I barely remember my teenage years. I look back at crumpled photos of myself and don’t really recognise the person looking out at me. But I do recall that I was an intense sort and hopelessly romantic. I thought that every relationship I entered into would be my last. I’d make mixtapes of my favourite songs to send to future (I hoped) lovers. And I had an obsession over listening to new music, something that was much harder to do in the 1980’s than it is now. Some things don’t change.
I’d see a girl waiting by a bus-stop and before even knowing her name, I’d declare that I was in love. Naive and foolish, I’d predict an uncluttered future for us before we’d even spoken. The memory appears in my mind now as sepia-tinged. I’ll never be that age again.
Georgie Weston, a man much, much younger than I, has written a song that stirs up all of those teenage emotions again. In his version of ‘Never Be That Age Again’, Georgie dives headfirst into a ‘melancholic journey about a romance with no destination’. The parting couple in this song are embarking on their own lives with a tearful ‘if only, what if’ reflection. The fact that Georgie knows that he’ll never be that age again despite his tender years bodes well for his own future. It took me decades to work out.
There’s a wonderful retro feel to this song. Georgie has adapted his name in homage to his Great Grandfather, who was an accomplished classical jazz pianist from London back in the 30’s. He cites the influence of Bacharach, Gershwin, vintage McCartney and Gilbert O’Sullivan (who frequently made the cut in those mixtapes of mine) in his press release with good reason. But to suggest that this is rooted firmly in the past would be ignoring the dreamy haze that’s been created in the production, ‘the spacey sonic landscape that forecasts the shape of indie to come’, as Georgie puts it.
The video adds to that combined and conflicting sense of loss and opportunity. For a bit of light relief (it made me smile anyway), look out for the bit in which Georgie is standing over the canal holding his vintage keyboard awkwardly in his arms. It’s a ‘You’ve Been Framed’ moment waiting to happen, right? Perhaps that’s just the way why mind works.
Who needs Steve Wright on a Sunday morning when you have Sonic Breakfast?
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