It’s that time of year again. We come to the end of another one and decide upon the things that have made us happiest (and in the case of the shit-fest that has often been 2016, the unhappiest).
Sonic Breakfast will again get in on the act – with my list of the top ten posts from 2016 that have for a variety of reasons given me the most joy. There’ll be surprises and certainties, posts I’d forgotten about and posts that I wish I’d never published! I think you’ll enjoy.
Without further ado.. Click on the next page number for number 10…
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Many years ago now, I caught a flight to Perpignan. It was a ‘make or break’ holiday for a relationship which, in truth, was already broken. There were four of us and we’d hired a large tent on a posh campsite to keep us cool for a couple of weeks.
The South of France was sweltering under unprecedented levels of heat. My young son (for he was one of us) flagged even though he wore a hat and drank lots of water. In truth, I didn’t fare much better, although I was drinking wine and beer rather than water. It wasn’t the best holiday ever though the green of the campsite, endlessly watered grass, sticks in my memory still.
The Liminanas are from Perpignan. Marie and Lionel have just released a video for their song ‘Garden Of Love’, the first track to be released from their forthcoming album, Malamore. Significantly perhaps, this track features Peter Hook doing his bass thing. Hooky also offers up some mumbling backing vocals to add to the atmosphere.
I love it. There’s a definite Serge Gainsbourg thing going on within. It’s got a seductive edge, a dreamy breeze and a shimmering, sunny centre. As lips, glossed with bright red lipstick, mouth the words, other images from the ‘Garden Of Love’ flicker in and out of view.
Commenting on the forthcoming album, The Liminanas say, “The main idea is a story with a start and an end, which can be linked even if they exist in different universes. Everything here is about love stories – thwarted love, aborted passions, funny or dramatic.”
The campsite could have been my garden. It wasn’t but I’m pleased to tell that story of aborted love.