Feeling the full force of “the syndrome” this dull-ass Monday afternoon, kids. We say dull-ass because (a) its fun to say and (b) the weather is a bit shit against the already-rather gloomy backdrop of Camden Town. The syndrome refers to our seemingly unique ability to perpetuate hangovers a lot longer than what most people would consider normal. It went down like this: Saturday night. University crew reunion in Old Street, coinciding with the last Six Nations game that would later see England achieve a grand slam for the first time in many moons (in pretty much anything, we might add, before you knock rugby union as a sport). You work out what happened next. And if you can’t, imagine us passing out on top of you (in a seriously not-very-kinky-or-attractive-or-remotely-intentional way) and you not being able to wake us the hell up after we arrive back at our flat at 5am reeking of Glenfiddich and various assorted lager brands. It got that festive. Quite frankly we’re surprised we didn’t wake up in anything more sinister than our own sweat and pain. Add to this that typically people over the age of 30 suffer way worse hangovers than everyone else (take note, you 20-somethings. It will happen to you, and when that day comes we will laugh), perhaps we actually deserve some props for firstly somehow navigating ourselves home in the rather-obvious state we were in during the occasion itself, and for tipping up to work at all today. Sincere thanks to the Finn for firstly attempting to look after us on Sunday when we really couldn’t do very much at all, and also not taking the piss out of us for our alleged sleeping malfeasances during the night in question. So, something smooth is required, stat. Good thing Toronto’s BLAJK are about. Although how the bloody fuck you pronounce that is beyond our already quite-diminished ability to understand basically anything at all. Perhaps it does actually say “black” and we’ve gone fucking mad. It is possible. Anything is. For example, BLAJK make it possible to take a standard bedding of electro-driven indie, burgeoning on the R’n’B end of things that makes people wanna get to know you a bit better, and take it in a direction that isn’t a pain in the dick to get one’s head around. Current Track Of The Day French Class fits into this context, we believe – and neatly follows in some rather elaborate footsteps left by a bunch of people ranging from Chet Faker, Joseph Salvat and Jack Garratt on one hand, to Coasts and Hurts on an entirely different one. They also remind us a bit of previous Track Of The Day and/or KM compilation men Beach Season, which makes us happy.
BLAJK – French Class