PMS August

Have you missed me? I've certainly missed me. Fear not, I've returned (sort of) to tell you most, if not all, of my perfect monthly sounds (PMS, get it?) of August. Last month I told you that PMS had temporarily moved home, but I'm now making it a permanent adjustment. Let's unpack the metaphorical boxes and have a cuppa whilst I tell you all my thoughts. August, how distant does August seem? To be perfectly honest it feels only weeks ago that the bells were ringing in for New Year and I was more than a little bit drunk, telling people that they haven't lived until they'd been to Glastonbury. I stand by that sentiment sober, no matter how pretentious it may sound. Register now for 2016! Or don't and give me a greater chance of getting tickets for myself.
That was a tangent and a half, wasn't it? What I meant by all of this was that the year has sped by, and we have put the sort-of-but-not-really-summery summer to bed once more, resigning ourselves to the cosy, cosy confines of September. But August wasn't a complete bust. Maybe weather-wise, but certainly not with music.

Carly Rae Jepsen / E.MO.TION

If you'd asked me a year ago how I felt about Carly Rae Jepsen, even a few months back, I wouldn't have responded too kindly. Her first and seemingly only song 'Call me Maybe' had been forced upon us and I didn't feel too fab about it. Now, I love a good pop princess as much as the next person, but it just wasn't my cuppa tea. It was too pop for me. (Someone who queued for days to see Lady Gaga.) Ask me now, however, and I can only praise the woman. She is due to release the pop album I always wanted and never knew I needed (and my word do I need it). The single 'Run Away With Me' is an absolute class follow up to that single - 'I Really Like You'. It's all the best of the cheesy 80s with modern raspy vocals and I love it. It's like 1989's fun little sister; beaut sounds without all of T-Swift's seriousness. If someone told me they listened to it and didn't want to gather all their gals and drink wine and dance then I'm not sure I could trust them. 

Halsey / Badlands

My love for this album was a complete accident. I first stumbled across Halsey when I was scrolling aimlessly through Tumbr, and rightly so as it appears she seems to rule the tumblr corner of the interwebs. Famed for her blue hair, obviously, she is the leader of the teen girl gang that resides on the internet. Intrigued by me not knowing anything about this, and worried that I was too old to be in the know about such artists, I keenly downloaded her album. Bordering annoying I wasn't too sure I'd made a good decision, maybe I was too old to enjoy it. It's the lyrics that pulled me in, in which the anger of the female youth is ever present, talking about sex and social pressures and the patriarchy. I only wish that there had been someone writing and singing similar messages when I was a hormonal teenager. However, it's a message that you're never too hold to hear. 

FKA TWIGS / M3LL155X

I will officially go on record to say that 'In Time' is Twig's catchiest song to date. I find myself singing or humming or whistling it constantly. Which makes it even more difficult to bare when I can't listen to the song as a single. I shouldn't moan, the visual mashup of songs that she released is glorious. Classic, all girl dance routines and a powerful pregnancy metaphor and girl power, the video is well worth a watch. All 16 and something minutes of the thing. Well done FKA Twigs. Well done. Please always release new music. (Also, her cover of Sia's 'Elastic heart' was phenomenal!)

Miley Cyrus / Miley Cyrus and her Dead Petz

I mean, technically, this album was a cheeky little September release, but let's just pretend for the sake of a consistent blog post that it's all August. It's also not a little release at all, with Cyrus releasing 23 songs, which is an insane amount of lyrics to pretend to remember. Surprise was definitely key with Miley dropping a Beyonce on us all during her VMA hosting gig. I, like so many of the Hannah Montana generation, hopped on the interwebs straight after the announcement to get a dose of that comfy pop I've come to expect from Cyrus. Instead, we were treated to something much more personal and in turn much more real sounding. The single 'Dooo it' was reminiscent of the Bangerz phase of Cyrus's career, but from 'Karen Don't Be Sad' on-wards, we start to hear the album I think she'd always wanted to make, and one which she would probably want to listen to after smoking something fun. This guitar-based, psychedelic sound is a far cry from the commercial pop she'd been hitting us with in the years previous. I'm torn, part of me wants the cheesy ballads and thumping pop beats to dance around to, but the new direction is also music I'd choose to listen to without labeling it as a 'guilty pleasure'. Here's hoping for her to move further and further in rock. 

