BEATS OF LOVE 

119. Lipstick (Shout !) (Instrumental)  by J.M. Black

SOMETIMES, WE just need to stop talking and let the music speak. I still remember the horror of coming home from work during my online forum obsession, turning on my computer, and confronting both my offensive sexist humour and the harsh, well-deserved criticism it provoked.

I quickly typed an apology in acute embarrassment, but I grew mindful of my digital footprint and, more importantly, what I thought thereafter. Sadly, evolving into a less offensive individual and accepting personal responsibility is an option many who fall foul of the offensive gaffe decide not to choose. 

Instead, they choose to further blame the object of their embarrassment, using lazy online support systems to justify their willful ignorance whilst stigmatising and dehumanising people. And clean, forgetting all about the music that bonds us all together. However, others, like myself, often address imaginary audiences when they offend, and feel mortified by the harm inflicted their ignorance causes others who they neglected to imagine. Sadly, there is also a portion that affiliates with marginalised groups who would never accept an apology from anybody. Ever. Instead, they look to maximise the embarrassment, using lazy online support systems to justify their unforgiving stance whilst stigmatising and dehumanising people.

Yes, sometimes, we all need to play more brilliant instrumentals like this absolute beauty to harmonise our souls.

BEATS OF LOVE 

118. Hai-Donan by Shigharu Mukai-Morning Flight     

Is It Balearic? continues to branch out into new musical territories, showcasing the true depth of their roster. While the Marius Circus 12-inch has understandably stolen the spotlight, Wrekin Havoc's Camino is equally stellar. It perfectly captures the label’s signature sound: pure, soulful, Italo-infused goodness.

If the Delia Recordings sampler is anything to go by, three brilliant LPs are just around the corner by Shrinkwrap, Torn Sail and Brown Fang. Three unique acts that instantly scream quality. Add to that Jim's remix package that includes a sun-drenched Begin interpretation of Still River Flow with its subtle keys, with a more dizzying, floor-friendly X-Press 2 remix of Phoenix and you have a Midlands set on musical fire.

I had to mention that, but this week I've been obsessed with this colourful masterpiece. It was Basso or Moonboots who first introduced me to Japanese jazz-fusion with its sonic perfectionism and resplendent touches that work against the American orthodoxy to produce something more sanitised, yet more magical. Trombone virtuoso Shigeharu Mukai once lived in New York. After moving back to Japan, he formed his own musical group. Online search results also reveal his specific blood type. Note the ridiculous attention to detail.

While known for the powerful Miracle of Tungus, which elevates his trombone into a next-level boogie machine, this album opener wraps the listener in steel band percussive fairy dust. Reggae icon Pecker sprinkles rhythmic magic against a soothing trombone backdrop, answering the ultimate question with absolute certainty: this is unequivocally Balearic.

BEATS OF LOVE 

117. Last Night I Had a Dream by Randy Newman

I'VE ALWAYS been fatalistic and paranoid. And with just cause. My father suffered a heart attack on Friday the 13th, then suffered a fatal one thirteen days later. 

My mother spent a full six months of tests and anxiety after a bleed led her GP to fear the worst, only to be given the all clear. Less than a month later, she was dead after tripping over her hair dryer's cord.

Quite a few friends attended Buddhist retreats in their twenties and despite me not biting, the undeniable change in them left an indelible mark on my senses. I vividly recall the torpor of an unmonitored cold turkey withdrawal from Librium in my aunt's back bedroom where she thought I'd gone full, Syd Barrett. Only when I prayed did I feel any relief and at just that point, a massiv bolt of light shone through the window. I woke up less agitated, reasoning it was just coincidental that the streetlights came on. But I wasn't certain coz I began praying more regularly.

Even with my faith, I still worry too much about bad things happening. But faith and music give me time to think about the good things in my life. These thoughts create inner voices that helped me quit smoking, drink less, and stop bad habits.

Little wonder I'm able to call these voices my other friends. Friends that enter my subconscious more and more, strengthening my faith while making me a little less fatalistic and paranoid. Hallelujah! 

BEATS OF LOVE

116. Sworn by Dream Boys

MUST SAY, it's great to have Horsebeach's Pure Shores spinning on the turntable. Ryan has made the song his own with his inimitable charm and colourful way around a song. 

Wanting to know what made him tick led me to discover this LA/Scottish band whose name creates a google nightmare. Their sole LP was a steal and has been on repeat since it arrived. Their songs are awash with a fiery fragility that sound like they could collapse at any time but miraculously don't. 

The chiming guitars glide over rich harmonies that never sound fey, maintaining a subtle suspense that is missing from most songs, even those made with guitars in 1986.

