Weird feeling, a little odd and numb and empty to hear about the latest in a recent run of musicians moving on. I remember looking up a long list of bands who released albums in 1982 and thinking to include “Special Beat Service.” I ought to dust it off this week. Part of it is seeing how clearly he was who he was so young, and that the clarity lasted and can still be seen by so many. Part of it is marveling at the band going by two names, and then its leads forming a completely different project, and then its leads forming versions of the original band: nobody does anything like that anymore, do they?
Up early and out to drop A. off, and then off to wait out the tail end of the morning’s inbound rush-hour traffic. I wandered through a big-box store under renovation. I hadn’t set foot in the place in months, but seeing the tile stripped away to rudely reveal cement made it feel even more under-construction than the rearranged aisles and extensive clearance-sale racks. I went back and forth on buying a $20 analog watch, but figured it made more sense to try to replace the metal watch band instead. I did spring for a 3.5mm-to-Lightning adapter, thanks to the clerk managing to tear his eyes away from his iPhone streaming today’s product-announcement event. I stared at some promising bands before realizing they were for smart watches. Glad I got smart, just in time. Then home for a little piano time before work and weather.
I wasn’t expecting this to be one of the songs I liked on Lucy Rose’s new album “No Words Left.” I can’t read the title, after all, without thinking of the song on Frank Ocean’s “Blond(e)” album, or one of the verses in St. Vincent’s “New York.” If you’re going for it, then you’d better be able to make it work, make it more than an easy aural pun. Maybe it’s the melancholy in the major sevenths, or the orchestration at the margins, but to my ears she clears the bar and then some. I’ll try it out a few more times to see if I can sort out the best bits.