Bloodsports (2013) - Suede

When it comes to Suede, a band who I'd count myself as an actual fan of, choosing the first of their works to appraise is a tough call. Unlike most of the bands who have a selection of records I intend to cover, one of their albums is a single obvious standout for me, and I don't want to sing its praises only for the remainder of my Suede reviews to pale in comparison. Additionally, I don't want the restriction of going through them chronologically. So I've decided to start with an album I do like, that has undeniable virtue, but also marks a turning point for the band that tends to get overlooked. Writing this review is difficult, not because I don't have plenty to say on the matter, but because (again, unlike many musical outfits whose discographies I consider myself to be well-versed in) Suede's catalogue is, in my mind, directly comparable. Rating their albums together in one humongous essay would provide an easier structure for me to follow and probably be helpful in conveying the reasons for their rankings. But I'm not about to put anyone through that kind of slog.

After parting ways in 2003, 2013's Bloodsports is Suede's first release since reforming, and sees a return to their initial 'rock band' sound, having become a little less rock and a little more electronic with each of their first 5 studio albums. If this whole album was performed live, it would sound very similar to the recorded version, with no need for any instrument substitutions or special allowances. This return to roots is surely a conscious decision - probably an intentional ricochet off their 2002 flop A New Morning, which was full of sunny, squeaky-clean production - a perfectly valid direction, but nothing like how they began, and provenly unpopular with the listening public. Bloodsports first and foremost fills out the plastic shell Suede previously left behind with meat, in the form of thumping, resonant drums and assertive guitars. I'll get straight to the rankings so we can go into more detail:

1. Hit Me
2. It Starts And Ends With You
3. Snowblind
4. Sometimes I Feel I'll Float Away
5. Barriers
6. What Are You Not Telling Me?
7. For The Strangers
8. Faultlines
9. Sabotage
10. Always

Total Points: 29/50
Average Score: 5.8

My three highest-rated tracks are the epitome of this booming, confrontational sound. The opening bars of Hit Me are banged out at full force, the drums almost primitive in their boldness, and the chorus is equally thundering - a proclamation of the band's mettle, and a literal bait to the person at whom the lyrics are directed. Songs with this loud and proud approach are a wonderful counterpoint to the poetic, eclectic prose woven throughout the record. Whereas previous albums keep their thematic subjects broad and are talked about in a generalised, observational fashion, Bloodsports is very intimately written, with songs sung 'to' someone, not simply 'about' them. This allows for some beautiful turns of phrase, raw and delicate, and articulated in a way that frontman Brett Anderson simply could never achieve without this much more vulnerable and personalised approach. These elegant verses carry through to the quieter, more ethereal moments too, which help break up what could otherwise be a rather dense procession. The most notable instance of this is the softly haunting Sometimes I Feel I'll Float Away, which speaks of the addressee's 'impossible eyes' and 'hairpin bends', elegantly characterising the kind of tension often present in the most complex emotional relationships.

One thing I do find fault with is that Bloodsports marks the first time the band takes a real turn for the dour. It's been an ongoing issue since their reunion - thankfully Bloodsports manages to retain some of their former spunk, but all the seeds of their current aura of gloom are planted within. There's such a tangible inclination now growing towards thick smogs of guitar and drawling, ominous vocals. Percussion begins to favour atmospheric punctuation rather than actual rhythm, and the vivid, sweet-and-sour swagger of 90s Suede is starting to give way to a funereal, grey rigidity. The biggest contributor to this is the change in how chords are utilised - before, there was such an interesting push and pull of major and minor, with chord progressions twisting like smirks and leaving you tantalised for the unexpected. Now, Suede errs increasingly towards the minor, and the chord sequences play like dirges, without sufficient yang to counter the yin. Luckily only a handful of tracks from Bloodsports suffer this fate but, come the next album, a whole host of songs are largely minor affairs, unseasoned with tangy inflections or the odd surprise. I'm no musical theorist, but this just means I can't accurately name what I'm identifying - you don't need to be a scholar to recognise when music loses its colour.

