salty beads. What is it about these golden rays that makes us smile? A simple thing of brightness and warmth. Can it be as simple as that? Could it be the Vitamin D that our bodies make, much like a human equivalent of photosynthesisโ€ฆ? It is more powerful than chemistry, surely. We have learnt of solar power relatively recently, but have felt it within ourselves for millennia. This is where nature competes and wins every time. Everyone benefits. Well, almost everyone. Farmers with their droughts, skin cancer sufferers, people whose land regularly deals with forest fires, even little freckle-faced Billy who canโ€™t go out to play because of his sensitive skinโ€ฆ There are negatives. Oh and then thereโ€™s the big old climate change stuffโ€ฆ But on the whole, The sun is a wondrous thing.


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  • ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: London Underground – Square Dance Caller

    ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: London Underground – Square Dance Caller

    Welcome all to ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ, 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 ๐™‰๐™š๐™ฌ ๐˜ผ๐™ง๐™ฉ๐™ž๐™จ๐™ฉ ๐™Ž๐™ฅ๐™ค๐™ฉ๐™ก๐™ž๐™œ๐™๐™ฉ playlists.


    ๐™‡๐™ค๐™ฃ๐™™๐™ค๐™ฃ ๐™๐™ฃ๐™™๐™š๐™ง๐™œ๐™ง๐™ค๐™ช๐™ฃ๐™™ – ๐™Ž๐™ฆ๐™ช๐™–๐™ง๐™š ๐˜ฟ๐™–๐™ฃ๐™˜๐™š ๐˜พ๐™–๐™ก๐™ก๐™š๐™ง


    Charles minds the gapโ€ฆ


    Tickets please! Weโ€™re going DOWN. Next stop: anywhere you please. Iโ€™m fumbling for my card as Iโ€™m barged from behind. This sea of dissimilar creatures snaking through the automatic barriers at ground level, in a rush to be elsewhere. Anywhere but here. Please hold the handrail, as you slowly descend into the hot, airless atmosphere of underneath. That unmistakable smell of speedy machinery on wheels. That frequent cyclone that makes your jacket flap. Your plastic bags ruffle and ripple with excitement as you squint and hold on to your hat. Itโ€™s all happening here.


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  • ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Nightmares – Billy Lowry

    ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Nightmares – Billy Lowry

    Welcome all to ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ, 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 ๐™‰๐™š๐™ฌ ๐˜ผ๐™ง๐™ฉ๐™ž๐™จ๐™ฉ ๐™Ž๐™ฅ๐™ค๐™ฉ๐™ก๐™ž๐™œ๐™๐™ฉ playlists.


    ๐™‰๐™ž๐™œ๐™๐™ฉ๐™ข๐™–๐™ง๐™š๐™จ – ๐˜ฝ๐™ž๐™ก๐™ก๐™ฎ ๐™‡๐™ค๐™ฌ๐™ง๐™ฎ


    Charles gives you the genuine articleโ€ฆ


    Youโ€™re probably assuming I am going to blether on about dreams, gradually segueing into nightmares. But I will do no such thing. Not even going to touch on the subject.


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  • ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Presents – Sabrina Barreto

    ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Presents – Sabrina Barreto

    Welcome all to ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ, 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 ๐™‰๐™š๐™ฌ ๐˜ผ๐™ง๐™ฉ๐™ž๐™จ๐™ฉ ๐™Ž๐™ฅ๐™ค๐™ฉ๐™ก๐™ž๐™œ๐™๐™ฉ playlists.


    ๐™‹๐™ง๐™š๐™จ๐™š๐™ฃ๐™ฉ๐™จ – ๐™Ž๐™–๐™—๐™ง๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™– ๐˜ฝ๐™–๐™ง๐™ง๐™š๐™ฉ๐™ค


