Reinforcement. That’s what music journalism usually provides, not searching out new routes, supplying treasure maps to undreamed-of troves, expanding minds. Reinforcement. You want your taste validated, reinforced… well, come this way. Walk this way. Talk this way. You know you don’t really need a seal of approval, an award, a plaque on your wall stating what great aesthetic choices you make on a day-to-day basis, but… well. It’s still nice, isn’t it? Get an expert in to agree with you. Check your DIY plumbing and vouchsafe for its sturdiness. In the absence of any friends…
The shocker for me is the way I often validate myself, sometimes unknowingly. I wrote about Lizzo yesterday, but I first wrote about Lizzo six years ago (thanks to a then brand-new writer Lee Adcock). I knew how cool Billie Eilish was the first time I heard her on the Radio One Breakfast Show. The review I wrote then remains inch-perfect and I see no reason to change it now.
I have this on constant repeat and it races round my head on a loop of delight and discovery. It is playful, it teases but it is also maudlin and it depresses. It is conflicted, confused. I love conflicted, confused. That is my main jam in life. Feeling conflicted. Such a natural pace and rhythm and timing. The way it stops and then jolts awake. The way it jolts awake and then screams silently and then stops and then runs away and then loops around once more. The way it falls asleep. The Way It Keeps You In The Dark. We all fall asleep. We all feel excited and depressed and maudlin and charged simultaneously. We all like to be playful with our darkest spirits. We all crush. We all crash. We call crush.
If I could I would put this review on an endless timeless loop so it keeps disappearing and reappearing every five minutes. And…
Should I pad this out? Careful.
And yet… I seek to reinforce what I have already written. Right now. Right here. I cannot allow such a wonderful moment as what happened over the weekend at Glastonbury to go unremarked upon. Right now. Right here. Is it remarkable that she bounces on the balls of her feet all the way across the stage and exhorts the crowd to join in on the joy? No. Of course not. Billie. Look at the way she dresses! She’s real! Listen to the way she sings! She’s real! Listen to that joy, that knowledge. Billie.
The NME has it right: a once-in-a-generation show. Every time I hear this, ‘Bad Guy’, the album… I am so happy. I think of my two youngest dancing, and I am so happy. I think of myself dancing and I am so happy. I think of Billie dancing across the stage at Glastonbury and I am so happy.
What a time to be alive.