So, that's my round up of my fave music released from August. What a month it was indeed. Pop music absolutely dominated the summer and I am 100% okay with that. If you happen to be curious about my absence, which I highly doubt but I plan to tell you about anyway, I am currently in the process of moving back to Southend, to renew my Essex gal status. I kid, of course, but I have moved and spent a fair amount of my time on trains. Luckily, I've had these fabulous albums to keep me company, ta very much gals! I hope the cheesiness continues and I hope you love it as much as I do, because I said so. 

Mistress America

I'm walking down the stairs of the picture house, trying to keep my Birkenstocks from falling off of my feet but simultaneously slapping them against every step. This causes the couple next to me stop debating whether they actually enjoyed Noah Baumbach's Mistress America or not. The aged woman behind me could only claim that it 'had a few good one-liners'. That's such a mum thing to say, right? The film had some good one-liners. And it did, buckets and buckets of them, mostly spoken by a dreamy teenage writer in New York called Tracy (played by Lola Kirke), the kind of teenager I like to think I could have been if I hadn't been born in Essex, had liked gin and had invested in a beret.

I knew I was going to like this film from the go. After falling madly in lust with Frances Ha and watching it at least one lazy Sunday afternoon a month, I knew anything Greta Gerwig related was right up my street. Maybe I'm the culture junkie and alternative wannabe they're simultaneously mocking and living through, maybe I'm not. As predicted, I loved it. It was exactly the cosy, awkward yet chic Sunday afternoon Greta Gerwig film I had hoped for; warm colouring, indie soundtrack, bootcut jeans and female friendships galore!

Gerwig's character, Brooke, is what I both love and hate about the film. In an instance I'm Tracy; rendering Brooke an iconic New York funny-woman and admiring her wholly. I love her. Then I see little parts of myself played out across the screen. That relentless optimism of 'things will always work out' that I've come to rely on. The flakiness of a character too scatty to follow through with any of her ideas. (If I had a pound for every time I told someone I was writing a novel, I'd have, at least, a fiver by now...) I hate her.

Like the debating couple on the stairs said, before they became distracted by my obnoxious sandals - it's impossible to tell whether you loved her or not. The audience is left exactly in Tracy's eyes; in love, in disgust and then in admiration once more. Like Brooke, Mistress America is a difficult one to pin down. It's overall charm and familiarity feels like going for drinks with an old friend. Even if that friend is arrogant or egotistical or too big of a dreamer, it's still impossible to dislike them. It is impossible to dislike Mistress America. Watch the trailer below!

PMS

PMS usually stands for Premenstrual Syndrome and is most often linked to a lady's lady-bits. PMS in this instance stands for Perfect Monthly Sounds, and is linked to all the songs that I wish I had helped procreate with my non-lady bits. The songs I wish I had written / sung / discovered, all by women in the music industry, are usually posted in a monthly blog over at Bored Magazine but for one night, and one night only (probably) I've posted it here. (Because you're my favourite! -Don't tell anyone).

July’s sounds have mostly been discovered during the hazy early morning hours, when I can’t sleep and I find myself stuck in the black hole that is the internet. Usually, the songs that made sense the night before because the underlying cowbell spoke to me in a way that nothing else could, do not always make the same sense the morning after. Luckily, these songs stood strong in the light of day, equally dreamy and with no cowbell in sight. (Yeah, I did re-listen to all of the songs to confirm that this is accurate / When did everything get so cowbell heavy? / Can you tell I’m not sleeping?)

Miya Folick / I Got Drunk 

‘But I was drunk and you know how I feel about you.’ Very little explanation needed. For those who have had a few too many brandy-and-cokes and confessed feelings that are more often than not unrequited, this one’s for you. Listen to the entire ‘Strange Darling’ EP for more heartbreakingly honest lyrics, musical journeys and a self-proclaimed (and utterly enjoyable) grunge-folk sound. 

Pixx / Fall In

An absolutely sultry voice and ever so exciting release from Pixx. Nine months since her single ‘A Way to Say Goodbye’, the British singer is finally waiting to birth her debut EP into the world. V. Exciting. Melt into her songs and hear Joni Mitchell, Lana Del Rey and FKA Twigs but at the same time hear something entirely different and new. 

