Holiday Listening
by Ray Finlayson
It’s the end of another year and once again I have similar thoughts about how I never got a chance to listen to as much music as I would have liked to. Time, as ever, is a fickle thing that seems to disappear all the faster with each passing year. I’ve accepted my fate now though, and accept that there will always be music I never got around to listening to. It’s one reason I am so thankful to my BPM colleagues who always have something excellent and interesting for me to dive into, be it through our regular Slack chats throughout the year or by the content of our end of year lists. I may be “behind” on my listening, but the excellent writers here at Beats Per Minute keep me right (while I determinedly continue to write about the lesser known, more obscure records released across the year).
But instead of lamenting over music not heard by my ears (yet), I wanted to take a moment to reflect on something I reacquainted myself this year: holiday listening. Not all the festive tunes I will be partaking in this Christmas season (which in itself could be a whole article), but rather the music I consumed while on vacation. 2023 was the first time in something resembling five or six years I finally took a proper holiday. I packed my bag to the brim (so as to avoid extra baggage costs, naturally) and set off for a short trip to Geneva, Lyon, and Paris. I met up with friends while there, but spent a large chunk of my time exploring the cities by myself.
When ambling about a new city, i’m always a little torn between wanting to plug my ears with music or to instead take in the natural hum and bustling ambiance of the place I am in. Beyond some very basic stuff, I don’t speak French, but I still enjoyed listening to folks conversing: two old ladies nattering away on the Metro; schoolchildren shouting and laughing at each other as they spill out onto the street; two folks peering through at the display in a boulangerie and eagerly discussing and deciding what to order. Poetically it sounds more beautiful to swim in the din of the city, cast adrift in a world where I can pick out only fragments of phrases, but equally happy to let the current take me.
At the same time though, the last thing the anxious part of me wants is for someone to start speaking to me in a different language (only to give a meek “Pardon, je ne parle pas français” in response), so in my earphones go to avoid any unwanted conversations/to make me look less like a lost tourist. All the walking around and travelling time does offer a great opportunity to spend some extended time with some records. Walking and listening is one of the best ways to consume a new record as far as i’m concerned, and putting an album on repeat as I go about the world on foot is how I have formed strong connections with some of my favourites (Scott 3 in particular comes to mind).
I had a small range of albums I loaded onto my iPod before I left (yep, I still use an iPod; there’s another article I could write). Bex Burch’s There is only love and fear was both my first one to press play on and also my first venture into her music. Her playful percussion-led sessions captured on their debut album brought a sunny glimmer to my dark early morning journey to the airport. Coloured by her hand-made xylophone, the music lilts and jaunts, stepping into ramshackle New Orleans jazz and shades of bossa nova and natural ambience. It’s like walking into a musical commune, and every visit has new details to concentrate on or just sit and enjoy.
Matmos returned with a new album of music from non-musical sources, this time using recordings released by Folkways Records in the mid-20th century to make new soundworlds. It made for a curious soundtrack to pretty much every place I played it in – which is very much the nature of their creation. Return To Archive has some surprising moments (the spacey electronica of “Mud-Dauber Wasp”, the fidgety percussion on “Why?” and “Injection Basic Sound”) but I couldn’t quite penetrate it, despite how or where I listened to it. On a train, a plane, or in the middle of a forest, it was always interesting but it felt strangely academic, like a lengthy paper on a topic I had no background in. Undeniably fascinating and a great re-contextualisation of Smithsonian Folkways’ output, but not the Matmos album i’ll return to repeatedly (that title goes to Ultimate Care II).
Another familiar friend, Spencer Krug, also released a new album this year, which I finally got a chance to sink my teeth into when I was away. I Just Drew This Knife felt knottier and more abstract than previous efforts from the Canadian musician, despite having a similar setup and lineup to 2021’s very likable Fading Graffiti. I found myself having flashes of thoughts about it, but it took a surprising effort to write a tangible collection of words about the album. I had a similar issue with Born Days’ My Little Dark too, but this was partially because I was so enamored by the title track that I couldn’t find much else to say other than “it reminds of things I like!” It’s sparkling, cavernous quality made for a fitting soundtrack to the chilly night air of Lyon.
There were other records that I didn’t find an entry point into or connect with as much as I would have liked. Tanukichan’s GIZMO was always just out of reach of enjoyment, despite repeated spins, while Hemi Hemingway’s much-awaited debut Strangers Again had some fine features and more vintage crooning from the New Zealander, but lost steam all too quickly and felt much too long, even at 41 minutes. Like many other releases I dabbled in briefly across the year, perhaps with more time it would have changed my mind or eked out more to say about them, but there is only so much time in the year – and only so much time on holiday too.
There was one album that stood out amongst all those I took on holiday though. Green-House’s A Host for All Kinds of Life felt like a refuge every time I stepped in: a warm, organic space bristling with a dewy sunrise-like warmth. It was of particular comfort during my trip home; wearied by my efforts to get to the airport in time, sad to leave a place where everything I ate was so magnificently delicious (thank you Angelina’s for probably the most delectable things I have ever put in my mouth), and facing up to the reality of returning to the daily grind. “Everything Is Okay” is an absolute standout – and personal runner-up for best track of the year, beaten only by Nico Paulo’s impeccable “Read My Mind” – and every time those melancholic piano chords enter, I am in a place of reassuring melancholy. Like a memory of a lost loved one or of a romance now fizzled away, it’s honest to goodness one of the most gorgeous things to bask in, both on, away from, and flying over the European continent.
And with Green-House’s soothing record I returned home. I am a self-confessed bad holiday taker. I find myself accruing a bunch of annual leave I have to cram in at the end of the year because I just never think to make time for myself to get away. Even after a short trip like mine to France, I immediately reminded myself of why getting away is so important. Yes, there’s the impeccable local food, the chance to see friends in far off places, or the opportunity to look upon landmarks with your own eyes and gaze at their scale. Most importantly though, it’s a chance to catch up on records that have been patiently waiting in the sidelines to be listened to; a chance to listen to lots of music and find something new to fall in love with forever. Tis’ the spirit of escape. Happy holidays!
