feeling listless

Life I mentioned this other other day but now it's becoming quite disturbing. I can't review music. I just sat down to write about the really good, Lisa Ekdahl sings Salvadore Poe and I ended up talking about Breakfast at Tiffanys and summer days. I can write a potted history of the album and the singer (seventh album of the Gold record selling Swedish singing the words and music of her New York husband Poe) but when it comes to talking about what's there I don't know where to begin.

Perhaps its my frame of reference; I'd end up comparing it to Norah Jones or easy listening music like Andy Williams, or the soundtrack to some film by Douglas Sirk. But that's not really reviewing. I don't really have a frame of reference because I haven't heard anything else by her. I look through the writing in Word magazine or Q and it all seems to effortless, and although I can follow what is being done, replicating it is another matter.

So this is why, although I have a large music collection I hardly every writie about any of it. Saying how much something reminds you of something else doesn't really feel like a review. Perhaps needless pretentiously I could say that I speak the language of film instead -- I can talk about films forever. When I finish the odd book I can somehow manage to write something about that. But music is different. I have, I suppose, the same reaction as some have to art. I know what I like and I think I know what is good and what isn't.

All of which feels like a massive apology. So in the future I might just stick in a recommendation without any great depth if that's alright. I think this works...

Music Lisa Ekdahl sings Salvadore Poe or The Carpenters do jazz as a husband gets his million cd selling wife to sing some songs. The perfect track for couples having a candlelit dinner or for a summer afternoon in the park, or for singles looking to be awoken by something fresh and breezy in the morning. Just the right side of the 'spirit of the Punto'. Favourite lyric: We can talk in circles / Going round in a million ways / And never understand."