This blaring dichotomy between before and after hiatus is so strange to me. They're still Suede - they still sound like the same band - but it's like they've grown up. Physically, they have, of course, but Suede were never exactly immature to begin with. They always represented a knowing, outsider voice among the everyman's Britpop. If Britpop is a family, with Blur and Oasis as boisterous, competitive brothers, I like to think of Suede as the black sheep, that distant, estranged second cousin. They're more alternative, more in tune with the underground, and more worldly. No, this gloom isn't simply Suede growing older, they're also growing colder. The unrelentingly dreary Sabotage is the worst culprit, while Always makes an attempt at harking back to the edgier contours present in Dog Man Star, but unsuccessfully so, instead coming across unbearably listless. After Bloodsports, my interest in their studio output unfortunately wanes, as both of its successors continue to perpetuate their trajectory into bleakness.

I realise I'm now making Bloodsports out to be some kind of leaden requiem, but this is not the case. As I noted, the seeds of apparent sullenness are planted, but the forest is yet to grow. There's still plenty of life present, and the album does a lot to marry the best of Suede's various eras together. It may not have the hedonistic, youthful charisma of prior works, but it has such a bold and determined presence, and demonstrates incredible sensitivity and capability. It has a kind of competence that comes only to veteran artists, and they manage to tap, with expert dexterity, into so many of the impalpable characteristics that made them such a left-field powerhouse in the Britpop heyday. This alone shows that they never lost anything, they've just evolved, and continue to do so. I like to think of each Suede record as a stamp on an ever-growing timeline, and Bloodsports, though the beginning of a shift I don't necessarily respond to, represents a fulcrum in the band's sound that would be impossible anywhere else in time. Essentially, the best way to enjoy Bloodsports is to ignore the past and refrain from peering forward. Only when you blinker yourself this way can you become absorbed enough to appreciate it for what it is, without the contextual distractions that are, ultimately, the album's only real detractor.

Menace To Sobriety (2000) - OPM

It's time for another review, but before I can proceed, there is first some important backstory that needs addressing. Think of it of an origin story for how I got to the point where I'm reviewing albums, for primarily personal benefit, in 2021, on a blog called The Sound System.

Let me set the scene: It's the year 2002 and you're a late-to-the-party boy of 11 who has just been gifted a personal CD player for his birthday. As someone who has yet to develop any kind of individual taste in music, you requested with it the things that everyone at school was listening to - S Club 7's Sunshine and the latest instalment in the 'Now' series, Now That's What I Call Music! 50. Still getting used to the audio format, more fascinated with the novelty of not needing to rewind anything than actually listening, you witlessly play Don't Stop Movin' on repeat, and the few singles from the compilation album whose titles you recognise. Naturally, Now 50 is a trendy conversation subject at school, and your friend Alistair, who you respect because he's popular but not cool (at least not too cool to talk to you), passingly mentions that track 12 is decent. Because your personality is underdeveloped and you apparently hang off the every word of anyone nice enough to humour you with their opinions, you run home after school and skip to OPM's Heaven Is A Halfpipe. And then, for perhaps for the first time in your life, you actually properly listen to a song, absorbing the sound of a skateboard panning from left to right in time with a tack piano sample and super-chilled guitar lick alternating between two simple chords. You listen to the layers pile on and peel off and, before you know it, you've autonomously decided, with no outside input, that this music is fucking cool. And this marks the first step of your musical journey, and developing a musical mind of your own.

As someone whose prior exposure to music is so negligible, you really know very little about how things are done in the music industry. But you sure are a tactile kid who loves to pull out the sleeves of your only two albums and pore over the pictures and liner notes! So it doesn't take long to notice the recurring phrase "taken from the album '______'" and see that, sure enough, a whole album of OPM songs exists, and it's called Menace To Sobriety. You're 11, you don't understand the punny title or know what sobriety is. You ask your dad to look for it next time he goes to the shops on his lunch hour, as he works in a nearby city with an HMV (you've already scoured Woolworths to no avail). Maybe the red flag was in the title. Maybe it was in the cover art. Or maybe it was in that little black and white sticker that your poor protective father decided to take so seriously. He's a very honest kind of guy, so where other fathers might tell their child that the record store simply doesn't have it stocked, or that it's too expensive, he does this: he buys the CD, listens to it through (he even checks out the bonus CD-Rom, removable only by lifting the jewel case insert to reveal a close crop of someone's rather ample cleavage) and tells you that, in his responsibility as a parent, he cannot let you have this album.

