Manchester Club Academy 25/02/12
Rolling into Manchester off yet another junction and appearing just where we wanted to be at the appointed time felt great. I had a spring in my step anyway from hearing this Swedish sibling pair's latest album and the amzing harmonies, the love-lorn lyrics and retro country folk feel. There's always room for more of that, especially when it's executed with such untainted simplicity.
Just the two of them and a drummer means that the gorgeous pedal steel of the record is not in evidence but this is all about the voices and especially that of older sister Joanna Soderberg. With influences as overt as theirs (the third song in is entitled 'Emmylou' and Joni Mitchell isn't far away in 'Blue') there is no hint of Swedishness in either their singing or spoken words, and Joanna is like Linda Ronstadt in her prime with a range that straddles a delicate falsetto and a big booming lower register, underpinned by the seamless harmonies of the younger Klara.
It's a typical 'new country' crowd, with plenty of older types who, like me, have had their appetite for live music regenerated by the guilt-free nostalgia of young bands discovering their own identity by delving back to the likes of Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris. It's also a very noisy crowd and the volume is gradually turned up to counteract the hubbub at the back of the room. Only for an unamplified 'Ghost Town' do they get the quiet needed to allow the pastoral messages of their lyrics to penetrate and after that it's business as usual as people go back to their animated conversations.
I close my eyes and focus on the music. This enables me to by-pass the antics of a couple of idiots with cameras in front of me and eventually I'm able to filter out the background noise. 'In The Hearts Of Men', 'The Lion's Roar' - these are sophisticated songs with observations on life that should come from older hearts than these twenty somethings. The purity of their voices is etched with a world weariness that can only have come from a close scrutiny of the Nashville tradition but it's because of their youth that the tales of broken marriages ('This Old Routine') lack emotional authenticity. As beautiful as their sound is, there is a depth required that can only come from putting more years on the board. Still, this is a chulish point when set against the talent and the confidence - even with the least attentive of audiences they were unphased and undoubtedly set for bigger things on festival stages during the summer.
Sunday 26 February 2012
Thursday 23 February 2012
Real Estate
Brudenell Social Club, Leeds 17/02/12
I've stopped wondering how it is these young men in skinny jeans find their way to making music that harks back to an era well before they were born. It didn't used to happen. Maybe there's just less music to go round these days as all the chord sequences get used up. Maybe it's down to parents or older siblings with impeccable record collections and the commercial realisation that there is a huge market out there if a band can generate cross generational attention. This theory is reflected in the demographic at the Brudenell tonight. Boys and girls young enough to be my offspring and grizzled old fogies who have worked out that this is the closest they'll get to The Byrds (they even play a song called 'Younger Than Yesterday'). It's sold out and sweaty - and when the Brudenell does sweat there is no alternative but to resignedly stew in it.
Which is all doing Real Estate a disservice because they sound absolutely fresh and up to date with an energy and a determination far removed from the bloated egos that dogged some of the '60s groups who pioneered the early American guitar sound in the wake of The Beatles.
Their trademark is an atmospheric guitar effect that owes as much to Johnny Marr as it does to Roger McGuinn. A swell of major chords builds crescendos which create blissful, oceanic soundscapes that transport the songs in waves. It is underpinned by a propulsive and deleriously repetitive bass that lends heft and muscle to the floating voice of Martin Courtney. The drums skitter and then thud as momentum builds. The poppier tunes from their latest album 'Days' ('Easy', 'It's Real') sit nicely alongside their earlier, more indulgent work ('Suburban Dogs', 'Green River'). The music is clean cut and summery but underscored with a frightening professionalism - they are rehearsed to the hilt but the looseness of the song structures convey an instinctive, natural feel. Some of it feels improvised but is undoubtedly not.
They play for just over an hour, which in this unlikely February heat is probably no bad thing. Keep the audience wanting more - no doubt they inherited that foolproof showbiz mainstay from the likes of the portly David Crosby who, if he's managed to see this band, would, I'm sure, approve.
