The stars and a moon aren’t where they’re supposed to be

Mark LaneganI’ve been engaged in budgets this morning. That’s right, I nearly wet myself with excitement. Budgets and financial forecasts don’t often come into my line of work. As a lowly HE serf, I am not entrusted with much purse-stringal control, and rightly so. These things are well over the head of one such as I. Or at least, you’d think so given the slightly bizarre, rambling fashion that the instructions were delivered in. I guess that’ll teach me to work with academics, expecially economic theorists. No grounding in real life whatsoever…

My morning was spent listening to Mark Lanegan’s very beautiful Field Songs. (Interestingly, when I Amazoned Mark Lanegan it came up with two results in Kitchen & Home – I was disappointed to learn that these were posters not, as I’d hoped, Foreman-style, Lanegan branded juicers or oven gloves). (As a side note, did I just verb a proper noun? Will ‘to Amazon’ follow in the footsteps of Hoover, Google and the like in transcending branding into ubiquity? Did I just verb ‘verb’? Can I do that? Do I blame Calvin & Hobbes for this? Am I seeking to make language  an ‘impediment to understanding’? Just how long can I go on asking questions without my inner monologue reaching heights of pitch only a virtual dog can hear? Am I an unwitting contestant on Whose Line Is It Anyway?).

The album is really good. I almost forgot that that was my point. It’s a tender record, filled with Lanegan’s soaring, yet gravelled voice, and some beautifully direct lyrics. If you liked Bubblegum (which you certainly should have), or Nick Cave, or even Johnny Cash, then I recommend Lanegan’s solo releases for that same mixture of rye-soaked country-soul and greasy, weary rockers.

It’s a matter of time
Like I told you before
Things are alright
If I fall to the floor

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