Never had it occurred to me that the scratches in the chorus of Heaven Is A Halfpipe were any more than a series of stylistic embellishments, or that a quarter of the middle 8 had been cut out of the compilation's version because it referenced drugs. I don't remember what happened next. All I know is that, for whatever reason, it didn't long for him to concede, and I don't believe I underwent any dirty tactics to get him to hand it over. Apparently my acceptance of his initial decision demonstrated enough maturity to change his mind. Straining to remember, I'm pretty sure I was forbidden from using the CD-Rom (which was of zero interest to me anyway, particularly when he told me that the music videos were full of people throwing up in toilets), and I swear he told me that I just 'wasn't allowed to listen to it much' - which is a weak bargain that can't possibly be enforced, but one that I took seriously given the trust he was placing in me.

As it goes, only the most blatant profanities showed up on my radar - the majority of the 'explicit content' went right over my head. For example, for several years, I genuinely thought Dealerman was about counterfeiting clothes, because I took the opening lines literally and didn't pay attention to the rest. Lyrical content doesn't tend to grab me in the way all the other musical elements do (this will come to be a recurring factor in my reviews), so unless there's a really succinct thematic connection with the music itself, I zone out of what is being said, and instead focus on how it's being delivered. And it just so happens that the most debauch songs that my father was hoping to shield me from were the ones that appealed less to me musically. Whether one factor informed the other on a subliminal level is impossible to say, but here I am, 20 years on, with no gang or drug habit, and a song ranking that very closely resembles the order I'd have picked as a kid:

1. Heaven Is A Halfpipe
2. Fish Out Of Water
3. Brighter Side
4. Sound System
5. Unda
6. El Capitan
7. Reality Check
8. Better Daze
   
9. Undercover Freak
10. Stash Up
11. Dealerman
12. Trucha
    (Exempt from total score: Interludes Punanny, Rage Against The Coke Machine & 15 Minutes, hidden track The War On Drugs)

Total Points: 38/60
Average Score: 6.33

Menace To Sobriety is full of simple chord sequences that teeter back and forth, thumping breakbeats and turn-of-the-Millennium record scratches. There's great variety in guitars; everything from rich, steely strumming, to ska-style, upbeat stabs, to fills of fuzzy, skate-punk-esque noise. This palette of textures is used to great effect, upping the ante step-by-step as Better Daze reaches its climax, or adding fantastic conviction to the bridge of Fish Out Of Water, the album's other main standout after Heaven Is A Halfpipe. Crisp, sincere harmonies of 'ahhs' compliment the franker tone of Brighter Side's chorus, while the optimism expressed in underdog anthem Unda is matched with upbeat guitar accents and a spirited saxophone (of all instruments!) solo. As I've mentioned before, I love when music does exactly what it says, when the lyrics match the sound, and nothing exemplifies this synergy more than Sound System (which has been popping into my head ever since I named this blog). This reggae-infused track really is the party atmosphere its lyrics are describing, that is begging to be blasted on a 'sound system in my backyard' with the intention to 'wake up the town'.

The album's greatest asset is that its music is never compromised, even when the themes aren't there to be taken seriously. Even something as tongue-in-cheek as an ode to Captain Morgan's Rum is set to a kicking backing track, making sure that less solemn topics are never pushed into straight up joke territory. The weakest points come in the form of interludes (sidenote: thanks to OPM I've added the word 'coke' to the band Rage Against The Machine in conversation more times than I've said it correctly) and the acoustic hidden track, which (on my copy at least) is inexplicably censored after an album full of impropriety. Thankfully, these don't impact the score, but the somewhat droning chorus of Trucha isn't to my taste, and comes across kind of damp compared to the rest of the record.

