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.
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ซ๐๐จ - ๐๐ฉ๐๐ซ๐ ๐๐๐๐ช๐ก๐ฉ๐๐๐๐จ
Charles sits down with a nice cuppa, and attempts to tell your fortune.
I drink one cup of coffee a day. I say โdrinkโ, but it is more like a ritual. In fact, it is the closest I come to religion. I will never have more than one cup, but I would certainly not even try to attempt a dayโs life without that one. Call it habit, routine, addiction, compulsion, itโs just what I do, and it does no harm. Tea however, is a completely different kettle of water. It is something that I enjoy several times a week, with not a hint of schedule. It rarely ever occurs to me but is suggested as an option by my girlfriend, and I usually take her up on the idea. Tea is a great comfort. A simple pleasure. A pastime and an English institution. So why not! And so go the leaves into the shiny sprung infuser, or actually this time loosely tossed into the floral teapot. There are always far more saucers in the cupboard than cups - this is just how it is. Perhaps saucers are more resilient than the elegant slender handle of the receptacle. The teapot is to be filled with boiling water. It must be ferociously bubbling. I wait at least 4 minutes for the brew to brew, pour, et voilร . Actually, I dunk a teabag in a mug for less than a minute, slug in a spoon of brown sugar - yes, brown - and slosh in some milk for completion. But letโs just pretend weโre civilised, for now.
As I gaze over the peaceful sunset, I finish my last sip and look down at the cup. A pattern has emerged at its base. Is it Africa? No no, itโs more like North America. The East side. Itโs as if New York were actually visible. Is that Nantucketโฆ? I give the cup a nudge - admittedly by accident (the ratio of saucers to cups nearly widened). The edges of America fall away, like a vast avalanche (if this were to be a voodoo cup). We seem to be left with nothing but Massachusetts. I ferret through nooks and also crannies to find my book about reading tea leaves. Then I remember I donโt own one. The modern way is called for: Uncle Google. I am apparently going on a long journey, to Massachusetts. Makes sense! Out of curiosity I look up what it means if there are barely any tea leaves left. I apparently drink like a pig and am on the road to nowhere. Huh! Well thatโs the last time I ask Uncle Google anything - probably not true.
Let us take this long journey together to visit a man by the name of Steve Schultheis. I have no idea about the phonetics of this name, so I shall assume it is pronounced Shulteez. His brand new album - Back to the Beginning - was released just weeks ago. Its first track was what caught my attention: Tea Leaves. We start with the sweetest isolated vocals, reminiscent of the isolated vocals of โBecauseโ by The Beatles (which can be found on their โLoveโ album). Unlike โBecauseโ, it is bright and positive in its major key, with a satisfying harmony that envelopes with a cosy warmth, much like that first sip. Thirty seconds in, the singers depart and close the door. The red and yellow lights swing upwards on a motorised swing-arm, and the band strikes up! Heavy, thick, treacly country-blues resonates with slide guitar and an edge that was not there before. The minor key winks like the devil himself (or herself). As the band softens and soothes the tone, here comes Steve (probably pronounced Steev) with an ambiguous melody that is neither major nor minor. Considering the words of the song, this is a very clever device indeed! Who knows if our future is to be one of gold or of mudโฆ It is the sweet 6th of the scale that gives us hope from the dark - that same โ6thโ that George throws us on the last โYeahโ of She Loves You (by the Muddy Prunes). Enough of the technical speak. Steve has the most remarkable knack for writing his melodies like an American McCartney. One week I will try not to mention The Beatles - just one week. McCartney has never been a stranger to American music and its twang, but this is somehow more genuine, as I suppose it would be. And I donโt mean Beatle McCartney, I mean McCartney 90s to now. More of a country/folk element. Less bold yet more honest.
The depth of the band sweeps us back from time to time in between verses. The halfway point brings the choir back from its much earned tea break. The singers harmonise with Steve to perfection - like an owgan! In fact, there is an owgan present underneath this beautiful โCrosby, Stills, Nash and Youngโ section. The band gets impatient and storms back with the bash of a drum. The whole scene is sticky and warm, but still retaining that essential sunshine. The quality of the production and mixing in this song just simply could not be surpassed - it is sublime. I gather Steve has a team of wonder people so he can finally achieve the sound that was in his head. He is a fan of working with people, in order to make a good thing better. Which is really whatโs itโs all about: to make the greatest music we possibly can, so that the world can enjoy it!
One lump or two? Who cares?? Itโs what weโre left with at the end that matters.
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I love how you take us through a very posh tea and then drop this line on us:
Actually, I dunk a teabag in a mug for less than a minute, slug in a spoon of brown sugar - yes, brown - and slosh in some milk for completion. But letโs just pretend weโre civilised, for now.
HA! Great stuff, as always, CC!