Connolly’s Corner

Welcome all to 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗼𝗹𝗹𝘆’𝘀 𝗖𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗿, 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 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝘼𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙎𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 playlists.

𝙎𝙝𝙚’𝙨 𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙂𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚 – 𝙈𝙖𝙩𝙨 𝘿𝙚𝙧𝙣𝙖́𝙣𝙙

Charles introduces with an introduction that is completely unnecessary.

You know that feeling when you find out that your favourite artist is playing in your hometown? The excitement and anticipation that you will soon be in the same room. That personal touch, where they will be playing for YOU. So much more than streaming on Spotify. It just means so much. The thrill of it all. You rush to buy tickets. You sweat slightly as they are running out fast. Seats or standing? Doesn’t matter. You will be there, if you manage to get tickets of ANY kind. You succeed! You have spent rather a lot of money but you don’t care. Then comes the day. You get there early, because that’s what people do. Far too early because you’re so eager. You buy overpriced lager in a plastic cup. You buy a hot dog that you don’t really want. You take your seat (or stand). It is all about YOU. After a while, the support act comes on stage. This is what I am getting at – the support act. You tap your foot and nod your head a bit, while still chatting with your guest about the act you came to see. You also chat impatiently and pointlessly about the size of the vast venue and how many people there are. You wonder if now is a good time to go to the loo – ‘John’ is a man’s name, a ‘bathroom’ contains a bath, I am not exhausted enough for a ‘restroom’, and ‘toilet’ is simply a vile word. And so, what is this ‘support act’ actually for? A time to ponder on the capacity of one’s bladder? An introduction to the real reason you arrived? Something to put you in the mood? “And now the moment you’ve all been waiting for: a man who needs no introduction” – why do they always introduce the act by saying they need no introduction? The lights are low, and it is time for everything you ever wanted. I am the support act. My time is up. Please welcome Mats Dernánd.

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Welcome all to 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗼𝗹𝗹𝘆’𝘀 𝗖𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗿, 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 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝘼𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙎𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 playlists.

𝙎𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙒𝙞𝙩𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 (𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙄𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙨) – 𝙍𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝘼𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙣

Charles presses play…

No words.

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Welcome all to 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗼𝗹𝗹𝘆’𝘀 𝗖𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗿, 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 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝘼𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙎𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 playlists.

𝙋𝙤𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙣 – 𝙀𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙧 𝘾𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙨, 𝘾𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙚

In all honesty, Charles almost falls and…

Sunday in London was a beautiful thing. Knowing full well (funny expression) the weather was to be glorious, I had set aside the entire day for a long wander on the lovelier side of life, with my girlfriend. Free from screens, free from distractions, free from even music. Yes, I know. Sacrilege. Think of it as a necessary healing. To be anointed by the sun, and little else (I was fully clothed). This little else was in fact mucho else. It was nature and beauty all around. It all does such a great deal for the soul. These simple pleasures. Plus the odd spot of nibbles and drinkies, for we are civilised adults who like a bit of this and also a bit of that. It turns out it is rather easy to enjoy oneself. To do little and yet be utterly contented. But one must let oneself go. It is important to make sure your brain doesn’t scurry back to its usual train of thought in terms of work and “real life”. It was all so perfect. Every moment of this oh-so simple day was just right, to the point where I started to wonder how long it would last. My brain kicked back into action, all suspicious-like. “If everything is so perfect, I must pay for this somehow. Something’s got to give. This can’t last forever. Is something going to spoil this blissful day?” – What kind of weak-minded individual thinks like this??

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Welcome all to 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗼𝗹𝗹𝘆’𝘀 𝗖𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗿, 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 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝘼𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙎𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 playlists.

𝙎𝙣𝙖𝙠𝙚 – 𝙆𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙤𝙣, 12 𝘽𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙬

Charles is instrumentally deceptive…

The song is called Snake. So therefore I’m going to write my little intro on snakes. But of course. The way they slither. The way they slide and worm across just anything. Those scales reflecting light at every angle. That warning tongue that rasps with knowing arrogance. A snake is scared of nothing. It is cold blooded in all ways. And while this image of a snake in movement may make most shudder, there are people who are almost turned on by it. To the extent that they start to take on the dark characteristic of this quick-witted reptile. This type of person can be referred to as a snake. A person that lies and deceives, only for their own selfish gain. In fact, I have changed my mind. This kind of person is so off-putting to me, that I would rather not give them this attention, for they deserve none. So, in fact, I will NOT be talking about snakes. But of course NOT. Apologies to those who were just starting to get into it. Sorry to deceive – what a snake-like thing to do!

