Song of the day – 369: Micachu And The Shapes and The London Sinfonietta
Just been reminded of this. Bangs alive! How could I have been so amiss. Read the review first, if you want. It’s great, plus it’s kind of there for that purpose. Then come back over here and we’ll have a little chat.
Done? OK then.
Something to do with believing in the power of music: to expand, to combine, to find new paths of exploration never the while forgetting to entertain. Just about the greatest – and simultaneously most damning (for several reasons) – compliment I can pay this new Micachu And The Shapes album is that I can totally imagine it on this, and there’s rarely anything I desire more from music. That’s damning because it shows up plenty about me, the listener and my age. That’s damning, because it shows up plenty about the avenues a certain strain of music could have taken, but instead got infatuated and bogged down and stuck in revisiting the past. (Maybe it’s because all the female musicians got painted out for a while.) That’s damning, because perhaps it means that Micachu too is stuck in a retro-futurist idea of what the future is like. That’s damning, because – I don’t know – I don’t really believe any of the above, but it still makes me feel so strangely happy and right to listen to Micachu and her experimentation with the nature of sound itself. And it’s great because, of course, I am being sincere in trying to compare it to my own personal benchmark of wonderful music.
Remember the Sonic Youth law, that most their imitators (including Wire magazine, certainly) forgot. At the heart of the beast, at the heart of the noise is a beating pop sensibility. Micachu totally understands this.