Girlpool / Before The World Was Big

There’s something inherently summer and cutoffs and skateboards about this L.A girl band. I’d exchange my humid yet grey London evenings for a California sunset any day but I think this sound is as close as I’m going to get, for now. It’s that kind of wanderlust and untapped nostalgia that really works. Raw vocals, raw lyrics, raw sounds and cool vibes. Cool.

All Dogs / That Kind Of Girl 

Pop punk at it’s finest, this song packs an emotional punch whilst trying to bring back 2006 in a totally kick-ass and upbeat way. A musical metaphor for majorly dressing up to go to the shops incase you bump into your ex, you know? Or you don’t know and it’s just me that’ll put on a diva shade of lipstick to go get almond milk, just in case. Milk or no milk, the song is fab. 

Ibeyi / Ghosts

After missing out on seeing the sisters play live at Glastonbury, I’ve had their self-titled album on repeat, as if it’s some kind of consolation. It’s helping, a little bit. I suggest that you too should get them on repeat to lead a fulfilling and gorgeous musical existence. Not much to say other than, beautiful. (I don't call myself a writer for nothing). 

Single

I present to you another misleading post title! If you clicked on this thinking you would get to read the intimate details and emotions of a single gal then I'm sorry to burst the bubble, it ain't gonna happen (unless I've had a couple of glasses of wine.)

This morning (afternoon) I was scrolling through the wonder that is inter-webs in bed and I stumbled upon an article; the top ten Fall Out Boy songs that should have been a single. (Well done Facebook for adhering to my fourteen year old self and love of nostalgia.) What was missing from the list, however, lead me to think about all the songs that had been overlooked. So, after mucking around on my iTunes for a few hours, I've compiled my list of songs that should've made it to single status. (Not just Fall Out Boy but definitely a little FOB thrown in.)

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Alt-J at Reading Festival 2013

Alt-J / Taro

Alt-J's An Awesome Wave is beautiful throughout. I do not envy the person who had to pick out singles from a catalogue of songs that all deserved the limelight. However, 'Taro' is a completely standout track, an opinion which was really cemented for me when I saw it performed live. Aside for the fact that I was completely intoxicated and surrounded by bubble machines, it was such a indulgent moment that I cannot believe it was never turned out into a promotional single. (Thank God they decided to include it in the live act.)

Fall Out Boy / Just One Yesterday (Featuring Foxes)

Technically, the song does have a video, but so does every song on the 2013 Save Rock and Roll album, so it makes no real difference. Sigh. This song brought just enough pop and emotion to really break the band into some decent radio play. With the (at the time) relevant Foxes feature to really open up the fan-base demographic, I was always surprised they didn't get their promo on. Still, it is a song I have never skipped playing to this day and for an indecisive gal like me, that's an achievement in itself. 

The Kills / Super-powerless

Not only did this track not get its time as a single, but it never even made it onto an album -actual shock horror. Released as a B-side track in 2007, 'Super-powerless' deserves way more credit, mostly for its red wine drinking reference. We all know what it's like to have a few beverages and think we're  awesome until we go a bit far and end up trying to pay a taxi man with fried chicken (no, just me?) For those who sometimes use alcohol for the wrong reasons or get a little bit more than tipsy sometimes, this one's totally for you. 

Lady GaGa / Gypsy

Quelle surprise, I didn't include the fan favourite 'Dance in the Dark' as a single that should've, would've, could've been. I admit, I agree. It should've been! But 'Gypsy' came at a time (ARTPOP / 2013) where nothing was really working out for Gaga. She didn't seem into it, the fans found it difficult to get into it and unsurprisingly the critics weren't into it either. Seeing her perform 'Gypsy' live gave everyone a little glimpse into the fun, hit-making and emotional artist we all missed, and I think if it had been released, the rest of the world would have gotten on board as well.

Palma Violets / Chicken Dippers

As you'd expect from a title that gives you an absolute hankering for processed chicken products, the song is fun! A cut from their debut album 180, the song lures you in with this sultry tempo and echoey yet harsh vocals and builds into intense, dirty choruses. Although the lyrics are minimalist (and are probably, definitely written about a ginger girl or someone who is legit on fire) the line 'you make me feel like I'm the only one' is delivered in such a way that you could almost believe it's one of the best written, heart-felt ballads of all time. (Stops writing to pursue chicken dippers.)

