They say that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Well, actually we’re not entirely sure who “they” are anymore, mainly as we have found ourselves uttering that phrase to some and sundry for at least a year or so. Funnily enough, it is a year to the day that we were last in more or less this exact same position – albeit two rooms down from the very-precise location that we last wrote from Barcelona, owing to a, um, passenger name malfunction on this occasion and Jen Long has occupied our traditional spot (can two stints be considered a tradition? Seems that way) – in terms of physical exertion, and a mental state that can only be described as a head full of questions. Stuff like, what the hell were we thinking? What did we get 200 euros out for? How come the only thing we can think of food-wise is Telepizza and drink-wise Jack Daniels? Why couldn’t we keep our fucking mouths shut for the sake of the greater good, or indeed why can’t we ever do that? Yeah. We’re sure we’re not alone in perpetual state of questioning. Basically, Primavera is the quintessential hipster fest – and it’s up to you whether that’s a good thing or not – and indeed they’ve made short films shown in and around the arena throughout the event alluding to this socio-emotional headfuckery (portrayed as some kid frustratingly breaking his skateboard even though he is clearly wicked-cool at that stuff because he simply wants to get out of dodge; some guy wondering around the mean streets of Brooklyn with a think-about-life look slapped all over his Chevy Chase and a bewilderment about how he ever ended up in such a situation; a girl suggestively looking at her presumably-platonic male friend in a way that suggests they are something more during a big-ass sunset, that kind of shit). Kinda like they’re taking some presumptuous personal hipster-emo drama and then selling it to you for 5 euros a pop, or 11 euros if you want a small vat of it. Was it intense? Clearly. Did we love it? Absofuckinglutely. Kendrick Lamar was fucking rad, and The National changed our whole perspective on shit. Arcade Fire gotta turn that shit up next time, particularly with the songs we actually know and/or like. Or not. They can seemingly do whatever they like these days. Anyway. Going back to hell and the best intentions bit, which we mean more in relation to the rationale for this blog post in its two-part generality as far as we’re concerned (lyrics above, music at the bottom) and very little else, one member of our party-party Jeremy Lloyd simply has not shut up about this guy Allman Brown for the duration of this trip. He gave us some stats – some syncs here, a bazillion spotify plays there, something to do with our matey Stevie Red-Man’s label Akira. Clearly, we have not been paying the closest degree of attention to these numbers. Or rather we cannot remember them now. He then played us Ancient Light and we dig. We dig hard. Particularly now, given it’s instilling a Lion King style sunrise vibe in our mind’s eye, which is particularly poignant seeing as we have indeed seen the sun rise several times over the last 72 hours. He’s also got a pretty tight video for an older track called Sons & Daughters, which – we shit you not – is more or less on a cinamatographic par with the Primavera short film we were banging on about above. Pretty emo. In the same way we’d expect from from the likes of Damien Rice, Ajimal, Keaton Henson, Jake Mattison – generally the sort of sensey acoustic stuff that we’re now deeming Jerry-music in honour of Jeremy Lloyd. Enjoy. See you soon London. For now, we beach.
Allman Brown – Ancient Light[youtube=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eru8DlHoOFM]