#26 Moose – Suzanne (1991)
Words about records… and the drifting impression that these strings of letters are superfluous, that the context is skewed like the time that Lykke Li record was being piped over the supermarket PA system (and I stood there, in the aisle with the frozen peas, and wondered just what kind of sick world it is where Swedish hipster aurals casually feature alongside the sacks of kitty litter and the chunks of processed cheese. I demand soulless musical wallpaper in the supermarket. Songs that reflect surroundings, that slot snugly into the consumer-shaped void at the heart of twenty-first century shopping).
Words and context; you don’t need me to point out the mesmerising nature of this festive fifty entry. A luxuriant grinding quality moulded into the mix, a hefty block of equilibrium. By rights, Moose should have been huge; songs that exude a weighty yet enticing three-dimensionality – nothing is overcooked, the guitars elegantly flipping between the sprightly and the vexatious, all pushed forward by a strident rhythm section. That Moose were never huge (at least beyond us shoegaze simpletons), but rather drifted away like evensong is a huge pity; I can’t think of too many tracks of this era so sensual, the Suzanne in question no mere inert ghost. Instead hers is an essence rendered corporeal by the record’s seductive momentum. A wonderful record, that isn’t played in supermarkets.
Moose / Suzanne