Red Hot Chili Peppers / She's Only 18

Stadium Arcadium is genius. I and many others I know still listen to it repeatedly. The songs and ideas remain relevant but contrastingly classic. At the time of its release, 'Dani California' and 'Snow' were perfect single choices, I wouldn't change that. Hump de Bump however, really? Two discs of perfectly single worthy songs and that's what was chosen? Nah. I played a little fantasy RHCP manager and decided to choose 'She's Only 18' as the finale cut to promote the album. Playful, forceful and catchy as hell. 

M.O / Slow Love

No Mythologies to Follow remains one of my top albums of 2014. (I had to think twice about what year it is right now.) It's an album I have forced upon many a friend and to ease them into it, I've alway opted for Slow Love as an introduction. Much less 'poppy' and much more synth yet soulful than the other tracks on the album, her voice is simply dreamy and delicious. 'Slow Love' gives me visions of duty sunsets in London. It deserved the chance to be part of everyone else's memory as well. 

Arctic Monkeys / Stop The World I Wanna Get Off With You

Once again, a song that never made it to the album, only a B-side to 'Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High?' it was certainly overlooked as an album track and I believe was (and is) well worthy. Catchier and more heartfelt than some of the slow-burners that did make it, the 'Stop The World I Wanna Get Off With You', would've made a perfect final single to a string of perfect single. (Also, it is great to try and imitate a northern accent with)

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There's a whole plethora of songs that I didn't get to talk about, I realise this. I also realise that these are all contemporary songs. However, the biggest revelation of this entire post is that album favourites often come with some kind of sentimental or nostalgic memory attached to them. So songs that I deem important because it scored some monumentally scarring, unrequited love I had at fourteen, may not actually sound that fab to the common ear. (See, this was so nearly a post about being single after all!) I also found out that most of the songs I thought deserved single status, had actually been released as a single and had flopped. Guess I don't know everything after all. Don't quit your day job Alex, because I said so. (Cries internally.)

Post-Glastonbury-Blues

There's glitter on everything I own. My hair still smells a little bit like smoke and/or wee and/or dirt. The tent is poorly folded in a reebok bag, half poking out from the end of the bed. All of these things can only mean that I have made my return from my favourite weekend of the year; Glastonbury.

I'd spent the entirety of the six days away praying for a shower. Not so much a rain shower, although we did manage one of those, but a shower to actually wash away all of the terrible things that had stained onto my skin.

'It's not really a festival if you haven't peed, a bit, on yourself,' my pal said, emerging from the She-Wee tent, her brow well and truly furrowed as she shook her leg like a pissed-off male dog. As it turns out, she wasn't entirely wrong.

As the weekend went on and what once looked like a well preened (and cleaned crowd) had deteriorated into the smell-ridden descendants of Worzel Gummidge, we started to mock and detest those who still had traces of normality about them. Those without a greasy hair bun or mud splatters about their thighs or a general look of distain about their dirty faces. I traipsed back across London during rush hour, in what felt like million degree weather with all of the above; the grease, the mud, the distain. Strangely enough, I wasn't the worst smelling person on the tube. (Congrats London commuters.)

Finally making it home (and more importantly, the sofa) I collapsed and refused to take the shower I had been dreaming of (and frankly, needed) for the past week. I wasn't ready to give up the smell and feel of such an incredible weekend.

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My first weekend highlight comes in the form of two incredible ladies; Just a Couple of Mums. We first caught sight and sound of them on the Thursday. It was frustratingly warm and the group had travelled to what felt like the ends of the earth for a scrap of suncream although we were already at lobster status. Hot, bothered and without alcohol things were going south. Then it happened. Voices, singing from the shadows. The instantly recognisable synth of The Human League being chanted in the distance. We wandered along the dirt pathway into the trees to find a tree house bar absolutely filled to the brim with drunkards at one in the afternoon. Moods were instantly lifted. Any chance of punching the next person to ask to stop for the toilet was gone. Thank you Just a Couple of Mums for stopping what could have been the first Glastonbury heat murder. We pulled out any warm cans of cider we could be bothered to carry, sang wildly, and snap chatted to prove to everyone else that we knew how to have a good time. The weekend had officially started.