Menace To Sobriety does not have critical acclaim or, from what I can tell, much of a retrospective cult following. Perceived as a something of a one-hit wonder, OPM never went on to hold the attention of the worldwide musical spotlight their debut single granted them. Why this is, I cannot say - I'm not savvy to the contextual factors, such as marketing, band history or record labels. But as far as the content of this album goes, there is sufficient substance and well-engineered balance to show that they had their collective finger on the pulse. Its full of self-awareness, wit, charisma and an outlook that dryly bridges the gap between darkness and joy. It's such a straightforward effort that it barely warrants an analytical review like this - it defeats the point. It's not music made for evaluating, it is music made for enjoying and extracting the essence out of life's ups and downs. I wanted to write about it because it's clear today that it had quite an impact on my formative years, but the high regard in which I hold it isn't just born out of nostalgia, but out of genuine appreciation for its quality. If nothing else, I've done my bit on shining a light on an album you might never have considered may exist.

For You (1982) - Tatsuro Yamashita

I could sit here for hours and reel off essays attempting to describe the type of music that westerners refer to as 'City Pop' and would still not be able to settle on a definition that satisfies everyone. Such a definition doesn't exist. City Pop is such an abstract concept, that pulls from so many different tropes and traits of bonafide genres (not to mention real-world social, political and historical context) that it is impossible to transpose into words. It is a blanket term, that spans so much yet seems to apply to so little, and I don't want to spend half a review trying to pinpoint its essence. Tatsuro Yamashita is often cited online as the 'King of City Pop' -  and just to point out how infuriatingly nebulous this label is, Tatsuro himself only became aware of its coinage in the late 2010s, several decades after his heyday as a recording artist. For now, all I want to do is establish that his 1982 album For You is a quintessential example of City Pop, whatever the hell that is.

As much as I find it impossible to define the genre, it isn't so difficult to point out the factors that contribute to this album's status as a City Pop classic. We'll start with the bold, stylised cover art, depicting Tatsuro standing next to a commercial white building in what is clearly a sunny part of America (idyllic Californian scenes and The Beach Boys being notable influences on his work), overlaid with Memphis-esque confetti squiggles, a design quirk firmly embedded in the 80s. The music is everything you'd expect it to be looking at this artwork - carefree and understated, yet precisely arranged with immaculate production; not a single note has been neglected or merely 'settled for'. For an early 80s record, the sound comes across as remarkably fresh by today's standards, which is a testament to the crystal-clear precision and polish that was somehow achieved without an over-reliance on synths or drum machines. No outdated or gimmicky electronics antiquate the sound, Korg keyboards are used only sparingly, and are so subtle you barely notice them.

His signature blend of sumptuously layered vocal harmonies, funky rhythm guitar passages and pithy slap bass is at its most finessed, this record showcasing just how breathable and digestible such complex structures can be. With his trademark sound applied to thematically simple songs about everyday life and love, the result is an undeniable slice of Tatsuro-flavoured City Pop, that makes for breezy, uncomplicated listening with a feel-good energy.

Let's see how I've rated each track:

1. Love Talkin' (Honey It's You)
2. Sparkle
3. Music Book
4. Loveland, Island
5. Your Eyes
6. Morning Glory
7. Futari
8. Hey Reporter!
   (Exempt from total score: Interludes A&B, Parts I&II)

Total Points: 26/40

Average Score: 6.5

For You kicks off with the textural delight that is Sparkle, full of bright and gorgeously balanced instrumentation. Like many of the tracks, there is nothing cloudy or contorted about the layers - every individual part can be picked out easily and appreciated on its own merit. Music Book follows, with a light, ambling tempo and a sunny and fancy-free vibe evocative of a summer drive in an open-top car; this kind of leisurely vision is something I can't help but picture when listening to the record, especially if I'm on the road. The apogee of the album is undoubtedly Love Talkin' (Honey It's You), which is so transparently straightforward and unabashedly sweet that its six minutes drift by like a funk-fuelled daydream. Thrice in the song does Tatsuro croon the somewhat sappy lyric 'honey, I love you' over the constant, strolling beat, and with each occurrence the length of time he holds the word 'love' is doubled; small touches like this demonstrate just how carefully built his music is.

At worst, the songs could come off as saccharine - the closing track Your Eyes being particularly at risk with its sugary English lyrics and chords sustained with gradients of melodrama - but luckily the album's overall sophistication manages to diminish this outlook. Lowlights would have to include Futari, which is harmless enough but a little dragging in its repetition near the end, and Hey Reporter!, which essentially feels like an imposter. Clunkier in tone, with jaunty, nonchalant vocals and far more abrasive timbres, there's nothing wrong with it as such - it just doesn't fit. A far better substitute would be the elegant and heady single release あまく危険な香り(usually translated as Dangerous Scent), which is thankfully available on modern remasters as a bonus track.