Here's a nice little YT clip, thanks to JuneJuneJune for it
I've stopped wondering how it is these young men in skinny jeans find their way to making music that harks back to an era well before they were born. It didn't used to happen. Maybe there's just less music to go round these days as all the chord sequences get used up. Maybe it's down to parents or older siblings with impeccable record collections and the commercial realisation that there is a huge market out there if a band can generate cross generational attention. This theory is reflected in the demographic at the Brudenell tonight. Boys and girls young enough to be my offspring and grizzled old fogies who have worked out that this is the closest they'll get to The Byrds (they even play a song called 'Younger Than Yesterday'). It's sold out and sweaty - and when the Brudenell does sweat there is no alternative but to resignedly stew in it.
Which is all doing Real Estate a disservice because they sound absolutely fresh and up to date with an energy and a determination far removed from the bloated egos that dogged some of the '60s groups who pioneered the early American guitar sound in the wake of The Beatles.
Their trademark is an atmospheric guitar effect that owes as much to Johnny Marr as it does to Roger McGuinn. A swell of major chords builds crescendos which create blissful, oceanic soundscapes that transport the songs in waves. It is underpinned by a propulsive and deleriously repetitive bass that lends heft and muscle to the floating voice of Martin Courtney. The drums skitter and then thud as momentum builds. The poppier tunes from their latest album 'Days' ('Easy', 'It's Real') sit nicely alongside their earlier, more indulgent work ('Suburban Dogs', 'Green River'). The music is clean cut and summery but underscored with a frightening professionalism - they are rehearsed to the hilt but the looseness of the song structures convey an instinctive, natural feel. Some of it feels improvised but is undoubtedly not.
They play for just over an hour, which in this unlikely February heat is probably no bad thing. Keep the audience wanting more - no doubt they inherited that foolproof showbiz mainstay from the likes of the portly David Crosby who, if he's managed to see this band, would, I'm sure, approve.
Here's a nice little YT clip, thanks to JuneJuneJune for it
Monday 20 February 2012
Dawes
Manchester Academy 3 - 18/01/12
I'd seen Delta Spirit, I'd seen Deer Tick. So when I heard that the lead singers from those bands had formed a 'supergroup' called Middle Brother with their counterpart in a band called Dawes I guessed it would be a safe bet that his band would also tick the right boxes. They also seemed well connected, with members of Wilco and the Heartbreakers guesting on their records and they've backed Jackson Browne and Jonathan Wilson. Anyway, I had to go see them. The latest album, Nothing Is Wrong, was one of my favourites of last year.
The smallest room in the Manchester Academy right at the top of the building has plenty of space to spare. Curiously there are some small children in attendance, just next to us about six feet from the stage. The vintage analogue amplifiers, the Hammond organ and the lived-in guitars that are strewn across the stage look like they should belong to a band of grizzled veterans, and not some 20 somethings on one of their first tours of the UK. This is the clue to their music - country folk rock that smartens up the 70s California sound that seemed to come and go just as Joe Walsh joined The Eagles and everything lost its innocence.
They have a great energy about them. Taylor Goldsmith is an endearing front man, all smiles and not a little like The Boss as he lunges forward towards the edge of the stage with a low slung guitar. His voice is confident and full and the songs allow him plenty of space to express his careworn lyrics. The sound is unashamedly retro - a gorgeous Hammond swell fills out the guitar and drums - Griffin Goldsmith is quite a sight, feeling every beat with outrageous facial ticks, jumping from his stool at the merest brush on the snare - he also has a voice as good as his brother's and you can tell the two have harmonised since, well, birth.
They are having a great time and the chilly crowd warms up towards the end. The album opener - 'Time Spent In Los Angeles' - closes the show and it's just a great, feel good song - deserving of an open Chevy and the Pacific in the background rather than the dingy brickwork of a student union in northern England. An incongrous encore of Paul Simon's 'Kodachrome' draws a line under a fine, fine gig.
I leave imagining how much better they'll be in a year or so's time. They are outstanding musicians who are bound to improve as they play to bigger crowds. For now, there is something endearing about the goofy stagecraft and the wall to wall smiles, the sheer pleasure in what they do.
