Slowdive

Only just getting around to this.

Slowdive’s new album is pretty fucking rad.

Really need to get caught up on the whole world right now, I’m acutely aware I’ve been hibernating for the past few years.

Hello.
Goodbye.
Corbie~

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Enjoy The Silence

It’s 11:15pm on a Friday night and I have spent the evening hanging halfway off the sofa upside-down, in the dark, watching Depeche Mode on BBC4.

Because I am a perpetual MopeyGothTeenager™.

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Goodbye.
Corbie~
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Twelve Albums

Posting this as a request – PC is b0rked so I’ll be keeping this incredibly short and sweet as typing is quite an arduous task thanks to a Windows update gone awry. What an absolute nightmare!
So anyways, here is what I would say are the top twelve most important albums to me growing up.  It’s not the most comprehensive of lists – it’s missing a few firm favourites as it is impossible for me to whittle it down, so I’ve went with albums which introduced me to the bands and genres that made the largest impact during those formative teenage years.

Bauhaus – In The Flat Field
The Godfathers of Gawth – I had a devastating crush on Peter Murphy as a kid after sneaking down the stairs to watch The Hunger.  The film was absolutely fucking awful, but that opening scene sealed my fate as a spooky kid forevermore.  This was the first Bauhaus album I bought myself from Hog’s Head- it looked like a dodgy bootleg copy and cost me £4 and has since been lost to the sands of time, but the contents stuck with me since, especially this song, which I think is one of the only songs my mum ever requested I turn the volume up on when I blasted it from my CD player.

The Cure – Disintegration
To quote South Park – “Disintegration is the best album ever!”

The Cure – Head On The Door
I’m both thalassophobic and claustrophobic, so I don’t know why I have always loved this video so much but I have such a soft spot for it. I love all Cure videos – they’re always a delight! <3

The Jesus and Mary Chain – Psychocandy
One of those bands where I struggle to choose an album. I went with this album as it is what introduced me to the band, though Darklands and Munki find themselves frequently on my playlists.  If I were to ever become a stripper I reckon this would be my song.

My Vitriol – Finelines
It was hard to get a decent copy of this song on YouTube – the whole album is sensational and was an absolute game-changer for 14 year old me. It was the first time seeing a band live where I was totally mesmerised.  Looking forward to seeing them again very soon.

My Bloody Valentine – Isn’t Anything
When I discovered this album I basically discovered sex.  Audible sex.

Joy Division – Closer
Joy Division only had two studio albums, and this was the second/last which released after Ian Curtis’ death. It’s pretty hard to choose when it comes to JD- so I went with this since it is an actual album and not a compilation of some sort and it told the tale of his internal struggle consummately.

New Order – Substance
Another album where I really struggled to choose a song – I went with this as it seemed fitting as it is about Ian Curtis’ suicide.  Their version of Ceremony features on this album and is my preferred version as the Joy Division versions available are pretty bad quality and I don’t think it is as melodic.  Temptation (known for featuring on the Trainspotting soundtrack) is another cracking song.  This album also had that one New Order song I have came to despise over the years thanks to its constant feature in all the goth clubs;  Blue Monday.

Nine Inch Nails – Downward Spiral
Pretty Hate Machine and The Fragile are also fucking masterpieces in my opinion but Downward Spiral played a very important part of my teenage years. Another one I purchased in Hog’s Head (actually, the first album I ever bought!).  I struggle listening to a few of the tunes on this following Higgy’s death.  A Warm Place still leaves me feeling totally empty and will forever serve as a reminder of a  friend lost.

Smashing Pumpkins – Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness
I thought about going with Tonight Tonight but I figured that may have been a bit cliché; so I went with this quintessential teenage angst anthem.

Idlewild – Hope is Important
The Remote Part was the Idlewild album that came out when I was fully in the throes of teenagedom and it definitely played a pivotal role in those years, but Idlewild’s first two albums absolutely held the key to my heart and made me so much more than just some angry Goth kid. It made me a wishy-washy Indie kid, too! Haha!


Idlewild – 100 Broken Windows
When I was 15/16 I had a jumper almost identical to Roddy’s in this, except it was a girls fit one that I had bought from Pie in The Sky on Cockburn Street.  I wish for the life of me that I knew what became of that jumper – it was/is/was one of the very few non-black-items of clothing I have ever owned. Sigh.

 

Hello.
Goodbye.
Corbie~
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The Jesus and Mary Chain ~ Black

And my mood is black
And my eyes are black
And my life is black
And my love is black

Turn the good thing back
Kiss the good thing back
Make the good thing back
Be the good thing back 

Nothing here belongs
Nothing here belongs
No one hear is on my side
Nothing here is mine

Guess I get done wrong
Yeah I get done wrong
Guess I get done wrong
Yeah I get done wrong 

And the black runs deep
Yeah the black runs deep
I guess the black runs deep
I think the black runs deep

Nothing here belongs
Nothing here belongs
No one hear is on my side
Nothing here is mine

Nothing here belongs
Nothing here belongs
No one hear is on my side
Nothing here is mine 

Hey you’ve been saved
Hey you’ve been saved 

And my mood is black
And my eyes are black
And my life is black
And my love is black

And I guess I can
And I guess I can
Yeah I guess I can
Think I guess I can

Nothing here belongs
Nothing here belongs
No one hear is on my side
Nothing here is mine

‘Black’
The Jesus and Mary Chain
From the album ‘Munki’

 

 

Hello.
Goodbye.
Corbie~
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Take Me Back In Time

I got to celebrate my 30th birthday catching an acoustic session of one of my favourite bands on Friday.  Today I was aghast to find out that a dear friend of mine didn’t have the pleasure of being familiar with them, so this evening I took to YouTube on a quest to introduce her to some tracks which meant a great deal to me growing up; just imagine my delight when I stumbled across aforementioned band doing a cover of another one of my favourite bands!

