I’ve just been listening to the new Alabama 3 album, which I was gonna try and blag for free from an old friend/music PR that I still talk to sometimes on social media.
I didn’t have to, though, because it turned out that you’d pre-ordered and paid for it, and it was sent to your old flat which now has been cleared and repainted and deep-cleaned and left forever.
The post redirection sent it to mum and dad’s house, and from there to me, here. It’s quite a sad album, you know, in places. It has possibly the last ever contributions from D. Wayne Love.
You’d have liked it. It made me cry a bit. A lot for a bit. These jags are pretty fucking powerful. I am actually triggered but I will probably always be, here and there, and I think that’s right and proper.
It ends on a positive song, like La Peste did, which is what this one seems to share the most soul with, and with a chuckling baby just come into the world. And this is how things turn forever.
The other day, I can’t remember what exactly it was, but I was asking on Facebook for people to remind me what it was I couldn’t remember. And, I nearly put: yes, Daniel, I have had a poo.
Cause that’s almost certainly what you would have written as advice. Completely predictable. But the thread was worse off without it and to think you will never do that again is...
...
...
The last album you ever bought was a good one. An unexpected gift, and honestly one I never asked for.
I’ve been listening to myself as much as I can, and I’ve been trying to talk about the things I am thinking, and bring the feelings into places where they are appropriate. It’s impossible, really.
But I will continue to try and progress. And carry on getting up day after day and trying to not have to try to be level. It’s OK, isn’t it. Not to be level. There are moments of calm, here and there.
You really would have liked this album, you know. It burns me deeply to know that you will never hear it. And this is how things turn, too. I think Alabama 3 have always understood that process.
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