Another trip back across the frozen Pennines, with those damn speed restrictions in place, zips past like we're roller skating past Venice beach (no, really).
I'd seen Delta Spirit, I'd seen Deer Tick. So when I heard that the lead singers from those bands had formed a 'supergroup' called Middle Brother with their counterpart in a band called Dawes I guessed it would be a safe bet that his band would also tick the right boxes. They also seemed well connected, with members of Wilco and the Heartbreakers guesting on their records and they've backed Jackson Browne and Jonathan Wilson. Anyway, I had to go see them. The latest album, Nothing Is Wrong, was one of my favourites of last year.
The smallest room in the Manchester Academy right at the top of the building has plenty of space to spare. Curiously there are some small children in attendance, just next to us about six feet from the stage. The vintage analogue amplifiers, the Hammond organ and the lived-in guitars that are strewn across the stage look like they should belong to a band of grizzled veterans, and not some 20 somethings on one of their first tours of the UK. This is the clue to their music - country folk rock that smartens up the 70s California sound that seemed to come and go just as Joe Walsh joined The Eagles and everything lost its innocence.
They have a great energy about them. Taylor Goldsmith is an endearing front man, all smiles and not a little like The Boss as he lunges forward towards the edge of the stage with a low slung guitar. His voice is confident and full and the songs allow him plenty of space to express his careworn lyrics. The sound is unashamedly retro - a gorgeous Hammond swell fills out the guitar and drums - Griffin Goldsmith is quite a sight, feeling every beat with outrageous facial ticks, jumping from his stool at the merest brush on the snare - he also has a voice as good as his brother's and you can tell the two have harmonised since, well, birth.
They are having a great time and the chilly crowd warms up towards the end. The album opener - 'Time Spent In Los Angeles' - closes the show and it's just a great, feel good song - deserving of an open Chevy and the Pacific in the background rather than the dingy brickwork of a student union in northern England. An incongrous encore of Paul Simon's 'Kodachrome' draws a line under a fine, fine gig.
I leave imagining how much better they'll be in a year or so's time. They are outstanding musicians who are bound to improve as they play to bigger crowds. For now, there is something endearing about the goofy stagecraft and the wall to wall smiles, the sheer pleasure in what they do.
Another trip back across the frozen Pennines, with those damn speed restrictions in place, zips past like we're roller skating past Venice beach (no, really).
Sunday 12 February 2012
Friday 10 February 2012
Michael Chapman
Brudenell Social Club, Leeds - 9.02.12
Benign hyprocrisy becomes me, it doesn't invoke any guilt. So I can happily make my way to my favourite music venue to mingle with learned musos, grizzled folk veterans and guitar afficionados and nod along in the right places, all the time looking as if I am cerebrally attached to the thought processes of people far cleverer than me. See what I did there? What a hypocrite.
The name of Michael Chapman was on the edge of my consciousness. I knew of his existence. It took a conversation with the highly professional musician Hans Chew last year to bring him into focus. So a New Yorker turned me onto a guy from my home town of Leeds (Hunslet to be precise).
The re-release of his 1970 LP 'Fully Qualified Survivor' and the announcement of his show at the Brudenell seemed the time for me to explore his work more fully and goodness me what an album it is. Mick Ronson's guitar lends it an unmistakeable Ziggy Stardust sound and the gravelly passion in the Chapman voice brings an authenticity that is neither folk or rock, just the personal genre of a man writing and singing about what he knows. No surprise that another of his albums is entitled 'Millstone Grit' - the stone out of which they built Leeds Town Hall.
It's another freezing night and the Brudenell is sparse. No matter, within minutes I'm talking to two people I've not seen for 15 years, just as my gig buddy for the night (Mark) arrives.
