A record I really loved but never got round to writing about last year was Chris Staples Golden Age. A smooth, domesticated and comfortably middle-aged record. The picture on the front of the album tells its own story.
A gentle, tuneful listen from start to finish. Staples is a defiantly ordinary looking person, resembling an estate agent more than a musician, who started off in Christian punk band Twothirtyeight. Hailing from Pensacola, Florida, he's mellowed into a mature, assured singer-songwriter. A chronicler of the strange comforts of domesticity.
None of the songs on Golden Age break the mood. As good a way to spend thirty five minutes of your life as I can think of right now, as I listen to it myself. It's a fluent and beautiful ride. A still point of the turning world.
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