Eighteen years

It's just a day - a birthday, but somehow this one really does seem so much more than just a day.

                

As our lovely cousin, Nick's email this morning reminded our son - he can get married, drink, drive, vote, become an MP, rent a house, join the Foreign Legion, get tattoos, serve on a jury, apply for a pilot's licence, etc etc . . .
Well, maybe later . . . today, just an average school day, a posh meal out this evening and some time spent bashing away on his birthday present drum kit.
As music seems at the forefront of our son's mind on his eighteenth year, I thought I would mark it with one of his absolute favourite tracks. I quizzed him in the car this morning on the way to lycée - "Oh, so difficult, err . . . "
We narrowed some of the band choices to: Alt J, Radiohead, Django Django, RX Bandits, Tame Impala, The Smiths, Grizzly Bear, and of course, just about anything, anything by Everything Everything.
We've just about melted our CDs of this band through constant playing, and the track he favoured the most - Undrowned, probably my one of choice too, and here it is.

Happy Birthday to our wonderful son, Ezra!

Songs of life No 6

So, on my own personal desert island I would have to have something to remind me of Mark's piano playing. The first time I saw him perform a piano concert he was playing Ravel's Jeux d'eau, but somehow I always think of him playing Scriabin.

I don't actually have film of him playing this piece but thought he would appreciate this calm and measured rendition.
I love the way Horowitz plays as if doing a bit of filing; no throwing himself about and grimaces of ecstasy - or maybe he was getting on a bit for all that. And that smile at the end . . .
This would also serve as a reminder of the Everest amount of listening and concert going-to I would do on my return to a mainland if I was rescued . . . which in fact I must do anyway, such are the musical wonderments out there that I know so little of - blogger resists putting on Django Django AGAIN, and heads towards the classic section . . . Mm, bit of Sibelius to clear up to?

Second album fatigue? Not.

Ooo, those thudding baselines, twanging guitars, Beachboy-esque voices, pounding piano chords and euphoric chorusing. The Djangos do it again with manic enthusiasm that travels up the wires to release happiness into your front room.

YES! Forget prozac, alcohol or coffee

Instant cloud-lifter and new clearing up music. Well, it works for me.
Great album: Beach Boys with twiddly 21st century electro knob twiddling, African/Samba percussion and Rockabilly guitars riffs. Actually, Mark's just told me it's 'surf guitar' rather that Rockabilly, d'accord  . . . maybe I'll ask the Django's.