After watching Florence do her thing (a highlight in its own right) we stumbled over to the toilets in the dark, slipping down muddy slopes as we did. Planning where we would end up for the rest of the night we heard people singing to Men At Work from behind a line of trees. I complained about trying to get across the ditch, something I would complain about sober but found increasingly difficult drunk and in wellies. My friend Sasha held my hand and pulled me through, entering us back into the world of Just a Couple of Mums. We danced and belted out the best of the 80s, Motown hits and disco classics and discussed how much our parents would be loving this. After a few drunken messages sent to said parents, we considered that the festival with them might not be that fab. (If you think I complain, you should meet my mother.) We reminisced over Abba and peed ourselves laughing at pill-heads being dumb; how all Friday nights should be.

My second weekend highlight comes in the form of something you would never expect to hear at a festival; cheap drinks. What? Alcoholic beverages at a reasonable price at a festival? Unheard of! This discovery came pre-Florence and post-steak-sandwich-and-churros. Deciding it was time to find some mixer for our spirit we stumbled around the Park area and found the Bimble Inn. Our spirits were lifted at the price of spirits and frozen cocktails and prosecco- all things that I love. £3.50 for a glass of bubbly is the most rare, even in day to day life, so the thought of satisfying my Essex needs in a field miles and miles from home made for an excellent spend. Come with a strawberry and everything. Classy lady, me.

You may have noticed that my highlights so far distinctly lacks any of the weekend musical acts and musical highlights there were plenty. Laughing at Kanye being a dick, laughing at Father John Misty being a dick, laughing at people being dicks. We laughed a lot and we rapped a lot too. We also danced in the rain to keep warm. That makes for my best weekend highlight.

It bloody well hammered it down about halfway through Saturday after teasing us with glorious sunshine up until that point. Turned out the macs we had with us were only shower proof and the rain was a pretty bit more than a shower. We were soaked. Sasha paid £10 for an eco poncho that said 'I'm a potato' on the front and contained a pouch of seeds.

'You can plant it and get a cucumber, that's genius!' We all tried to convince her before the seed bag burst under the pressure of the rain and covered her white top in what looked like gravy stains.

We sat in front of our favourite stall, Socks, My Socks, on a bench that we'd spent the past half an hour eyeing up and waiting to become free. The water had seeped into my wellies and created a slushy warm vacuum. (You know in your heart that nothing feels worse than wet socks, don't try and tell me anything different.) Things weren't looking good; the rain kept coming and the alcohol was running low. Then, The Vaccines. In a bid to stay warm I decided to get up and dance, water squelching in my boot as I went. In a moment that, for all intents and purposes, should have been awful, we had the best time, dancing and singing and laughing some more. Thank you Vaccines. It would have been a right shit afternoon otherwise.

So the sun has set on a bloody crackin' weekend away. (Awfully cliche but I have a photo that goes with the metaphor so here we are.) I can confirm that I have now showered and bathed and showered again. Not sure I've managed to get rid of the smell, although I'm not overly in a rush to lose it either.  Every time I get a whiff of all things terrible, I'm reminded of all things amazing. Counting down the days to get all gross again.

Expecting Spector

We sat on benches in the courtyard of The Dome, somewhere too far north in London for me to recognise it as London anymore. The tube station name sounded like a football team I've never heard of, rather than a destination for a gig. The occasional drum beat from inside the venue echoed out to remind us to consider going inside soon. We spoke about the importance of complimenting women in bathrooms, as there is no compliment more valued. We videoed pigeons attempting to break-through nets and laughed whilst trying to blow smoke rings.

We went inside, bought expensive ciders and stood at the side of the crowd so I felt like I could breathe for a while and laughed some more, about pigeons. Then we stopped laughing, in awe of the energy Spector brought to the stage. A good band will do that; take a complicated moment and make it entirely simple.

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Seeing a band on the cusp of potential fame is always an excitingly rare moment. The band are often still grateful, like an insecure lover, pandering to every bit of affection they're not sure they actually deserve. Before the gig Fred, the lead singer of Spector, wandered over to the march stand at the back of the venue, followed by a small trickle of excited teen girls. He seemed genuinely happy to pose for selfies and sign an array of things, that shining bit of gratitude undimmed. I'm not sure most band members would or could genuinely smile about these days and it's genuinely refreshing to watch the band in their prime, before the wildness nature of popularity.

