My universe increasingly resembles a screensaver of vanishing icecaps. The world receding before my eyes.Yesterday an old school friend wrote letting me know she'd had enough of the Zuckerberg Empire and was deleting her facebook account but we could send letters. I can't say I blame her. We will send letters..
Never mind . I've got Joan Shelley's Real Warmth playing on my TV. Isn't technology wonderful . I'll let you know. Frankly the jury's out. But the album has real warmth. A slightly ghastly cover perhaps. But I'll do my ablutions. It's a Saturday. So I have all the time I want. I'll bathe and shave and make breakfast and share my thoughts wuth you on It Starts With a Birthstone.
Joan Shelley has basic artillery. An accoustic guitar and minimal instrumentation. Simple fare. I can't see Donald Trump warming to it. Does that man or any of his inner circle actially listen to music. Do they listen to anyone. Only the march of the drum. This it strikes me is beyond their ken.
I just had a bath. I ran the water hot. Joan and her band hummed on in the background. I tried not to think about the cogs ticking and the preposterous energy bill being automated. I got out of the bath and boiled my egg. More ludicrous cogs ticking and automation. I sighed at the Spotify ads coming from my TV set. about monetising my passion. I don't want to monetise my passion. I want to listen to Joan.
Back she came as the water rose to a boil and my egg went in. Perhaps I'll have soilders. Bread ones. Not Elon Musk's'Bramy Android Army' .Real Warmth. Joan's got it. It's good. Better than Suede's latest. Trust me !
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