Calling For You innocuous could be seen as a rather backhanded take, but this comes from a belief that the album could slide quite affably into the soundtrack of anyone's midsummer drive or social barbecue without causing a stir. If heard on the radio, I doubt the songs would prompt anyone to change channel - one might even end up whistling along or listening out for the name of the artist. It's innocuous, but not to its own detriment - anyone who is drawn to take a closer look into those beautifully crafted layers will be able to discover the brilliance hidden in plain sight. Next time you've got a commute in hot weather, wind down your window, pop this on your stereo and let the music brighten up your day just that little bit more.

Homogenic (1997) - Björk

When it comes to albums, my fascination goes a little bit deeper than the kind of instinctual musical predilection present in us all. Instilled in me since uni is the specialness of bringing together a collection of singulars in an act of curation, to tell a story, to get the right balance and through line, to create an entity that is more than just a list of works reeled off in an unspecified and inconsequential order. This is why, whenever I make a playlist, I've been known to spend weeks or even months engineering the perfect flow through selection and order, because it makes all the difference when played from start to finish.

This is something I treasure within albums. Nothing makes me happier in music than when it's clear that an album was fully conceptualised, and in fruition is restrained, fluid and of one singular flavour. The latter in particular - instrumentation, mood and style that fits together that feels as one - is, for me, the crux of an exemplary album, This might sound something of a moot point to the average rock fan or classical enthusiast, where the consistent set of equipment and sole production team being used to create the music dictates a kind of uniform from the offset. But in electronic albums (and more widely, pop), this is not a given. It's a choice. And one that Björk took to heart on the creation of her third* studio album.

*fourth if you count her 1977 eponymous Iceland-exclusive childhood record, which I do not

Homogenic was thusly named due to Björk's desire to create an album with 'a simple sound' and 'only one flavour'. Her prior albums, Debut and Post, are far more eclectic, presenting like musical tapas, with Björk picking and choosing, going back and forth between a scattering of unique influences, from state-of-the-art electronica to traditional acoustic instrumentation. These efforts were examples of a musician who was having fun in finding herself as a solo artist, and relishing in the areas that gave her joy. Homogenic though, instantly feels more grown-up, more stable and more special, and I believe this is entirely down to the strictness with which the concept of uniform flavour was adhered to. Everything, from the 'volcanic', piston-like beats to the soaring string arrangements, comes together in unity, presenting a strong but dynamic (remarkably never monotonous or boring) cast that allows the individual tracks to shine within a perfectly bespoke framework. Even the artistic direction emphasises this unity, the steely exterior casing opening up to reveal rich, cyber-organic innards, presenting the whole package as a protective bubble, housing a kind of self-sustaining ecosystem of music.

While I admire this overarching trait, it is equally important to consider the individual tracks - after all, this is the foundation upon which my system is based. I'll keep this in the sidebar for future reference but, as this is the first implementation of it, I'll place it here too:

Blue (5pts) - God tier
Green (4pts) - Excellent and memorable
Amber (3pts) - Perfectly serviceable
Orange (2pts) - Inoffensive filler
Red (1pt) - Unlistenable, best skipped
Uncoloured (0pts) - Exempt/Ineligible for rating (e.g. interludes & hidden tracks)

Now for the tough part. Be kind, internet:

1. Jóga
2. Alarm Call
3. Hunter
4. 5 Years
5. Bachelorette
6. Unravel
7. Immature
8. All Neon Like
9. All Is Full Of Love
10. Pluto

Total Points: 30/50
Average Score: 6.0

For an album that, just a few seconds ago, I praised to high heaven for representing something of a gold standard for me, 6 might look a rather low mark out of a possible maximum of 10. Firstly, I need to make the point that in order for an album to boast a perfect score, every single track needs to be 'God tier', and this is pretty much an impossibility. In fact, I have a feeling that more than a single blue track on any given album is going to be noteworthy. Think of them as my version of Michelin stars. So, in effect, two blue tracks is quite something for me. Jóga is an obvious choice for this accolade - powerful lyrics and timbres amalgamate, majestically evoking the landscapes of Björk's native Iceland. Alarm Call, however, isn't one of her more iconic tracks - not nearly as iconic as the extremely low rated All Is Full Of Love - which brings me onto my next point...

