To word-mangle James Murphy for a moment: Daft Punk are not playing at my house. We’ve had a pretty good sweep of the place; a peek under the bed, a good old fashioned root though the cupboard where all the junk dwells. I’ve been away for a wee while, getting all impressed with the concept of remote publishing words written ages ago. Have I missed much? The internet seems to have survived my absence. But more importantly, how are you? You’re looking rather fine this evening – that’s a smashing blouse you’re wearing…
I’ll get the garish self-promotion over with quickly. Prestigious soccerball blog The Seventy Two today features words by me, which seems a little inextricable, but there you go; I probably go all man-crush over Brian Kilcline or something should you deign to take a peek.
Below the words however, a brief reminder of why this blog focuses on matters musical. Hipsters have been all over this track for well over a year; there must be something in the Hoxton air that lends itself to Iranian psychedelia. This is one of the stand-outs from a compilation on the always arresting Finders Keepers label (they were among the bereaved when lots of indie records went all immolated in that big oopsie the other day, so ask Santa for a copy of Pomegranates: Persian Pop, Funk, Folk And Psych Of The 60s And 70s if you haven’t already). It’s an extremely interesting album, compiled with one eye on not being purely a collection of curios and oddities from a lost and often overlooked era – which is as things should be.
Zia / Helelyos