rxc

RXC
“Gold”

It’s been a while, the bloke from Staind once said in between doshing out insults to his old mate Wes Borland. Indeed I have picked up a great deal of otherwise-useless trivia and factoids along the course of the last year or so whereby I haven’t written on the blog at all, instead delegating this to our illustrious label manager Olivia who has gone on very much to make this blog her own – having just struggled for the last hour to work out what the new logins to wordpress are, and indeed working out why images such as the above uploaded in a much smaller size than download, thus rendering the resolution all shitty. What else have I learned? To write in the first-person I suppose. I was coming at y’all with “we” and “us” that I suppose the whole enterprise was rather reflective of how one can lose their own identity in the brand they’re painstakingly trying to build. A lot of things have changed around here, since I last put keyboard to blog. Certain people who were here before are not any more, for not too dissimilar reasons, for example. A lot of things have not, at the same time. The net effect of the change:not change ratio is, for right now, very much a positive one. For the last month or two in particular, I have finally succumbed to this notion that perhaps I am not the same person I was circa one decade ago, and not in the way that exists between the pillars of narcissism and nihilism as perhaps has cropped up in similar instances prior to this point. This part will be called “qualitative selfishness”, and generally rediscovering the things I do, on my own, that make me happy back at a point when I genuinely didn’t give a fuck what anyone else thought of me or what I got up to. I suppose implied in that is the realisation that I haven’t really been what’s conventionally referred to as “happy” for an empirically long time, and that happiness cannot be derived by sourcing it from other people contrary to what I very much led myself to believe. “Just be yourself”, they say. That rests on the assumption that you know who you are in the first place. Turns out I hate KFC. Can you fucking believe that? Nearly a decade (probably longer, to be honest) under the delicious influence of the Colonel, and his close associates The King, Ronald, and of late any given American-themed BBQ restaurant (chain or otherwise, so long as the burger bun is brioche), and it turns out I fucking don’t like fast food any more. Or I’ve discovered the virtues of a little self-restraint; that change is not only desirable but necessary on the unfurling of one’s own quest to become an actual person at some point. The cessation of smoking weed out of choice and not because I can’t carry the damn thing across international borders (I mean, I’m brown enough as it is as far as certain immigration officers are concerned) but more out of the desire to, y’know, just give it all a fucking rest is rather fulfilling. Realisations of my own addictions feel more profound once I’ve actually enjoyed REM sleep for the first time in a long one. I hope to keep this all up. Anyway, drawing on the “I’m writing on the KM blog” thing and indeed in furtherance of doing things I enjoy rather than out of the expectation (internal or otherwise) that other people just want me to do them, may as well kick off with one of the last artists I blogged about some time ago, namely RXC and the Bristolian’s new one called Gold. In the chosen aesthetic our gal is going for these days, similar to our situation she seems down with revealing who she really is these days, which is delightful to see. Musically, this is the sort of soundtrack to the weekend just gone past where you could in fact be mistaken for feeling you weren’t in London any more, and laying on your back staring straight up at a summer blue sky is actually considered a good use of one’s time. That all means we think this is rad. Also, she might drop the visuals to this track today according to her social media as-of one hour ago. Maybe I’ll update this post accordingly. Who knows. You do you. I’ll do me. Jeah.

– Ach


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