In any project that is, to such incredible effect, a fully-realised and 'one flavour' article, there are going to be difficult choices about what makes the final cut. In a case like this, omissions are as important as inclusions, and when faced with multiple versions of songs, choosing one over another can be a crucial decision. The penultimate track, Pluto, is a hard listen, with its dark, industrial beats and filtered vocals, and while it still manages to feel like part of the ecosystem, it is extremely stark and abrasive when you've listened to 8 comparatively congenial tracks before it. All Is Full Of Love follows, and producer Howie B's version was probably selected to emphasise the feeling of a 'fresh start' after Pluto's themes of destruction. Lacking the signature beat style present elsewhere, this version instead is full of unbearably shrill torrents of what sounds like a flock of electronic birds flying overhead, and a bassline that is most accurately likened to the sound you experience when your ears are too full of wax and you can hear your pulse in them. Björk's sublime, raw and mighty vocals are the sole saving grace, and the only reason I've not rated it dead last.

The fact that there exists a far superior, more magical, more palatable version, which would have absolutely integrated with the album's soundscape, makes the chosen mix something of a tragedy in my eyes. However, herein exists a classic case of swings and roundabouts - my other album highlight, the bouncing and bombastic Alarm Call, could not be described as such in its incarnation as a single. Inexplicably sped up, amped down and bounce well and truly stunted, the single version's production does nothing to reinforce the lyrics which express a desire to 'go to a mountain top, with a radio and good batteries, and play a joyous tune'. I feel a bullet was dodged that this mix was not included in the album, and it is a true shame that the version I love so much was shunned in favour of such a flaccid replacement for individual release and could not be known to a wider audience.

In typical Björk style, Homogenic boasts an incredible breadth of emotional and musical range - the introspective contemplation and ambient piano phrases of Immature at one end, the ambitious scale and grandiosity of Bachelorette and Jóga at the other. The latter are collaborations with Icelandic poet Sjón, who Björk worked with to come up with 'epic' lyrics, and whose poetic virtuosity has been periodically employed in her songwriting over the years. It is a testament to the album's atmospheric continuity that such diverse songs can resonate in conjunction without conflict. As well as the strong-handed creative direction, it is Björk's confidence and conviction that really enables this synergy between the tracks.

Homogenic is a shining, critically acclaimed album, which is never too far away from your average music zine's GOAT lists, and is a timeless and enduring staple of many a music collection. Hopefully I have conveyed my agreement with this consensus, despite my gripes with some of the later tracks. To many, it is Björk's magnum opus, and I certainly can't argue that the record adeptly encapsulates the qualities she is best celebrated for - her childlike charm is as prevalent as her emotional awareness, the interpretation of her messages is meticulous and her voice is at its most expressive. For a first review, I must admit that it's rather a superfluous one, because you don't need a review to understand that this album is a masterpiece. I knew that the first time I listened. But perhaps, through my garbled and scantily-informed analysis, you'll give it a spin and see it in a way you might not have thought of before.

Reincarnation/The Future of the Blog for a Future Generation

Cast your mind back to 2010. You're browsing Blogger and you stumble upon the creative diary of a quirky teenage student. You can see, from the striking .PNG banner which enables the unusual effect of semi-transparency, that it is entitled 'Blog For A Future Generation'. It's full of this teenager's WIP photography projects, frequent instalments of his desperately derivative Youtube content, scathing paragraphs of unsolicited shit-talking and, occasionally, the odd album review.

Perhaps something (I couldn't imagine what) compelled you to subscribe, and you've somehow managed to maintain a vague commitment to this platform over the following decade. Personally, I assumed it had long been bought out and shut down. And now here you are, startled by the apparition of an out-of-the-blue post from a blog you'd long condemned to the darkest recesses of your brain.

Let me give you the full story of how we got to where we are.

