James Canty_FI

James Canty

James Canty

Well, that took a day to slip right back into. Our fast-food addiction, we mean. Last night, we were so good. We were almost an adult. We went to the bloody shop and bought these things called foodstuffs. We cooked the foodstuffs. We felt pretty good about it and ourselves before during and after. Then today happened. See, what you want to do when you’re running around London like a plank with a particular artist in tow, is align all the labels on one day, and all the publishers on another day. If the twain shall meet, which clearly we have allowed it to do today, this means you will spend half the time dicking around Kensington and just have enough to make it back to HQ just so you can leave again straight away for the other meetings which are someplace completely different. As a result, we have done next to fuck-all work today, having just caught up with everything yesterday. Anyway, our meager contribution to somewhat more-visible productivity today comes in form of this-here write-up on a guy called James Canty. He is from Essex, but hangs around in Liverpool with his mate Joe Wills with whom he makes music such as the track we are talking about right now. We told him we would put this up on the blog yesterday, but we fucked up and put something else up instead. Sorry, James. So, anyway, James’ initial contact with us alluded to the the rationale behind why and/or how he churns out music which is largely fulled by “fighting off disillusionment with a sword of fire…countless set backs, cock ups, let downs, dead ends, blow outs, whiskies, take-aways and existential debates”. Well, god damn. A man after our own heart. We could well be mistaken for quoting ourselves just then. With such a strong look and/or production style, coupled with subjective comparisons to the makings of Malpas, Alt-J, with perhaps an indie-style delivery that reminds certain people in this office of Jake Bugg, we’re fully planning on keeping one of our numerous metaphorical eyeballs on this guy for the forseeable.

James Canty – Strangers

Post a new comment