Chapman is a sprightly 71 and the stage is just him and two acoustic guitars. His playing is other worldly. I have no technical insight into his style or method but the complex and multi-layered soundscapes he conjures are hypnotic and beguiling. The atmospheres invoke worlds I have never visited and the smoky drawl of his half-spoken vocal speak of many lives lived. In between songs he takes us down some tales of life on the road and the many places he has been. He describes (without bitterness) how Jimmy Page used his song 'Kodak Ghosts' as the template for 'Stairway To Heaven'. As he plays it, they seem identical and I can't be the first to wonder how and why a lawyer has never been involved in proving so. 'The Twisted Road' he dedicates to peers and friends he has lost along the way. There is a warmth and humour to the show - despite his observation that he gets more nervous playing in his home town than anywhere else.
I suppose he is the fully qualified survivor - but he wouldn't have known that all those years ago. The reception he gets from the quiet and knowledgable crowd is enthusiastic - 90 minutes of stellar guitar exhibitionism that remains inherently natural and modest.
I'm pleased to have seen him, and to have put another small building block in place in my ongoing quest for guitar credibility.
http://www.michaelchapman.co.uk/index.htm
Benign hyprocrisy becomes me, it doesn't invoke any guilt. So I can happily make my way to my favourite music venue to mingle with learned musos, grizzled folk veterans and guitar afficionados and nod along in the right places, all the time looking as if I am cerebrally attached to the thought processes of people far cleverer than me. See what I did there? What a hypocrite.
The name of Michael Chapman was on the edge of my consciousness. I knew of his existence. It took a conversation with the highly professional musician Hans Chew last year to bring him into focus. So a New Yorker turned me onto a guy from my home town of Leeds (Hunslet to be precise).
The re-release of his 1970 LP 'Fully Qualified Survivor' and the announcement of his show at the Brudenell seemed the time for me to explore his work more fully and goodness me what an album it is. Mick Ronson's guitar lends it an unmistakeable Ziggy Stardust sound and the gravelly passion in the Chapman voice brings an authenticity that is neither folk or rock, just the personal genre of a man writing and singing about what he knows. No surprise that another of his albums is entitled 'Millstone Grit' - the stone out of which they built Leeds Town Hall.
It's another freezing night and the Brudenell is sparse. No matter, within minutes I'm talking to two people I've not seen for 15 years, just as my gig buddy for the night (Mark) arrives.
Chapman is a sprightly 71 and the stage is just him and two acoustic guitars. His playing is other worldly. I have no technical insight into his style or method but the complex and multi-layered soundscapes he conjures are hypnotic and beguiling. The atmospheres invoke worlds I have never visited and the smoky drawl of his half-spoken vocal speak of many lives lived. In between songs he takes us down some tales of life on the road and the many places he has been. He describes (without bitterness) how Jimmy Page used his song 'Kodak Ghosts' as the template for 'Stairway To Heaven'. As he plays it, they seem identical and I can't be the first to wonder how and why a lawyer has never been involved in proving so. 'The Twisted Road' he dedicates to peers and friends he has lost along the way. There is a warmth and humour to the show - despite his observation that he gets more nervous playing in his home town than anywhere else.
I suppose he is the fully qualified survivor - but he wouldn't have known that all those years ago. The reception he gets from the quiet and knowledgable crowd is enthusiastic - 90 minutes of stellar guitar exhibitionism that remains inherently natural and modest.
I'm pleased to have seen him, and to have put another small building block in place in my ongoing quest for guitar credibility.
http://www.michaelchapman.co.uk/index.htm
Tuesday 7 February 2012
Chuck Prophet - Castro Halloween
'Live' update - when Prophet's tour was announced it was a straightforward decision to get tickets to see him in Manchester AND Leeds. After last night's gig at the Deaf Institute, two sightings may not be enough to keep me going until the next time he comes to the UK.
I'll keep it brief as I'm planning a more detailed piece on the Leeds show in May but...I doubt I'll see a better gig all year. I think he played seven - maybe eight - from the new album and they all held up alongside the older material. What connects me to this guy is his open-eyed delight at what he does, the sheer unadulterated joy in how he goes about his business. His guitar technique is world class, as the closing encore surf indulgence ("the national anthem of California") and countless startling passages of interplay and effortless solos proved. It's power pop with balls, a muscular Flamin' Groovies that twangs, that rocks and which gives the audience permission to leave cares and resentments at the door - for the next two hours just ENJOY.
