Sock Free Hideaway

BEATS OF LOVE 

50. Nothing by Sandals

AS EVER, what should've been a straightforward experience of a pinched nerve took an unfortunate detour which culminated in its diagnosis happening in my local A & E.

I caught a chill by dressing for summer whilst working late, then travelling home in winter. Fucking spring is infuriating. The chill was soon joined by a cramping pain reverberating from my wrist but finally settling on my left arm after radiating around my right for an evening. Great, the precursors to a heart attack, so I was advised to get checked out immediately. 

Just to add to my stress, the bloods came back double the preferred number, so I had to undergo all the heart tests a second time. A further two and a half hour wait. Thankfully, I didn't need to phone the missus to bring my PJs, and I was finally allowed home. Albeit still unable to retie my shoelaces.   

Now onto the pinched nerve. What a shitty business. Depriving me of rest and my marriage of peace. The missus took to the sofa, sick of my wailing. The dull ache has faded with the inflammatory steroids, but still tricks me into feeling like my arm is being pulled off. Sciatica has come to the party too, holding my legs captive and so the book on King Tubby I was engrossed in has been pretty much left unread. Whilst pH's universally praised compilation was dozed off to mid afternoon, meaning a further sleepless night. It was only after finishing my final shift that I felt some light relief, but then came the chills again.  

Fully under the duvet, I put on the Sandals debut LP and their prophetic warbles, rolling rhythms, deep-beats, and rock infusions really sound alive in my fatigued and plagued mind. Recalling my one visit to their brilliant club, Tongue Kung Fu compels me to smile momentarily as I was a fish out of water at the best of times, but that night. The band was probably the wrong post-code and too bohemian in attitude to crossover, but their livelier jaunts sound like a mystic-jazz focused Chemical Brothers. Justin and Buzz B's influence is floating about somewhere too, making it sound like a weighty philosophical record. That said, it's hard to cite who is actually influencing who. 

The more darkly downbeat tunes like this LP version signpost Massive Attacks direction of travel with Mezzanine. It's still ridiculously catchy and sounds so relevant right now. Neil Barnes and Paul Daley really sprinkle a bit of light touch magic, which makes it proper shine on an otherwise incredibly daring LP. I keep playing it on repeat so my condition must be improving.   

Right now it's a toss-up for which I recommend more, this, or Naproxen.