Storers of Raucity or Moronity,

I referred to a ‘Bad Day’ in an earlier post. I was sick with embarrassment. From the outside, the series of incidents that occurred on this day may seem trivial but I will take some time to recover from it. The events of Thursday did help, I arrived home from work and I had planned to do some writing at the computer, watch the football on the television, eat crisps and peanuts, and drink tea. I did a little surfing and I discovered Slow Club were in town that evening. I had bought a ticket for this but had mixed up the dates. I got myself in gear and headed for The Lemon Tree.

Unfortunately, I missed the support acts of Charlie Buchan and Michelle Stoddart, one because I left too late and the other, because I was doing silly three-point turns in side streets whilst looking for somewhere to park. I was in no way an aficionado of Slow Club before the show; in my experience, Marc Riley played them and I didn’t find them disagreeable. I owe them an apology.

As they opened with Where I’m Waking and I found they were something special. Charles plays guitar and sings. Rebecca drums and sings. They were joined by Evvan on drums and Steve on bass guitar. They make lovely pop music and it was a great evening. When every song seems like a single, it’s clear that the band has found a winning formulation. Double drumming is a valuable idiosyncrasy. The venue seemed two thirds full on the evening, it made for a comfortable listening experience although the band deserved more. After a polite start, the crowd sparked into action for If We’re Still Alive, and they were appreciative throughout. The band ended the set with Two Cousins but they came back for an encore featuring an actual ‘big fat sax solo’. There was no saxophone until that point so it was a joyous surprise when Steve planted himself amongst the depths of the crowd and began to play. The final song was the delightfully rambunctious Giving Up on Love, I tore down a promo poster for my fridge and followed the crowd into the street. One reviewer was heard to say ‘That was great, way better than the Maccabees, the Maccabees were s#@t!’.

Bolts on Dolorous Days,

The other day I reached for my Steve Pac-a-mac 'Bad Day' song. Sometimes, I feel guilty about listening to my 'Good Day' song if it's not a been a good day; this is a hazard of living life by the teachings of quality music radio. I could live life by the ways of Just a Minute, however, I deviate.

Steve Lurpak on 6music has a feature whereby lisheners nominate two songs, one appropriate for a good day and one a bad day. The 'Good Day' is generally the lishener's favourite song, however, there are two ways to choose a 'Bad Day' song: the song may be morose and aid wallowing or the song may be joyous and help to uplift.

My 'Good Day' is Seven Seas by Echo and the Bunnymen. It's not my favourite song ever but the lyric 'Seven seas, swimming them so well' makes it a simple choice for me.

My 'Bad Day' is I Don't Know Where to Begin by Pictish Trail. As an album track, it's a little harder to track down for free but it's not beyond the typical surfer. A bad day, by my definition, consists of a series of needless incidents resulting in hopeless woes. The other day a collection of calamities made me sick with embarassment. The title of the song said it all.