There are still a few dates left to see this vastly under-valued performer, and I'm going to a minimum of two. More here in May.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was a 2,4,6,8 Motorway moment - in 1978 when Radio 1's Kid Jensen played the Tom Robinson smash hit for the first time and then played it again... and again - eventually citing 'playlist responsibilities' as the only reason he didn't spin it for the rest of his show. I took Chuck Prophet's new album on a run this morning and the second track - Castro Halloween - kept me company on repeat for the next 10 kilometers.
Songs grab me - I still get shivers at the opening chords of London Calling or the jazzy drum breakdown on Born To Run, just before the '1,2,3,4' and this song has, well, grabbed me.
Maybe it's because I've listened to a lot of his music in the past five years or so and feel like I know a bit about him - how he cares about what he does but, as importantly, how his songs demonstrate how he cares for other people, the underdogs he meets along the way. His songs are personal/ universal with human messages rooted in the reality of people's lives.
Maybe it grabbed me because of the lines :-
"Did I dream you up or did you dream me/ Is there any place else you would rather be?"
This is a such a beautifully put together expression of love - it's bursting with gratitude and modesty and I nearly choked.
Or maybe it's because he's thrown the kitchen sink at this song. The guitars melt in and out of each other, the backing vocals soar, there are bells, there is a plaintive George Harrison guitar line which eats into the synapses. And there is Prophet's honey-coated, bloodhound voice - rich and authentic. Towards the end as the song goes reflective there is a sudden exhilarating 'HUH' which signals the climactic guitar melt down and then it fades out, thrillingly.
However it happens to have grabbed me Castro Halloween is a perfectly constructed piece of intelligent pop that works on every level. I haven't got past this track so there are still ten more to get to know, so I'll take those out on my run tomorrow.
Album: Temple Beautiful - Chuck Prophet (Yep Roc)
http://chuckprophet.com/
http://www.daytrotter.com/#!/concert/chuck-prophet/20031036-1295
I'll keep it brief as I'm planning a more detailed piece on the Leeds show in May but...I doubt I'll see a better gig all year. I think he played seven - maybe eight - from the new album and they all held up alongside the older material. What connects me to this guy is his open-eyed delight at what he does, the sheer unadulterated joy in how he goes about his business. His guitar technique is world class, as the closing encore surf indulgence ("the national anthem of California") and countless startling passages of interplay and effortless solos proved. It's power pop with balls, a muscular Flamin' Groovies that twangs, that rocks and which gives the audience permission to leave cares and resentments at the door - for the next two hours just ENJOY.
There are still a few dates left to see this vastly under-valued performer, and I'm going to a minimum of two. More here in May.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was a 2,4,6,8 Motorway moment - in 1978 when Radio 1's Kid Jensen played the Tom Robinson smash hit for the first time and then played it again... and again - eventually citing 'playlist responsibilities' as the only reason he didn't spin it for the rest of his show. I took Chuck Prophet's new album on a run this morning and the second track - Castro Halloween - kept me company on repeat for the next 10 kilometers.
Songs grab me - I still get shivers at the opening chords of London Calling or the jazzy drum breakdown on Born To Run, just before the '1,2,3,4' and this song has, well, grabbed me.
Maybe it's because I've listened to a lot of his music in the past five years or so and feel like I know a bit about him - how he cares about what he does but, as importantly, how his songs demonstrate how he cares for other people, the underdogs he meets along the way. His songs are personal/ universal with human messages rooted in the reality of people's lives.
Maybe it grabbed me because of the lines :-
"Did I dream you up or did you dream me/ Is there any place else you would rather be?"
This is a such a beautifully put together expression of love - it's bursting with gratitude and modesty and I nearly choked.
Or maybe it's because he's thrown the kitchen sink at this song. The guitars melt in and out of each other, the backing vocals soar, there are bells, there is a plaintive George Harrison guitar line which eats into the synapses. And there is Prophet's honey-coated, bloodhound voice - rich and authentic. Towards the end as the song goes reflective there is a sudden exhilarating 'HUH' which signals the climactic guitar melt down and then it fades out, thrillingly.