I decided, shortly after quitting my job as an NHS 111 Health Advisor, that I wanted to write. Not as a career (I'm not one for freelancing!) but as a hobby, to help distract from any future work-induced doldrums. I'm an imaginative and literate person with an above-par vocabulary, and I didn't want to leave these attributes to waste any longer. Initially the plan was to write a novel. But the conscious effort I've made in recent years to read more books (and the subsequent discovery of incredible literature that I know I could never live up to) has somewhat deterred me from this idea. Still, though, I wanted to write. So I got myself a Wordpress account. That's what people use to write these days, no?

I was immediately confronted by the insistence of a username. I went with a frequently used alias. Now I was being pressured to come up with a domain name. I went with the aforementioned alias .wordpress or whatever the extension is for the free default option. Then it wanted a title. I closed the tab at this point, having not yet decided what I wanted to write. I'd signed up on a whim and, truth be told, I felt somewhat assaulted by these demands for immediate nomenclature. I recalled my only previous semi-successful attempt at keeping a blog, something about a future generation, taken from a Chicks On Speed song that I didn't at the time know was a cover of the B-52s, despite it featuring most notably on an EP called 'Chix-52'. 'Blog For A Future Generation' - it was a dumb name, I certainly wouldn't be repurposing it.

Over the next few days, I was harassed by automated emails, encouraging me to continue the creation of my new blog, and each time another one came through, I tried to think what on earth I wanted to write about. Again, my mind kept drifting back to my only previous semi-successful attempt at keeping a blog, trying to remember what I used to post. I recalled a painfully ill-informed collection of posts about cyberpunk - these days, one Sprawl Trilogy and a Matrix later, I cringe at the thought of considering myself some kind of aficionado on the matter, when I now realise I've still not amounted to more than a mere novice. The only other thing I could remember were music reviews. I didn't remember the actual albums I'd appraised, but I remembered the system I used to do so - tracks were rated in order of preference, and colour-coded for easy categorisation.

Having been a longtime dweller on 'what my all-time favourite album is', I started to think about how this colour-coding could actually be implemented practically. If the colours represented preference, perhaps I could assign each colour a value, therefore giving each album a total score which could be averaged and used for comparison, in turn quantifying the qualitative data I was collecting. Furthermore, a recent foray (recent as in about the same amount of time I've been a novel reader, since around 2017) into Japanese pop music of the 80s, retroactively umbrella'd under the term 'City Pop', has had me itching to speak about the subject for quite some time. But my struggle to mentally integrate this genre into the eclectic sea of 'other music' I'm interested in has prevented me from doing so thus far. But a blog with a systematic tiering solution would be ideal for comparing all the music together. It just needed, as Wordpress kept reminding me, a name. I settled on 'The Sound System'.

Wordpress, I soon discovered, is an impractical and impenetrable Rubik's cube of a website. Several features are obscured behind mysterious paywalls, with very little indication to a layman of what unlocking them will actually facilitate. Demos make basic operations look simple, but illogical layouts, unexplained terminology and a maze-like 'structure' soon render any tutorials useless. Worst of all, googling the solutions to your rudimentary queries is utterly futile, as even the most recent of troubleshooting guides (labeled 2021) are outdated, and the screencaps used as an example do not even begin to correspond to the latest 'version' that you're desperately trying to navigate.

Frustration overcoming me, I gave up. If I couldn't simply individually colour items in a list, the whole idea would be snuffed. Then it hit me in the face - I could simply do this. I'd done it before! I googled 'Blogger' and found that not only did it still exist but that, presumably through the magic of Google accounts linking together, I was already logged in and ready to go! I had a quick skim - it was every bit as cringe-worthy as expected, but my flare and verbal prowess were both sharper than I'd recalled. If all this can be archived, I thought, I'll settle here. Fuck Wordpress.

And here we are. All previous posts 'redrafted' (not deleted, you never know when you'll need something from the archive) and the blog soon to be visually transformed with a slightly less ostentatious fascia. And renamed, of course, to match its repurposing. And so it's time for the Blog For A Future Generation to climb into the time capsule, to be forgotten by all civilisation and never unearthed again. Whether or not the reader of this new venture is of a future generation, I hope you'll join me on whatever this new musical journey turns out to be. Let's be honest though, it sounds like it'll probably be tediously formulaic.

Oh, and yes. Blogger is so much easier to use. Once again, fuck Wordpress.