    Charles realises what Christmas is all aboutโ€ฆ


    The most special time of year is upon us, whether you like it or not – youโ€™re a right Scrooge if you donโ€™t. Whether youโ€™re a Bible basher or simply a lover of niceness and good times, Christmas is and will always be something special to most of us. A light dusting of snow on the ground, the twinkling of stars in the night sky. Distant carol singers from around the corner. Sure this may not be the case in actuality, but it is present in our hearts. The FEELING of Christmas. All warm and fuzzy. That cosiness that differs from duvet-cosiness. The time for family and cheer. The time for merriment and a kind of chaos that just doesnโ€™t matter and instead makes you laugh. Even in the whitest of modern minimalist rooms, gaudy colourful decorations will adorn the mantelpiece and of course the vital tree. Those who feel that Christmas ornaments should be white and tasteful, I feel have maybe missed the point of Christmas. It is not to blend in with its cold, austere surroundings, but to make one feel like it used to in the old days. A feeling of fondness and warmth. A feeling of peace in a simpler time. Speaking of treesโ€ฆ That smell!!! There is nothing quite like it to bring out the festive mood. The twinkling fairy lights only add to the excitement. It is also the time to bring out the old Christmas records. Seemingly the only time these days when music is allowed to be both popular and old. Whatโ€™s your favourite kind of Christmas music? Choirs? Carols? Sinatra? Perhaps itโ€™s all that wonderful pop stuff made famous by the โ€œNow Thatโ€™s What I Call Music – Christmas Albumโ€ from the 80s – at least in Britain anyway. Maybe you have a secret penchant for one of the Streisand Christmas albums? Weirdly, I personally like it all! As soon as the calendar clicks into December, I listen to little else – aside from new releases from the New Artist Spotlight, of course.


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  • ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Pretty Mumma – Soulhole

    ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Pretty Mumma – Soulhole

    Welcome all to ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ, 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 ๐™‰๐™š๐™ฌ ๐˜ผ๐™ง๐™ฉ๐™ž๐™จ๐™ฉ ๐™Ž๐™ฅ๐™ค๐™ฉ๐™ก๐™ž๐™œ๐™๐™ฉ playlists.


    ๐™‹๐™ง๐™š๐™ฉ๐™ฉ๐™ฎ ๐™ˆ๐™ช๐™ข๐™ข๐™– – ๐™Ž๐™ค๐™ช๐™ก๐™๐™ค๐™ก๐™š


    Charles is a mummyโ€™s boyโ€ฆ


    Just over a week ago was Mothering Sunday, or more commonly known as Motherโ€™s Day. Having induced an almighty heart thump in the American, Australian and Mexican readers, donโ€™t worry – you did not forget. Yours is in May. As for the rest of you around the world, please consult your diary. I only know about England, for I am English. Heart thump for the forgetful Englishโ€ฆ So, on that typically sunny cloudy rainy dry windy still Sunday, I took my mother to lunch in a posh restaurant. No I didnโ€™t. I canโ€™t afford a posh restaurant, and neither had I the foresight to book a table enough in advance even if I COULD have afforded it. Planning is everything. So on the Saturday we spoke on the telephonic communication system, otherwise known these days as a phone. There had always been a lovely old unchanged pub somewhat near where she lives. I used to frequent this drinking hole quite a bit. She had been there MANY years ago – I believe. It was always full of old junk. In a good way. Ancient street signs, original beer and tobacco adverts, stuffed animals and even a beautiful curved backlit stained glass โ€œwindowโ€ in the corner. Old church pews and cracked green leather banquettes grounded beneath the ornately Rococo-framed portrait of Sir Richard Steele as he peered down at the exciting eccentric hoard with disgrace. The pub had been unimaginatively named in honour of this late 17th century writer: The Sir Richard Steele. Or as we locals called it, The Steeles. It was fabulous. One of my absolute favourite pubs in London, and ever so popular. So what did they do? They closed it and gutted it. Apparently in order to โ€œrefreshโ€ the appearance and make it โ€œmore appealing to a modern audienceโ€. I went back months later after it had reopened, and I almost wept. The beautiful stained glass of which I spake was now the entrance door. I didnโ€™t get much further than that. Cheap pop music blasted through the place in the mid afternoon, as literal toddlers toddled all over the floor. The place was made of cheap purple plastic. Even the floor. They had a bouncer. Ahem, sorry: a doorman. That was new. Didnโ€™t used to be necessary. Kinda shows what kinda clientele they were expectingโ€ฆ I didnโ€™t actually walk in, I just peered around the door, shuddered and left. Before wandering up the road in a dispirited frame of mind, I spoke to the doorman softly with a hand on his shoulder, explaining how it used to be. He replied in kind, hand on mine. He said โ€œTake your hand off my shoulder or Iโ€™llโ€ฆโ€ – no he didnโ€™t. He said how he had heard so much about the old place and how sad everyone is that itโ€™s gone. It seemed as though he would have loved it. The place was empty, and stayed that way. Hence the inevitable closure not too long after.


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  • ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Pretty Please – CHVRLI BLVCK

    ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Pretty Please – CHVRLI BLVCK

    Welcome all to ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ, 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 ๐™‰๐™š๐™ฌ ๐˜ผ๐™ง๐™ฉ๐™ž๐™จ๐™ฉ ๐™Ž๐™ฅ๐™ค๐™ฉ๐™ก๐™ž๐™œ๐™๐™ฉ playlists.


