Connolly’s Corner

  • ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: New Normal – Enlightenment Saloon

    ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: New Normal – Enlightenment Saloon

    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™š๐™ฌ ๐™‰๐™ค๐™ง๐™ข๐™–๐™ก – ๐™€๐™ฃ๐™ก๐™ž๐™œ๐™๐™ฉ๐™š๐™ฃ๐™ข๐™š๐™ฃ๐™ฉ ๐™Ž๐™–๐™ก๐™ค๐™ค๐™ฃ


    Charles pinches himself…


    Isnโ€™t it funny, the way we are these days. The things we do, and the way we do them. Yet I believe most of us donโ€™t think about it. At all. Letโ€™s look at how an average person starts an average day. Were you awoken by an alarm clock? It almost certainly was your phone – and yet no one rang you. In getting up on a cold morning, the house is cold. But it isnโ€™t. On account of the automatic heating that switches on at your desired time. Do we then grind the coffee beans in order to wake up? Why bother when at the press of a button it can all be done for you! A โ€œpodโ€ is all that is required. Or maybe you have that on a timer too? Perhaps the machine even senses you being awake and starts the whole process while youโ€™re busy attempting to open your eyesโ€ฆ While sipping black goodness, you read the news. In a newspaper? Itโ€™s doubtful. Your screen will be scrolled as you squint more and more like Lennon every day. Then you have to start the laborious task of replying to letters from the previous dayโ€™s post – or todayโ€™s post, if youโ€™re that efficient. But in fact, you have to tap the โ€œmailโ€ icon and reply to emails instead. That little (or large) rectangle rarely leaves your hands from the moment you leave your cosy bed. Now comes ACTUAL work. Got to dress yourself in โ€œwork gearโ€ and drive to the office – if you remembered to fill the tank. Or maybe your company is fine with you wearing jeans and a tartan shirt. Did you remember to charge the car? Perhaps you donโ€™t really need to โ€œgoโ€ to work at all. Just pop on a top of some sort, donโ€™t bother with the bottoms, and start up the laptop. With a fresh flagon of coffee, youโ€™re basically โ€œat workโ€. Seeing and chatting with your colleagues and your clients in an instant. No traffic, no rush, no abysmal weather. Or rather, it is all avoided. No tie, no trousers. What bliss! Itโ€™s all so funny how things change so smoothly without you really noticing. Fluid autonomy. This, is the new normal.


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  • ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Lily Flower – Rich Allen

    ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Lily Flower – Rich Allen

    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™ก๐™ฎ ๐™๐™ก๐™ค๐™ฌ๐™š๐™ง – ๐™๐™ž๐™˜๐™ ๐˜ผ๐™ก๐™ก๐™š๐™ฃ


    Charles errs on the side of cฬถaฬถuฬถtฬถiฬถoฬถnฬถ daring for 101โ€ฆ


    Books. Remember them? Ya know: paper and that. Woyds anโ€™ ting. Iโ€™m sure youโ€™ve at least SEEN them. Garish on the outside, hollow on the inside. That is, until you start reading. Then that loud cover becomes sterile and plastic as the words come together to form a brave new world of yours. I am not however going to talk about Aldous Huxley, but someone of a similar ilk. I am going to speak about the most chilling and horrifyingly astounding book I have ever read. And I guarantee you have heard of it. It goes by the name of Nineteen Eighty-Four. The year I was born, but written many moons before said year, in 1949 (the year my mother was born). I am a squeamish person when it comes to film, but rarely with the written word. This book was one HUGE exception. I wonโ€™t go into the theme, as you already know it (damned well SHOULD know it anyway). However, there is a scene that takes place in the Ministry of Love (oh, the irony). Following my 100th review, what better time to mention Room 101 – some of you might be quite familiar with its meaning these days. It is a torture chamber for those who have โ€œdone wrongโ€. Or at least what is considered wrong by the โ€œPartyโ€โ€ฆ A place of your personal worst nightmares. Think Nazism meets extreme communism meets sadism – not a nice place, basically. They decide what is right and what is wrong, and should you choose to disagree or go against any of that, you will pay severely. In reality, it would surely be your duty to escape from a prison camp, no? You would see it as the only option, but THEY would see it as โ€œagainst the rulesโ€, and so must be punished should you even attempt such a thing.


