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BEATS OF LOVE 

78. History by The Verve

MUSIC IS love. 

On the day my dentist accidentally drilled a small hole in my tongue, I smiled and paid for the treatment without a quibble. Perhaps I could hear my mother's voice telling me not to be soft. More likely, I simply wanted to walk back to the tram stop, singing a timeless classic to myself, rather than replaying some trivial drama.

I liked "Mad Richard" before his competitive battle with the Gallaghers. After The Verve's support slots preceded Oasis's stratospheric success, Ashcroft seemed intent on becoming a more highly lauded frontman and songwriter, driven coz he already knew he was infinitely better. 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; I assumed folk who were had little soul. Coz the first singles lifted off A Northern Soul felt deeply disappointing and soulless, I switched off. Then, they broke up.

I sat with a small pile of their records. Then, for no apparent reason, I played this track on YouTube. It has since turned into a bit of an obsession while the physical records remain untouched.

The band creates a baroque-styled, psychedelic masterpiece. It heralds a style of balladeering that the masses soon latched onto, but it does so with an outpouring of genuine soul, the very thing that had gone missing. I'm guessing the entire world already knows this song except me.

Forget William Blake; instead, surrender to the emotive delivery of these words. Ashcroft could read out his shopping list, but set inside those haunting violins with the band cradling the song so beautifully, his pain would still be transparent.

That is why music is love. It allows us to experience raw emotion on a deeply personal level. It is the reason I am swallowing a salt-water solution right now and refusing to complain. I just want one more uninterrupted listen.