As I approach the ripe old age of thirty years on this planet, tiny molecules of doubt have started to fester in my psyche. They jostle around, largely ignored, but slowly come to the fore with each day that passes; the fear that I have begun my descent into middle age-dom, my musical tastes irreversibly damaged.
I suspect most young people hold this fear, the unknown date of when your brain becomes chemically unbalanced and you decide that tucking your t-shirt into your jeans is not only better looking, but wholly practical. The day that you decide you should wear hiking boots for every social occasion, rather than just when climbing a mountain. The day when you’d rather listen to the Archers than Gilles Peterson. In my case, deciding that early Rolo Tomassi is just a little bit over the top (what was I thinking in my younger days, my word!) and wouldn’t I rather listen to some placating Joe Bonnamassa?
Two events have recently spiked my self awareness of decrepitude. First off, I had the enjoyable experience of seeing my friend’s band, Mt. Wolf, play a set of their highly polished, superlunary music at Oslo this week. It was very much a ‘cool’ event, having appeared in Time Out as one of the week’s must see gigs. Now, I’m not saying I even belonged there in the first place (though I can’t remember a time when my street credit was this unbelievably high), but it did make me wonder at what point would I no longer fit into the crowd of fashionable youths.
The second event was the purchase of Theo Croker’s latest album, Escape Velocity. Upon sampling the sounds of Croker’s new release, I instantly had the uneasy feeling of whether this was on the cusp of funky lounge jazz………even writing ‘funky lounge jazz’ has just sent an unpleasant shiver down my spine. The kind of music that you inoffensively tap your foot to, enjoying the sensation of nothing breaking any boundaries.
Having listened to the album for an entire week, I have come to the conclusion that this is the right side of generic; a happy mover with a subtle gritty production. It sits back in the groove with interesting and brain imprinting melodies, encompassing electronica and world music, not fading into flavourless mush that I imagine horrible jazz funk would.
Not every track is a winner (It’s Gonna Be Alright is irksome) and some insipid elements creep in, but tunes Transcend (0.32-1.04), This Could Be (1.04-1.35), In Orbit (1.35-2.05), The Right Time (2.35-3.11) and Love From The Sun (6.00-6.30) really are bloody excellent. Unfortunately, I could only source the above album sampler, but I would recommend with no hesitations buying this album for a proper play through.
Perhaps no one will agree with my view of this album and I really have descended into my forties far too early. Perhaps ignorance is bliss.