 

I may have just turned 30, but this totally made me feel 16 again! *Squee!*

Hello.
Goodbye.
Corbie~
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Spooky! Poe – 165 years on

“The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?”

Today is the 165th anniversary of Edgar Allan Poe’s death.  Below is the obituary written by Rufus Wilmot Griswold – Poe’s main rival in life and probably even more-so in death, following this written piece:

Edgar_Allan_Poe_2_retouched_and_transparent_bg
Poe. Taken 1848, a year before his ~mysterious~ death.

 

Edgar Allan Poe is dead. He died in Baltimore the day before yesterday. This announcement will startle many, but few will be grieved by it. The poet was well known personally or by reputation, in all this country. He had readers in England and in several states of Continental Europe. But he had few or no friends. The regrets for his death will be suggested principally by the consideration that in him literary art lost one of its most brilliant, but erratic stars.

The character of Mr. Poe we cannot attempt to describe in this very hastily written article. We can but allude to some of the more striking phases.

His conversation was at times almost supra-mortal in its eloquence. His voice was modulated with astonishing skill, and his large and variably expressive eyes looked repose or shot fiery tumult into theirs who listened, while his own face glowed or was changeless in pallor, as his imagination quickened his blood, or drew it back frozen to his heart. His imagery was from the worlds, which no mortal can see, but with the vision of genius.

He was at times a dreamer, dwelling in ideal realms, in heaven or hell, peopled with creations and the accidents of his brain. He walked the streets, in madness or melancholy, with lips moving in indistinct curses, or with eyes upturned in passionate prayers for the happiness of those who at that moment were objects of his idolatry, but never for himself, for he felt, or professed to feel, that he was already damned. He seemed, except when some fitful pursuit subjected his will and engrossed his faculties, always to bear the memory of some controlling sorrow.

He had made up his mind upon the numberless complexities of the social world and the whole system was with him an imposture. This conviction gave a direction to his shrewd and naturally unamiable character. Still though, he regarded society as composed of villains, the sharpness of his intellect was not of that kind which enabled him to cope with villainy, while it continually caused him overshots, to fail of the success of honesty.

Passion, in him, comprehended many of the worst emotions, which militate against human happiness. You could not contradict him, but you raised quick choler. You could not speak of wealth, but his cheek paled with gnawing envy. The astonishing natural advantage of this poor boy, his beauty, his readiness, the daring spirit that breathed around him like a fiery atmosphere, had raised his constitutional self-confidence into an arrogance that turned his very claims to admiration into prejudice against him. Irascible, envious, bad enough, but not the worst, for these salient angles were all varnished over with a cold repellant cynicism while his passions vented themselves in sneers. There seemed to him no moral susceptibility. And what was more remarkable in a proud nature, little or nothing of the true point of honor. He had, to a morbid excess, that desire to rise which is vulgarly called ambition, but no wish for the esteem or the love of his species, only the hard wish to succeed, not shine, not serve, but succeed, that he might have the right to despise a world which galled his self-conceit.

We must omit any particular criticism of Mr. Poe’s works. As a writer of tales it will be admitted generally, that he was scarcely surpassed in ingenuity of construction or effective painting.

As a critic, he was more remarkable as a dissector of sentences than as a commenter upon ideas. He was little better than a carping grammarian.

As a poet, he will retain a most honorable rank. Of his “Raven,” Mr. Willis observes that in his opinion, “it is the most effective single example of fugitive poetry ever published in this country, and is unsurpassed in English poetry for subtle conceptions, masterly ingenuity of versification, and consistent sustaining of imaginative lift.”

In poetry, as in prose, he was most successful in the metaphysical treatment of the passions. His poems are constructed with wonderful ingenuity, and finished with consummate art. They illustrate a morbid sensitiveness of feeling, a shadowy and gloomy imagination, and a taste almost faultless in the apprehension of that sort of beauty most agreeable to his temper.

We have not learned of the circumstance of his death. It was sudden, and from the fact that it occurred in Baltimore, it is presumed that he was on his return to New York.

“After life’s fitful fever, he sleeps well.”

LUDWIG

 

And here’s a fitting poem by the man himself:

Spirits of the Dead

by Edgar Allan Poe
(published 1829)

Thy soul shall find itself alone
‘Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone —
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy:
Be silent in that solitude
Which is not loneliness — for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
In life before thee are again
In death around thee — and their will
Shall then overshadow thee: be still.

For the night — tho’ clear — shall frown —
And the stars shall look not down,
From their high thrones in the Heaven,
With light like Hope to mortals given —
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever :

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish —
Now are visions ne’er to vanish —
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more — like dew-drop from the grass:

The breeze — the breath of God — is still —
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy — shadowy — yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token —
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries! —

 

 

Hello.
Goodbye.
Corbie~
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