This song is short but packs a real punch with its subtly crafted breaks and soaring fallen angel voices. A band should sound like one person, albeit a superhuman one, so Horsebeach has a distinct advantage, as do bands comprising siblings, and in this song, the trans-Atlantic Dream Boys truly do sound as one. No mean feat.

Nothing beats the sharp, clean shock of perfect guitar pop. It is the last pure gift left; the only thing the algorithms and ad-men haven't corrupted.

https://open.spotify.com/track/2Ehm3s5f2OQF9bYGeqBJnD

             

BEATS OF LOVE 

115. Sometimes by James

THE MIND is strange, or at least mine is. I have this crystal clear image of a guy at my school enraptured on the stage with James in one of their oversized tee-shirts. 

I've never seen James live, and the only possible explanation for this crystal clear memory my mind holds is he was instead invading the stage as The Man From Delmonte supported the Fall. It would help explain why the life affirming anthems of the era sung with frenzied passion on a bed of proper adult musicianship sailed clean over me. I loved the unpredictable intensity and warmer intimacy of less accomplished smaller gigs. 

With age, this momentous song now feels alive in me as, outside of Weatherall's interpretations of their work, I've never really experienced the band itself at the peak of its powers. Cheers to Matt Best for sharing this might online. It's truly heartwarming to know that the Beehive Mill was their practice space as round here mills became warehouses, stifling creativity, before finally being razed to the ground. I was going to treat myself to a vinyl copy until I realised I could add the CD to an existing order for just 50p. The fact I keep spinning it means it's super value for money coz you can't buy a chocolate biscuit for that.

The mind is wonderful, or at least mine is. For, despite having some serious water cascading toward me, I can completely escape myself and still get lost in music. It hasn't failed me yet.   

BEATS OF LOVE 

114. One Goodbye in Ten (Album mix) by Shara Nelson

BOB STANLEY wrote a moving piece in the Guardian about his friend Shara Nelson.

She lived simply and moved us deeply with her music, making her mental health struggles heartbreaking. I agreed with Bob that when famous men act strangely because of mental illness, they are often called "geniuses" to shield them from shame. Famous women do not get that support. Her quiet dignity through it all shows her true strength.

Despite being a cornerstone of the Massive Attack's distinctive sound, this track finally captures the precise Motown sound Saint Etienne had long pursued. Her musical presence never intrudes but contributes richly to a greater whole and as a result, Stanley and Pete Wiggs have never crafted a better song. The timeless soaring strings still get me every time, and the warmth of her soothing voice, like a fine taste of Remy Martin, put me in my happy place. Great pop music can be as affecting as any work of art and its exponents don't need to be capricious or contemporary. They just need to know exactly what they want to do.

Thank God Shara heard Only Love Can Break Your Heart and heard this pure gold, a true balm for mental well-being that surrenders to the transformative power of music. For this alone, she deserves countless blessings. 

 

BEATS OF LOVE 

113. Reflection on the Crucifixion of Our Lord, Jesus Christ by John Littleford

WE SKIPPED film class to attend this talk in my local church community hall. It's fascinating to learn about the other life of people and even more fascinating when they turn you onto their art.

The Idenheim Altarpiece inspired John’s crucifixion series, copying its three-panel layout and modern theme but using abstract shapes. I prefer realistic art, so I was glad his final piece returned to recognisable figures. It also felt highly relevant today, likely because of the massive success of the movie Oppenheimer. Because photos fail to capture the deep texture of mixed-media art, I left the exhibition truly wanting to see the physical paintings in person.

His gently painted World War I figures climb out of the trenches toward death. He only hints at this violence, out of respect for today's reflective audience, who can easily look up graphic war images. In contrast, Grünewald fearlessly painted a plague-stricken Christ to show deep empathy. He created this for a hospice where doctors wore the bird-like masks that inspired Hieronymus Bosch. Those suffering patients desperately needed hope. John’s artwork sits well in the ordinary, modern parish church, perhaps ours. We, too, still need that same hope. 

Depicting the second atomic bomb because its cloud lends itself to encasing Christ better is odd, but that's the problem with schematic figurative art, I guess. Thumbing through the delightful draughtsmanship of John's sketch-books is fascinating coz you see how reworked his Christ was before he arrived at the Gauguin-esque figure. A figure dwarfed by the famous sentence of reconciliation 'Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.' These words of God still have great global force. The 20th century made horror inescapable while introducing collective shock and mass spectacle into society. The 21st century, with its Millennium dome, the first building in history to put a gun to its own head and pull the trigger, summarises this state of overkill we now live through.

Liberated from the bubble wrap of John's attic, this series is bound for a higher purpose. It serves as an urgent wake-up call for the church to defend social justice, offering a defiant lifeline to a world drowning in hopelessness.