    ๐™‹๐™ง๐™š๐™ฉ๐™ฉ๐™ฎ ๐™‹๐™ก๐™š๐™–๐™จ๐™š – ๐˜พ๐™ƒ๐™‘๐™๐™‡๐™„ ๐˜ฝ๐™‡๐™‘๐˜พ๐™†


    Charles considers the โ€œHome Aloneโ€ effectโ€ฆ


    It is coming to the end. I know this is infamously the bleak midwinter, but thatโ€™s not quite what I meant. What I meant was, the year is fast coming to a close. It is a time for collecting oneโ€™s thoughts. Yes, all of them. Thatโ€™s a lot of thoughts. Let’s face it, we all started the year with plans. But did we all fulfil said plans? This time last year, I said I would release far more music. How many releases did I manage? Three. Three measly tunes in an entire year. And one of those I didnโ€™t even write! Useless. So that plan fell flat on its face. Maybe next year. Next! I planned to go to Italy in the Summer. Did I succeed in doing so? Did I, heck. Maybe next year. Next! Howโ€™s about the hair? I said I would try my hardest to grow more hair on my head. No matter how much I held my breath and screwed up my face like a child whoโ€™s just swallowed a teaspoon of vinegar, it just wouldnโ€™t grow. Ah well. We can but try. Next! What about the career? The mixing and producing? Well, I think Iโ€™ve succeeded there. In that respect, things are starting to take shape and come to fruition. Well at least thatโ€™s one thing. So Iโ€™m not a COMPLETE and utter failure. Okay, well I think thatโ€™s my thoughts collected – most of them have been collected already in my yearโ€™s worth of Connollyโ€™s Corner articles (Iโ€™m not really calling them โ€œreviewsโ€ anymore – despite each reviewing a song). So now that my thoughts are neatly filed away, alphabetically, chronologically and by mood, what is there to do? Well if thereโ€™s anything you really wanted to do in 2022, nowโ€™s your last chance. You have but a few days. I would suggest not choosing anything too daring, dramatic or adventurous, or you simply wonโ€™t have time. Also, sod that for a game of soldiers.


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  • ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Rainbow – Map of Autumn

    ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Rainbow – Map of Autumn

    Welcome all to ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ, 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 ๐™‰๐™š๐™ฌ ๐˜ผ๐™ง๐™ฉ๐™ž๐™จ๐™ฉ ๐™Ž๐™ฅ๐™ค๐™ฉ๐™ก๐™ž๐™œ๐™๐™ฉ playlists.


    ๐™๐™–๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™—๐™ค๐™ฌ – ๐™ˆ๐™–๐™ฅ ๐™ค๐™› ๐˜ผ๐™ช๐™ฉ๐™ช๐™ข๐™ฃ


    Charles finds a treasure mapโ€ฆ


    It is the beginning of July. Do you know what this means? It means we are truly in the thick of Summer. Well, for those in the Northern Hemisphere, anyway. In Britain though, we have a different way of looking at it. Itโ€™s very much the thin of it. We tend to look at Summer like a dream. Like, โ€œone day Iโ€™ll be richโ€. Like this impossibility for which we are eternally hopeful. An impossibility that is not only possible but highly likely in other parts of the world. I donโ€™t mean a wealth of pennies. I mean a wealth of sunshine and of heat. In many parts of America, people right now are simply too dehydrated to bother with a rain dance. Besides, it would be a futile endeavour. The clouds are too busy migrating to Britain in small boats. Itโ€™s apparently where they belong. Italy though, as usual, has it just right: perfect clockwork weather. In Italy, Summer means Summer. In Britain, Summer is a bit like the Euros. We hope and hope some more. A few days of sunshine is like England winning the football on Sunday: enjoy it while it lasts. That could be it. We always hope weโ€™ll get a proper European Summer. We always hope to win a major football tournament. And although the outcome is rarely terrible, weโ€™re never left satisfied. This is the English way. Mustnโ€™t grumble, but must mutter under our breath. Last week was Summer. This week? Itโ€™s all right. The usual meh. But still, we keep on hoping, in search of this mythical utopian season. If only we had a map of Summer.


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  • ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Rainy Days – Blue Royals

    ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Rainy Days – Blue Royals

    Welcome all to ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ, 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 ๐™‰๐™š๐™ฌ ๐˜ผ๐™ง๐™ฉ๐™ž๐™จ๐™ฉ ๐™Ž๐™ฅ๐™ค๐™ฉ๐™ก๐™ž๐™œ๐™๐™ฉ playlists.


