I’m still very much enjoying my Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Albums listening project but it’s getting slower and slower. It’s an incredibly subjective list, made by multiple people and then likely reordered by editors with an eye to balance and keeping the readership happy, but that only matters if you care about which one is higher than which one. I don’t. It’s a long list of albums that have made it through multiple filters from a wide range of opinionated individuals. And I like an album – I grew up in the nineties. It’s what I got used to. Singles charts never interested me. I wanted the long form, even then, just as now. I’m happier with a five act play, a great big long RPG, a shaggy dog story. Lou took me to Tristan and Isolde and I felt enervated. I like long books.
So I keep listening to these albums multiple times. I’ve only got as far as #11. Purple Rain wasn’t familiar and I still haven’t seen the film. That took a few days to listen out. Then Blood on the Tracks. I used to love Bob Dylan but I’m ashamed to say he annoys me now so I went through pretty quickly into Lauryn Hill’s Miseducation, which I had on CD and which has kept me happy the last couple of days. It’s started to wear on me at last so now I’m seeing how long before I get fed up of Revolver.
Meanwhile off to the South Bank to see an old friend. I’m sure we should be worried about the fact that it is like spring in the daytime and then overnight it rains a whole year’s worth in an hour.
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A lovely relaxed stroll through the Christmas market and an opportunity to catch up. I’m home again and switching off. Too zoned out for complicated thinking right now. I think I’ll just go to sleep without washing. The cats prefer it when I pong and I’m knackered anyway through inaction. Sunday doing what it is supposed to do.
AlBarclay 