BEATS OF LOVE

124. Two Wrongs by Samana 

MERCIFULLY, THE poetry phase has passed. I dreaded a lifetime spent trapped in fifth-rate rhyming couplets. Now, it is back to the music. My latest obsession is Samana’s intense, yet magnificent, self-titled third album.

Some breathtakingly fragile tunes that carry great weight are at play. Opener Into The Blue sets the tone wonderfully, but this track is simply magnificent and I'm so glad to have it on wax. Franklin builds the sonics to a truly blistering crescendo, enhanced by lush soaring strings that stir up marvel. Rebecca's highly distinctive voice is its own instrument and her lyrics are both intense and profound.

We all struggle to contain and control dual conflicting forces in our lives. Sitting on a wooden pew letting intangible thoughts of God's creativity pour into me, hoping to make the struggle easier by feeling some presence, is my freedom quest. Rebecca's flickering imagery harks back to the freight trains of freedom that so influenced writers in 1950s America and beyond.

The music feels remarkably fresh because we remain deeply drawn to exploring our inner selves through raw, visceral experiences rather than rigid, intellectual traditions. Freight-train riding embodies our grandest ideas of America. Its vast landscape and rich sensory imagery spark the imagination, fuelling our personal quest for liberation. These evocative lyrics capture the fleeting nature of the rails, defining what many see as the ultimate pursuit of freedom: a journey into the great unknown.

I'm off to bask in its majesty, at least until the footy starts.   

                   

BEATS OF LOVE 

123. In a Heap by Me

'He's deep,' said someone as I lay in a heap,
The rhythms of the night before were with me on the floor,

How could they possibly know the greatness of the new Two Lone Swordsmen LP?
I asked myself in absolute, emotive wonder.
While they decided that the shallow, glass-eyed edge of life is best,
They chose the drizzle over this sudden thunder.
Drizzle that characterised my old man's days on earth
Sure, he'd seen the Stones at Belle Vue, but that was nothing new

I never thought Mick and Keith would outlive him or Lord Sabre
or never thought I'd be voting for this tepid form of Labour
A vote cast purely to spite my old man, still.

His upper body hides behind a wide-open Daily Express,
As I watch his flapping, slippered feet untangling the mess
That life became inside a paper so incredibly lame.
"He’s in a heap," they whispered. And they were dead right.

 BEATS OF LOVE

122. Reddish by Me

There’s a school of thought that says you are what you’ve fought.
But it ignores the man who devised a scheme
to avoid being seen buying hemorrhoid cream:
Disguised as a small redbrick house.

Not just that—its internal walls
are duly mistaken for a massive billboard.

There’s also a school of thought that says conflict is bought.
But it doesn't mention that same redbrick house
stepping into the ring of someone else's imagination.
Slack-jawed in puffy red shorts,
it wins the bout—
only because imagination knocked itself out.

Yeah, there are schools of thought all over the show.