I'm going through another one of those periods when listening to music is making me feel 6" tall.
I remember being 18 and still in the early, slow years of my indiepop discovery, when finding and buying records was a 6-month long adventure of waiting for the next bi-annual issue of the In Those Days fanzine to come out with recommendations, sending an SAE for the latest Mind the Gap catalogue, saving money, turning it into foreign currency, sending the cash by post and waiting and waiting forever for the postman to arrive... (We used to live in a wooden box you know, all 14 of us. And for breakfast we had a lump of coal.) Back then, I used to pop a tape in my walkman and walk round Athens feeling like I was on top of the world: so privileged, so lucky, so beautiful. This was the music that I had discovered and it was the best music in the world and it was mine.
To feel like this 15 years later is nothing short of a miracle because I get easily bored and I have the attention span of a squirrel. But here I am, playing The Deirdres demo and thinking, yeah, this is brilliant and this is what I'm part of. Whooop!
The populist paradox
1 day ago