    ๐™๐™–๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™ฎ ๐˜ฟ๐™–๐™ฎ๐™จ – ๐˜ฝ๐™ก๐™ช๐™š ๐™๐™ค๐™ฎ๐™–๐™ก๐™จ


    Charles adds a little seasoningโ€ฆ


    Think back not too long ago. That never-ending, heavy, lethargic summer. The relentless heat. The endless blue sky. The golden tan no longer a novelty; it’s a permanent ultraviolet stain. The trees all lush green with envy as they watch you sip your ice cold drink of choice. Youโ€™re slow. Youโ€™re tired. Youโ€™re raw. Youโ€™re just too exposed to the elements, and itโ€™s been too long. โ€œPray for rain!โ€, we all cry! Pray for rain. But the next day, not a drop. Nothing but blissful blue. Nothing but scorching sun. Nothing but pure โ€œparadiseโ€โ€ฆ There is no hideaway in which to hide away. You wear too much, you overheat. You wear too little, you burn. You crave the days of change. The days where sweat is a sign of hard work, not simply of being. You wish for the leaves to come down to earth in hues of orange, of yellow and of red. You wish for a cool breeze not articulated by a rotating blade. You wish for a cloud, if only to break the monotony of blue perfection. You wish, you wish, you wish. But in reality, you wait, you wait, you wait.


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  • ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Not Juliet – Heather Lee

    ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Not Juliet – Heather Lee

    Welcome all to ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ, 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 ๐™‰๐™š๐™ฌ ๐˜ผ๐™ง๐™ฉ๐™ž๐™จ๐™ฉ ๐™Ž๐™ฅ๐™ค๐™ฉ๐™ก๐™ž๐™œ๐™๐™ฉ playlists.


    ๐™‰๐™ค๐™ฉ ๐™…๐™ช๐™ก๐™ž๐™š๐™ฉ – ๐™ƒ๐™š๐™–๐™ฉ๐™๐™š๐™ง ๐™‡๐™š๐™š


    Charles doth oft prove a prophetโ€ฆ


    โ€œTo be, or not to be, that is the questionโ€. Or rather, that is A question. A question into which I will briefly delve later on. To the world, William Shakespeare was a bard. To the English, he is The Bard. That is actually how we refer to him – should we refer to him at all (young Shakespeare is less in the modern narrative than when EYE was young). I know โ€˜Englishโ€™ is a dirty word these days, but so far Shakespeare has been left unscathed by the modern obsession of screwing up the only good we have left from the past. He has not yet to have been found a slave driver, nor a hater of any race or gender. And nor was he a snob or a tycoon. Sure, he was apparently vain and pennily comfortable, but that is RIGHT! We are still allowed to mention him, talk about him, discuss and debate his work, without some whistleblower storming through the window with a tin of paint and a sign to spoil all the innocent fun and joy he has brought us all for just SO long. Now, I know what youโ€™re thinking. Youโ€™re reacting much as I would if I were to be accosted and threatened by a tribesman: โ€œDonโ€™t shake spear at me!โ€ – well, tough. I am going to shake that spear whether you like it or not. Because, as long ago as his writing was, his greatest and most famous moments of inspiration are as potent as ever.


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  • ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Range of Time – Echo Wilde

    ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Range of Time – Echo Wilde

    Welcome all to ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ, 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 ๐™‰๐™š๐™ฌ ๐˜ผ๐™ง๐™ฉ๐™ž๐™จ๐™ฉ ๐™Ž๐™ฅ๐™ค๐™ฉ๐™ก๐™ž๐™œ๐™๐™ฉ playlists.


    ๐™๐™–๐™ฃ๐™œ๐™š ๐™ค๐™› ๐™๐™ž๐™ข๐™š – ๐™€๐™˜๐™๐™ค ๐™’๐™ž๐™ก๐™™๐™š


    Charles momentarily forgets the pastโ€ฆ


    With the passing of time, time passes. This is without exception and by definition what happens. There is no time when time stands still. โ€œNowโ€ is instantly โ€œthenโ€. The future becomes the present, and the present becomes the past. Which is why people get so excited about the lottery, yet couldnโ€™t give a damn about last weekโ€™s numbers. But with time comes change. Change in all ways, always. What was once so popular becomes so impossibly unfashionable. A young green fragile stem with but one leaf, becomes a great, grand awe-inspiring oak, towering above almost everything, given time. But given more time, its life is forced to a close, and it becomes, say, a table. Time is everything here. Without time, life is a photograph. Without time, there would be no war, no destruction, no death and no rush. But then again, without time, there would be no peace, no conservation, no life and no rush.


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