I felt strange after my last post, one which described my personal drug use at a music event, especially after Fabric's damning but non-surprising closure. It wasn't because I felt guilty for taking drugs - what I do with my mightily hard-earned wages really is up to me, but there was an overwhelming sense of hypocrisy sweeping through me every time I tweeted a counter argument versus some armchair veteran, the ones bemoaning the availability of drugs in the club scene, all the while I'm pictured at every rave starry-eyed clutching a bottle of water. Whether or not we buy into the reasons given for the clubs closure, and anyone with half a brain cell left shouldn't, I felt my post on SW4 only helped perpetuate the notion that everyone and anyone at a dance-music-do is off their head, but further, I questioned where exactly I'm heading with my writing.
The truth is that I don't know. I've never known, and I'll probably never ever realise. When I was on a hot-streak years back, the biggest feedback I got was on my interviews - I liked to think they went against the grain of samey-samey bullshit questions, idiots wasting people's time with enquiries on how crews developed their names - OK Magazine rubbish from middle-class journalists, many of whom pretending to be anything but, being dressed up as journalistic sensations. Facebook memories promptly reminds me daily of some of my better bits, but often I look back and cringe, so I promise form now on to produce content that won't make me rage-exit my browser in six years time having read back, nor should it make you do similar whilst reading.
I think some sort of diarised (made up word? verb? to record in diary-style?) writing will work for now, helping to cover a lot of things I won't have the time to type extended posts for, even though they may deserve it. Negative reviews aren't worth the energy, interviews will be aplenty (albeit, having grown tired of the question and answer format, I'll probably opt for some opinion/quote mixture) and I'll cover the best of radio where appropriate.
The glaringly obvious thing to cover before any of that: the Mercury Awards. Thirteen years after Dizzee picked up the prestigious prize, Skepta did the unthinkable and followed suit, putting Grime on it's highest pedestal yet - higher than the Culture Clash win, higher than the Shut Up/Stormzy phenomenon, higher than the chart entry's, American endorsements, the legal wins - all of it. It was unthinkable for me simply because I didn't believe as an album that it was superior to Kano's Made In The Manor, but for wider audiences, on name-value alone, the surprise will lie in beating Bowie (god-like), Radiohead (dross-like) and The 1975 (pop-like). The question now: where does Grime go from here? I'm not going to attempt to answer a question of such proportions, but I'm convinced the answer will in some form come from the aforementioned Croydon boy.
Regular posting to resume shortly.
The truth is that I don't know. I've never known, and I'll probably never ever realise. When I was on a hot-streak years back, the biggest feedback I got was on my interviews - I liked to think they went against the grain of samey-samey bullshit questions, idiots wasting people's time with enquiries on how crews developed their names - OK Magazine rubbish from middle-class journalists, many of whom pretending to be anything but, being dressed up as journalistic sensations. Facebook memories promptly reminds me daily of some of my better bits, but often I look back and cringe, so I promise form now on to produce content that won't make me rage-exit my browser in six years time having read back, nor should it make you do similar whilst reading.
I think some sort of diarised (made up word? verb? to record in diary-style?) writing will work for now, helping to cover a lot of things I won't have the time to type extended posts for, even though they may deserve it. Negative reviews aren't worth the energy, interviews will be aplenty (albeit, having grown tired of the question and answer format, I'll probably opt for some opinion/quote mixture) and I'll cover the best of radio where appropriate.
The glaringly obvious thing to cover before any of that: the Mercury Awards. Thirteen years after Dizzee picked up the prestigious prize, Skepta did the unthinkable and followed suit, putting Grime on it's highest pedestal yet - higher than the Culture Clash win, higher than the Shut Up/Stormzy phenomenon, higher than the chart entry's, American endorsements, the legal wins - all of it. It was unthinkable for me simply because I didn't believe as an album that it was superior to Kano's Made In The Manor, but for wider audiences, on name-value alone, the surprise will lie in beating Bowie (god-like), Radiohead (dross-like) and The 1975 (pop-like). The question now: where does Grime go from here? I'm not going to attempt to answer a question of such proportions, but I'm convinced the answer will in some form come from the aforementioned Croydon boy.
Regular posting to resume shortly.
No comments:
Post a Comment