“At the end of a Storm” Vol.13
Rhetorical Questions Round a Rectangular Dining Table (vol.19)
Wednesday 15th June 2022
“Rhetorical Questions Round a Rectangular Dining Table (vol.19)”
Playing around with Moby and why does my heart feel so bad?
So there I was, strolling, as I am wont to do when the aching of the heart refuses to stop striking, and around one of my favourite places in all of the known world. It’s somewhat of a toy town, stuck rigidly and majestically in a different century with an aura and atmosphere all of it’s own, as well as a magnificent iron bridge I lovingly call “The Grand Old Lady”. I describe this throwback to centuries past as a spiritual home of sorts and even for me that’s highfalutin balderdash of the most preposterous variety.
I wish I was more spiritual. I was once described as an “alien, and not of this world”, so does that count? I was also affectionately complimented recently as being a “complicated egg”, so does that mean I’m cooked on the outside but a runny mess on the inside? Or when you crack me into a frying pan a baby goat magically appears? Perhaps I’m a complicated alien? Yes, a complicated alien.
I like that one.
What does all of this have to do with “Play” by Moby and a 23 year old album that gripped the 1999 zeitgeist with it’s mournful yet euphoric electronica, that would encourage you to dance how the fuck you wanted, was/is introspective, melancholic, beautifully ambient and brilliantly juxtaposes a calm serenity with a rebellious and frenetic jagged little listening pill?
Frankly, and in the grandest of all the schemes of earthly things, not a lot if I’m honest. But I certainly and heartily endorse you giving your ears a treat. You can thank me in some magic beans another time. If you’ve heard the album before, give it another go (see magic beans above) and if you haven’t, well, you probably have actually, as a number of the songs have appeared in a plethora of films and television shows since it’s pre Millennium release. Regardless, don’t be a bloody Millennial and pick and choose tracks! Go old school. Listen to the album in its entirety, from its chaotic dance opener Honey through to the hauntingly beautiful choir and electronica infused My Weakness 17 tracks later. Play it late at night, lights off and with a mind free to wander. Just be careful with Porcelain, Rushing, Natural Blues, Run On and Everloving. You just might fall in love.
You can thank me in some magic beans another time.
Now I could begin my concluding chapter in this brief volume of my rhetorical questions with a yarn about how I yearn for that spirituality whilst using the lyrics from the album as a pun intended play on words and how only a God I don’t believe in knows my troubles. I’m a professional writer. I could do that very thing. But where’s the fun in that? I could also state unequivocally that I can’t bodyrock and that I need to find my baby because the sky is broken and pen a rambling riff on the other named tracks on this album, but again, where’s the fun in that?
So why does my heart (and lyrically and figuratively my soul) feel so bad?
I asked the grand old lady of Ironbridge this very question recently and she wasn’t forthcoming with any tangible answers. Listening to this album whilst ambling around an incredibly special piece of a long ago history was yet another of those schizophrenic times of great soul satisfaction as well as highly emotional. For the past couple of years merely listening to any music sends me into an emotional reverie and as usual, the contrarian in me finds the emotion rather than the catharsis and solace that music provides to you weird and stable creatures!
I’ve got a head full of dreams and a pocket full of pins to burst them with. I’ve written a book (kind of) that’ll never see the light of a publishing day. I’m nearer a grave than a birth canal and I still haven’t a clue what I’m supposed to do whilst I’m here, and why. I wear a mask every other day so that my beautiful son doesn’t see the existential wreck underneath. I got “debts no honest man can pay”. I have a scratchy mind and itchy feet. I have addictions, compulsions and obsessions.
I want to feel the sand of a beach between my toes, smell and hear the sounds of crashing waves and see into a crystal clear distance.
If things were perfect, I’d bodyrock.
But things ain’t perfect.
“Rhetorical Questions Round a Rectangular Dining Table (vol.19)” also dances merrily between pages 221 and 224 within my late March 2024 self-published book “At the end of a Storm” and can be purchased via the link below (or read for free should you have an Amazon Kindle “Unlimited” package) as can all of my published pride and joy that follow beneath:
"At the end of a Storm" - link to Amazon
Thanks for reading. I hope this message in a bottle in The Matrix finds you well, prospering, and the right way up in an upside down world.