I wrote this three weeks ago. I guess it should be published…
2020 has been a fuzzy as fuck year. I hate not seeing friends, being contracted into ever decreasing circles, getting my hugs from distant zoom calls and my cuddles from texts.
I’ve still been writing. But my notes have been private. I’ve not entirely missed gigs but I’ve actively avoided the internet versions. I can’t help feeling short-changed.
Last night I went out into Alicante. I’m lucky to be in Spain. The Dutch and the Germans marauded carefree, no quarantine on these youths. Single-handedly, they kept alive the clubs of the old town whilst we nodded and predicted second spikes in Amsterdam and Berlin before the Summer is done.
It was nice to see people dance and smile though. We observed and kept our distance.
Mate, Seany has been listening to music in 2020 – probably not enough but I’ve been digging flamboyant soul and deadpan pop.
And there are some albums that keep giving much. Even though they’re not soul or pop.
Dylan Seeger is an under the radar genius. Prescient, perfect and largely unnoticed. I don’t know why he bothers. It’s certainly not for the attention his releases attract.
Regular readers of Sonic Breakfast will know that his 2015 album, Claye, was an absolute favourite in these parts. He’s only gone and done it again with Metropolitan Hospital Center, his latest, released to a silent fanfare earlier this year.
How was Dylan to know that this opus, his work for the last four years, would be released on the eve of a pandemic, the worst the globe has faced for at least a 100 years?
It’s themes are scarily 2020 – hospital, loss, grief, death and a nod to the staff and people met on the way. It’s a record for me that says how much isolation can play with your dreams and your mental health.
It’s not a happy listen – but it’s perversely uplifting. And brilliant. Put it on one evening when bed beckons but you want some maudlin meditation.