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Welcome all to 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗼𝗹𝗹𝘆’𝘀 𝗖𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗿, 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 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝘼𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙎𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 playlists.

𝙋𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨 – 𝙎𝙖𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙖 𝘽𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙤

Charles realises what Christmas is all about…

The most special time of year is upon us, whether you like it or not – you’re a right Scrooge if you don’t. Whether you’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 doesn’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 trees… 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. What’s your favourite kind of Christmas music? Choirs? Carols? Sinatra? Perhaps it’s all that wonderful pop stuff made famous by the “Now That’s What I Call Music – Christmas Album” 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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Welcome all to 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗼𝗹𝗹𝘆’𝘀 𝗖𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗿, 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 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝘼𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙎𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 playlists.

𝙋𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙮 𝙈𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖 – 𝙎𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙚

Charles is a mummy’s boy…

Just over a week ago was Mothering Sunday, or more commonly known as Mother’s Day. Having induced an almighty heart thump in the American, Australian and Mexican readers, don’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 English… So, on that typically sunny cloudy rainy dry windy still Sunday, I took my mother to lunch in a posh restaurant. No I didn’t. I can’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 “window” 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 “refresh” the appearance and make it “more appealing to a modern audience”. 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 didn’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. Didn’t used to be necessary. Kinda shows what kinda clientele they were expecting… I didn’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 “Take your hand off my shoulder or I’ll…” – no he didn’t. He said how he had heard so much about the old place and how sad everyone is that it’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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Welcome all to 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗼𝗹𝗹𝘆’𝘀 𝗖𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗿, 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 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝘼𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙎𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 playlists.

𝙋𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙮 𝙋𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 – 𝘾𝙃𝙑𝙍𝙇𝙄 𝘽𝙇𝙑𝘾𝙆

Charles considers the “Home Alone” effect…

It is coming to the end. I know this is infamously the bleak midwinter, but that’s not quite what I meant. What I meant was, the year is fast coming to a close. It is a time for collecting one’s thoughts. Yes, all of them. That’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 didn’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! How’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 who’s just swallowed a teaspoon of vinegar, it just wouldn’t grow. Ah well. We can but try. Next! What about the career? The mixing and producing? Well, I think I’ve succeeded there. In that respect, things are starting to take shape and come to fruition. Well at least that’s one thing. So I’m not a COMPLETE and utter failure. Okay, well I think that’s my thoughts collected – most of them have been collected already in my year’s worth of Connolly’s Corner articles (I’m not really calling them “reviews” 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 there’s anything you really wanted to do in 2022, now’s your last chance. You have but a few days. I would suggest not choosing anything too daring, dramatic or adventurous, or you simply won’t have time. Also, sod that for a game of soldiers.

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Welcome all to 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗼𝗹𝗹𝘆’𝘀 𝗖𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗿, 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 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝘼𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙎𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 playlists.

𝙍𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙗𝙤𝙬 – 𝙈𝙖𝙥 𝙤𝙛 𝘼𝙪𝙩𝙪𝙢𝙣

Charles finds a treasure map…

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. It’s very much the thin of it. We tend to look at Summer like a dream. Like, “one day I’ll be rich”. 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 don’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. It’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 we’ll get a proper European Summer. We always hope to win a major football tournament. And although the outcome is rarely terrible, we’re never left satisfied. This is the English way. Mustn’t grumble, but must mutter under our breath. Last week was Summer. This week? It’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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Welcome all to 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗼𝗹𝗹𝘆’𝘀 𝗖𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗿, 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 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝘼𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙎𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 playlists.

𝙍𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙮 𝘿𝙖𝙮𝙨 – 𝘽𝙡𝙪𝙚 𝙍𝙤𝙮𝙖𝙡𝙨

Charles adds a little seasoning…

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. You’re slow. You’re tired. You’re raw. You’re just too exposed to the elements, and it’s been too long. “Pray for rain!”, we all cry! Pray for rain. But the next day, not a drop. Nothing but blissful blue. Nothing but scorching sun. Nothing but pure “paradise”… 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.

(more…)

Welcome all to 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗼𝗹𝗹𝘆’𝘀 𝗖𝗼𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗿, 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 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝘼𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙎𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 playlists.

𝙉𝙤𝙩 𝙅𝙪𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙩 – 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙇𝙚𝙚

Charles doth oft prove a prophet…

“To be, or not to be, that is the question”. 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 ‘English’ 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 you’re thinking. You’re reacting much as I would if I were to be accosted and threatened by a tribesman: “Don’t shake spear at me!” – 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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