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BEATS OF LOVE 

78. History by The Verve

MUSIC IS love. 

On a day my dentist drilled a small hole in my tongue, I decided to smile and pay for the treatment without a quibble. Possibly because I could hear my mother's voice telling me not to be soft but most likely coz, I wanted to carry on walking back to the tram-stop singing this timeless classic to myself and not replay some trivial drama.

I liked Mad Richard before he got into some competitive battle with the Gallaghers after their Verve support slots preceded a stratospheric success. Intent on being both a more highly lauded frontman and songwriter (he already knew he was infinitely better), than them. I guess he envied their lifestyle. 

Suddenly, the cosmic unpredictability that made the band sound so fresh and exciting gave way to concept and planning. I wasn't remotely interested in chart positions or record sales and assumed folk that were didn't have much soul. The first singles lifted off A Northern Soul were deeply disappointing and soulless, so I switched off. Then they broke up.

I sat with a small pile of records and then, for no apparent reason, played this on YouTube and it has turned into a bit of an obsession. The small pile of records remains untouched. They create a baroque styled psychedelic masterpiece that heralds in a balladeering that the masses soon latched onto, but with an outpouring of soul. That thing that had seemingly gone missing.  

I'm guessing the whole world knows this song except me. Forget William Blake, but instead surrender to the emotive delivery of those words. Ashcroft could be reading out his shopping list but set inside those haunting violins and with the band cradling the song so beautifully, his pain would still be transparent. 

That's why music is love. It lets us experience raw emotion on a deeply personal level. It's why I'm swallowing salt water solution and not complaining. I want one more uninterrupted listen.