It is ironic that Brett Anderson first solo album comes out in spring. This is, without a doubt, a fall record. To be more accurate it is the winter of our discontentment. We have been the bravado and defiance of the early twenties, playing and heavy petting in rooms filed with feather boas and glitter, oblivious of anything but ourselves. Passed through glowing nights, filled with stimulation, flittering, swinging, among the most lavishly in-crowd, in a swirl of craze and fun. We believed in love, we challenged the world, our brightness so amazing, and our sweetness so candid. Mightier than a knight in a shining armour, we were there, battling everything and everyone, so together no one could tell us apart. Like Brett we would have aged, graciously and in fabulous style. But life caught us without warning, crawling in slowly but lethally. We were looking the other side, absorbed by this and that, the bits and the bobs, the dos and don’ts. In the morning the phone rings and love is dead. It is dead, gone, swept away and thorn. The resentment that has grow so high, the too many demands – baby needs the curtains, the carpet, the cars, the money to burn and be flashy -, intimacy turned into disgust, sex one more chore, even if fun. And there was nothing more for us there, the failure of a great love a disaster of gigantic proportions. Brett voice is in the back guiding us in the cold, allowing for the melancholy to set in. Here we are, still waiting for spring with autumn leaves in our hearts.
Friday 23 March 2007
BRETT ANDERSON - Brett Anderson (Drowned in Sound)
It is ironic that Brett Anderson first solo album comes out in spring. This is, without a doubt, a fall record. To be more accurate it is the winter of our discontentment. We have been the bravado and defiance of the early twenties, playing and heavy petting in rooms filed with feather boas and glitter, oblivious of anything but ourselves. Passed through glowing nights, filled with stimulation, flittering, swinging, among the most lavishly in-crowd, in a swirl of craze and fun. We believed in love, we challenged the world, our brightness so amazing, and our sweetness so candid. Mightier than a knight in a shining armour, we were there, battling everything and everyone, so together no one could tell us apart. Like Brett we would have aged, graciously and in fabulous style. But life caught us without warning, crawling in slowly but lethally. We were looking the other side, absorbed by this and that, the bits and the bobs, the dos and don’ts. In the morning the phone rings and love is dead. It is dead, gone, swept away and thorn. The resentment that has grow so high, the too many demands – baby needs the curtains, the carpet, the cars, the money to burn and be flashy -, intimacy turned into disgust, sex one more chore, even if fun. And there was nothing more for us there, the failure of a great love a disaster of gigantic proportions. Brett voice is in the back guiding us in the cold, allowing for the melancholy to set in. Here we are, still waiting for spring with autumn leaves in our hearts.
