Quit buggin’, just listen to some nice music…
I had the fortune of being introduced early to a young Northern folk singer by the name of Jake Bugg. My sister paid five pounds to see him perform in his hometown in the UK one year ago. She returned home raving about him and offloaded his debut album into my sticky, summer hands. I trust my sister’s music tastes, but the girl goes to so many gigs that sometimes I wonder about her ability to remove the experience from the actual validity of the performer’s talent. In this here case, she was bang on right.
I had the album on solid rotation last summer, during a more difficult period of my life. It gave me strength and peace. Knowing the guy was only a teenager seemed to give me some sort of hope too, that there are still songwriters out there persevering in a time dedicated to mass produced art and disposable pop.
I love ‘the songwriter’! I live with a songwriter, the art of song is highly revered in our household. Vinyl gets played. Albums get thrashed and bashed and talked through at length. Artists get critiqued and worshipped.
I still listen to pop, and (when Danny’s not around) I dig hip-hop of all kinds. He listens to jazz and heavily guitar based rock when I am not around. In saying that, we do however share most of our musical tastes – none more prevalent than the solo singer-songwriter-poet. And Jake Bugg is that.
His second album Shangri La is getting a spin at my pad today. Produced by the infamous Rick Rubin (Los Angeles based producer – most well-known in my world for producing The Cult’s Electric album) – it is a real gem!
It is an overcast Friday and I have taken a ‘mental-health day’ from my day job. I have a looming deadline and veins full of coffee. My to-do list has been checked off thoroughly, the house is clean and my taxes have been done.
Jake Bugg to my day today is like a buttery bikkie to a strong cup of tea.
Perfect. I strongly advise you get on him.