This in-between time, in-between rugby club gigs and arenas, gives the band space to still be excited by their own music, perhaps just as excited as the crowd in front of them. Which, in my gig experience, often fades a bit too quickly. But Spector performed with rugby-club approachability and stadium quality songs, making them and their London gig an absolute winner.

There's a definite age gap between their debut and soon-to-be-sophomore instalments, despite them only being three years apart. The guitar-heavy tracks and fan-favourites from the first album and the synth-rinsed slow jams they keep practising at shows strike a nice balance. (If nothing else, it gives you time to run to the bar during the songs you can't sing along to yet.) It's also sad to come into the game when the band are already one album down. Some of my favourite tunes, like No Adventure and Upset Boulevard are now strangers to the stage and are left for me to sing along to in showers only.

What redeems this, somehow, are the equally lyrically intriguing songs that the band keep hitting us with. All The Sad Young Men, Bad Boyfriend and Kyoto Garden all lend great lines to indirectly tweet at people and turn into Instagram quotes for ex-lovers, ex-friends and lost people to see. Standing in a crowd of people chanting with such conviction -I don't wanna make love, I don't wanna make plans, I don't want anyone to want to hold my hand- I found it difficult to remember whether I meant the words, or not.

I shall wait with great anticipation for Spector to birth their metaphorical baby into the music world, as it's expected to appear sometime this year. If it's the heartbreak album that leaves you confused about whether you want to dance or cry that I suspect is it, I can't be expecting Spector too much longer. 

Grab your wellies and waddle through the mud to catch the band (and a potentially drunk me) at Glastonbury this year! They'll also be at Reading Festival and so many more places across the summer, so check them out before that youthful gratitude is swallowed up by the ego of sold out shows and screaming teen girls, because I said so. Although, I have a feeling they're way too cool for that. I hope so, anyway. 

(Also, shout out for the band trying to make Southend look way more cool than it actually is in the All The Sad Young Men vid. Bravo.)

The Opposite of Loneliness

This week I finished a book. Something I rarely managed throughout my entire three years studying Literature. Pats self on the back. Better late than never, I guess. From the title I'm assuming, you assumed this might have been an overly personal rant about feelings. That's where you're mistaken -I have no feelings. I'm kidding, of course, because the book I've just finished, The Opposite of Loneliness, hit me right in the feels. This proving true the well documented rumour of my hectic emotions.

This article is me, telling you (fellow post-uni creative types and uncreative types alike) to read this book. The Opposite of Loneliness is a posthumously published, collection of short stories and essays from Yale graduate, Marina Keegan. I speak directly to those wandering the post-studies maze because this book was born from the same excitement and anxiety that we are currently trying to departmentalise in our young and wild minds.

The collection opens with Marina's final essay, one which was published in The New Yorker and turned viral, synonymously titled The Opposite of Loneliness. She articulates the essence of being a student, far better than any definition I could string together in words. The bizarre cocktail of post-university emotions are defined and wrapped up in the succinct bow of Marina Keegan's words. It's a relief to know that someone else gets it.

Marina's language reminds me of the classmates I critiqued in writing workshops. It reminds me of my own writing. It's a language that felt simple and immature in my own stories, but somehow seems fresh in published print. Marina's writing is honest and unafraid and sometimes cliche -it's youthful. A far cry from the thesaurus-driven, high-register attempts at sounding adult I had to pretend I'd fully read in writing workshops.

The stories, as cliche would dictate, made me both laugh and cry in the waiting rooms of hospitals, on train journeys between my London-home and my home-home and in many well-needed baths. Above all emotional reactions, this book inspired me to write. Actually it kept me up at night, worried that I hadn't written stories that were good enough or even just enough. It made me question my future and what I wanted out of a career and, of course, it highlighted the delicacy of life.

Read The Opposite of Loneliness, because I said so. Read Marina's famous essay or read it all. Whether that's for guidance, comfort or just genuinely witty writing, is up to you.

(Photo of Marina Keegan politely borrowed from The Guardian)