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.
๐ ๐๐๐ก๐ ๐ผ๐ก๐ค๐ฃ๐ - ๐๐๐ฃ๐๐ ๐
Charles has been down this road beforeโฆ
More and more increasingly I find myself alienated. This is a common thing in age. Always has been. And as this happens, the older generations huddle together to both chit and chat about the good old days, and to chuckle at what is now the norm, to the younger ones. The older ones were always allowed to live out their life the old fashioned way. But I am not 60 or 70. I am not even 40. And I find it increasingly difficult to find like-minded lost individuals. In fact, I am finding 25-30 year olds equally struggling to keep up with an obsessively progressive world, but unhappily they do seem to manage. They seem to feel the urge to change with the times. This seems to be the difference between myself and the younger mob. We all seem to be feeling out of touch, out of date and unhappy, but they seem to feel the need to go with it all. I, on the other hand, am not partial to being bullied, and I care more for things that matter. And if I even so much as mention anything slightly different to the modern way, I get "the look", as if I am to be mentally reported to the Thinkpol by the Party (Orwell reference, should you have wondered). You see, I didn't want any of this. I never asked for it. And neither did anyone else. We were all quite content, as is often the case throughout the decades. It is clear to me when something is wrong and needs work. And it is clear to me when something is fine and should therefore be left alone. But we insist on change. Constant, ill-thought out, cheap and nasty, ugly change. And an obsession with ease. Ease makes laze. Laze makes civilisation fall apart.
Things are wrong. Things are bad. And life is simply not enjoyable anymore. The simplicity and lightheartedness is gone. Despite the so-called โeaseโ of today, simple things in life have never been so complicated and long-winded. I mean, if I want to create a breathtaking high definition A.I. video for a new release, I simply type a few words, press enter, and itโs done. What could be easier?? But this is not something that most people need to do. Most people will need to receive emails. Thatโs something normal and boring. But necessary. And yet when huge email companies change their โsecurityโ without notice, we are left to fend for ourselves and work out technical junk online, and follow tutorials on websites with constant pop-up adverts, filling in random server and port numbers in email settings, having absolutely no idea what we are doing, yet blindly following it like a child being taught the process of long multiplication. Oh, kids, that was something we used to do before the mandatory use of the calculator. We used to have to be good at things without the aid of computers. This is all the so-called โeaseโ of modern life. It seems they have taken the hard work out of art and creation, yet left us with hard work for everything that used to be so effortless it wasnโt even thought about. Art and creation should involve a little effort and skill. Want another example of pointless past โprogressโ? What about the humble compact disc? It followed the equally humble LP. For no reason whatsoever. Almost everyone in the world was content with LPs. And if you wanted something more portable, there was the cassette. Yet everyone was forced to ditch their ever-embiggening LP collection with gorgeous cover art and gatefold designs, and replace them with cheap plastic boxes that cracked before you even got them home from the shop. It gave no advancement to what we already had. It simply took away and made us spend more money. How does this connect with things of today? We didnโt have a choice.
We canโt keep concentrating solely on future generations. People who are not yet born. How could I possibly care about someone who does not yet exist? Call me old fashioned, but I care about myself, and the rest of the people on the planet who are actually alive right now. Should THESE people not be content and happy? Do WE not deserve to enjoy, afford and understand life? We only get one shot at life. We canโt catch the next one when/if itโs better (unless you believe in such a thing, in which case you are probably happier than I). Coming back to my initial paragraph, older people used to be revered (or ignored) and used to be allowed to get on in their usual way. This is no longer the case. In the past, โoldโ could potentially be defined as out of touch. The problem now, is that most of us feel out of touch. And yet most are not continuing with their usual ways, because there is no option to do so anymore. People are forced to move with the times, and younger people are now feeling far older than their years. How kind is THAT?? The thing is, I feel alone, in a bubble made from razor-thin semi-translucent balsa wood. A wood so fragile it is pretty much useless for anything except building model planes. Things donโt make sense to me. People donโt either. Nothing is as it ever was. And to find like-minded individuals is near impossible. All I ask is for simple things to remain simple, for progress to progress rather than retrogress, and for people to use their mind, find their intelligence and have some manners. But until then, seemingly, I walk alone.
Despair and sadness can however bring hope and beauty. Sometimes hope brings beauty, sometimes beauty brings hope. Artists tend to somehow bring beauty out of the worst feelings. Hope can sometimes be seen as an artistic temperament. It can also be seen as a naรฏve one. When I find myself in times of trouble, I walk. I donโt run. I walk and I think. Please welcome a fellow wanderer, this time from Israel: Wanaka. Otherwise known as David Elbaz, Wanaka ponders his way through life in a most unique way, best shown in what is - I think - my favourite song of his so far: I Walk Alone. He does not follow the trend or do what we are wont to do. He follows that long and winding road on his own, working it out in his own way, in his own time. This in itself is refreshing. David takes in the air that he breathes, and comes to terms with all that surrounds him and all that consumes him. It ainโt easy, this โbeingโ lark, but one must work it out for oneself. It seems as though Davidโs journey started in quiet, calm despair. That feeling of numbness in not belonging, where you donโt quite feel the ground beneath your feet. Where the nerves are so raw they have the sensitivity of an insectโs cilia. Where one absorbs everything yet feels nothing. Acute awareness without emotion. A little like shell shock, where the shell is a silent bomb. It is an uncomfortable feeling, if only one could feel it. But with such observation and thought comes beauty. A similar beauty to the raw emotions that bring on tears.
As David slowly plods this open road, he gazes up and asks why. He wonders what is to come. What can possibly follow the separation of one love into two? It is unimaginable. It feels like it has always been. Perhaps he can persuade her to take his hand once more. Perhaps he can persuade himself that these two are not so different after all. The memories come flooding back in perfect synchronisation with the tears. But as the heaviest of eyelids begin to fall, those memories are washed into small wooden cupboards like smoke, the doors close and the key turns. He pockets the key, but the tears still remain. All that is left is the feeling of the memory without the memory itself. David realises the inevitable. There is no going back. There is no fixing. He has no choice but to move on and let her go. To free her is to free himself. He stands to one side of the road, gesturing with a โplease, you firstโ hand movement, as he watches her shadow walk away into the distance on the other side of the road. He stands still, eyes fixed on the mirage as its scale diminishes by the second. One hot tear pricks him back to reality, and he wonders why the right thing so often feels wrong, then regains his slow gait in walking alone.
Wanaka brings together his signature ukulele (made to feel so much more than a ukulele) with his own heartfelt vocals, cello, accompanying female vocal and military marching drums. Audrey Weatherstone (a music therapist by profession) plays cello and sings with the same emotional heart as David himself. The song was mixed by myself. I Walk Alone is so mature in its understatement, yet so full of class. The kind of class that is only learnt from experience (not that class can really be learnt). It rolls and sways with the breeze. My only possible comparison is unlikely and could be considered utterly wrong. Bjรถrk, at her most beautiful. It could be the cello, or it could simply be the feeling. This song is not only my favourite (I have decided now) by Wanaka, but for me one of the 3 most beautiful songs on the New Artist Spotlight, alongside Rich Allenโs โDid You Cry?โ and Andres Guazzelliโs โThe Sum of all Colorsโ. These songs are rare. Beauty is not easy to convey in music, but Wanaka succeeded with a little effort yet with great ease.
Half of you might argue that I enjoy walking alone. And half of you might be right. I wonโt say which half, as I have a meeting with the Thinkpol.
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