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  • 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: Love Is Just Too Precious! – The Nathaniel Hardy Project

    ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Love Is Just Too Precious! – The Nathaniel Hardy Project

    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™ซ๐™š ๐™„๐™จ ๐™…๐™ช๐™จ๐™ฉ ๐™๐™ค๐™ค ๐™‹๐™ง๐™š๐™˜๐™ž๐™ค๐™ช๐™จ! – ๐™๐™๐™š ๐™‰๐™–๐™ฉ๐™๐™–๐™ฃ๐™ž๐™š๐™ก ๐™ƒ๐™–๐™ง๐™™๐™ฎ ๐™‹๐™ง๐™ค๐™Ÿ๐™š๐™˜๐™ฉ


    Charles finds his soulโ€ฆ


    Every ten years a decade passes. Every decade brings change. Some decades more than others. Good change, bad change and arguable change, but change nevertheless. While there are many different kinds of change, I will not focus on forced change, such as war, for war is not worth talking about. I prefer the lighter side of life. So… In the last century, which decade has brought the most change? Again, excluding those where war has been the changing factor. I can only really talk about the Western World here, as that is all I am really familiar with. Which has been the most changing decade? Some might say the noughties (00s) due to the rise of the internet. It certainly did change the world; there’s no doubt in that. Some would say the 60s because, THE SIXTIES!! I mean, just EVERYTHING changed, right? Well I can’t argue that it was a revolutionary decade. But more so for the young. The older ones were still living part two of the 50s. How about the 80s, then? With its big hair and technological advancements? Well it certainly wasn’t like anything before. And then there’s the 20s. These 20s, rather than those 20s. The 2020s. The now. BIG change. The problem is, it feels like all this current change is negative change. Which, like war, is not worth talking about. For me, the answer is…….. The 70s. The change didn’t feel as forced or rebellious as the 60s. The change didn’t affect just the young. And seemingly pretty much every aspect changed, almost by the year.


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  • ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Nite Rite nโ€™ .2 – Alberto Parmegiani, Soul Hunters

    ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ – this week: Nite Rite nโ€™ .2 – Alberto Parmegiani, Soul Hunters

    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™ฉ๐™š ๐™๐™ž๐™ฉ๐™š ๐™ฃโ€™ .2 – ๐˜ผ๐™ก๐™—๐™š๐™ง๐™ฉ๐™ค ๐™‹๐™–๐™ง๐™ข๐™š๐™œ๐™ž๐™–๐™ฃ๐™ž, ๐™Ž๐™ค๐™ช๐™ก ๐™ƒ๐™ช๐™ฃ๐™ฉ๐™š๐™ง๐™จ


    Charles shows good sportsmanship.


    A couple of days ago, there was a game of football. Or soccer, if you prefer. One team wearing white, the other, blue. I rooted for white. Sometimes, things just donโ€™t go to plan. They did however for the blues. I am not a football fan, but this was one of the few times when an Englishman is allowed to be patriotic. It is seen as okay. The way to be. The thing to do. The hopes were high, but eventually, after much sweaty tension, the feeling was low. A big shame. But someone has to win, and someone has to, well, come second. It has always been the way. 22 men fought like brave soldiers; courageous yet civil and respectful. My only real CONCERN about England coming in โ€˜second placeโ€™, was the possible aftermath. English football fans have something of a reputation for acting, shall we say, a little less gentlemanly than they maybe should. Which is why I am of the opinion that โ€œif you canโ€™t beat โ€˜em, join emโ€™โ€. Not the fans, but the winners. Letโ€™s all come together and celebrate a joyous occasion. Not as joyous as one would have hoped, of course, but letโ€™s simply take part in the festivities and good vibes, rather than turning the good vibes to bad. Let us enjoy and revel in the good times weโ€™ve had over the weeks, and just understand that the result of a game of football must not be taken as a personal attack, but simply an outcome that had to go either way.

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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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