However it happens to have grabbed me Castro Halloween is a perfectly constructed piece of intelligent pop that works on every level. I haven't got past this track so there are still ten more to get to know, so I'll take those out on my run tomorrow.
Album: Temple Beautiful - Chuck Prophet (Yep Roc)
http://www.daytrotter.com/#!/concert/chuck-prophet/20031036-1295
Friday 3 February 2012
Jonathan Wilson
Ruby Lounge, Manchester 1/02/12
Across to a dank and freezing Manchester for an artist I saw twice last year support Wilco. Wilson's music comes from the California to where Steinbeck's pilgrims headed west in the Great Depression to pluck the oranges from the trees. Tonight it's hoodies and North Face fleeces and an audience of a certain age attracted by the retro Laurel Canyon sound of his album 'Gentle Spirit' and its evocations of CS&N and Jackson Browne.
But when he ambles on at 9.40 and the band kicks in behind him it's immmediately clear that this isn't going to be a wistful aural gaze out to the Pacific Ocean but a decisively connected experience during which he will determinedly showcase his frighteningly impressive guitar technique and take jazzy, improvised excursions that the 1970s Californians seldom attempted. He has a wide attention span and demands the same of his audience.
The likes of CS&N were occasionally political standard bearers. The nearest Wilson gets to this is the opener - 'Can We Really Party Today?' - a rhetorical statement set in context by the next line - 'with all that's going on...' He seems so laid back and at ease I'm sure he'll accept whatever comes his way, party or a quiet night in.
Four numbers in and I can sense an understated power behind the langourous melodies and the benign vocals. Sure enough, when he straps on his electric guitar it's the signal for a startling series of effortless solos. One minute he brings to mind Joe Walsh ('Rolling Universe') and the next David Gilmour ('Natural Rhapsody'). There is a langour and a blissful ease with which his band sits in behind him, a prominent Hammond organ adds texture and space to a sound which wraps itself around the venue - I close my eyes for minutes at a time and it's a feeling close to meditation.
There is an honesty about Wilson which is endearing. He unshamedly evokes a hippy era which is very nostalgic for a lot of people. The stage is strewn with vintage analogue equipment and the instruments have the appearance of being used to death by a travelling band. Towards the end of the two hour set they put their foot down and it goes a bit Crazy Horse - unfortunately Wilson hasn't got the rasp or the vocal power of Neil Young and he looks more comfortable hunched over his guitar. The trade-off with the other lead guitar never quite approaches the telepathy of Verlaine and Lloyd but the convergence on the complex and addictive melodic figure that underpins 'Desert Raven' is hypnotic.
We head back to Leeds just before midnight and into and over the Pennine mist. Not quite the romance with which Wilson imbues his semi-spiritual journeys into the heart of nowhere but the experience must have rubbed off on me somehow as even the protracted M62 speed restrictions fail to impact on my wonderfully serene view of the world.
Across to a dank and freezing Manchester for an artist I saw twice last year support Wilco. Wilson's music comes from the California to where Steinbeck's pilgrims headed west in the Great Depression to pluck the oranges from the trees. Tonight it's hoodies and North Face fleeces and an audience of a certain age attracted by the retro Laurel Canyon sound of his album 'Gentle Spirit' and its evocations of CS&N and Jackson Browne.
But when he ambles on at 9.40 and the band kicks in behind him it's immmediately clear that this isn't going to be a wistful aural gaze out to the Pacific Ocean but a decisively connected experience during which he will determinedly showcase his frighteningly impressive guitar technique and take jazzy, improvised excursions that the 1970s Californians seldom attempted. He has a wide attention span and demands the same of his audience.
The likes of CS&N were occasionally political standard bearers. The nearest Wilson gets to this is the opener - 'Can We Really Party Today?' - a rhetorical statement set in context by the next line - 'with all that's going on...' He seems so laid back and at ease I'm sure he'll accept whatever comes his way, party or a quiet night in.
Four numbers in and I can sense an understated power behind the langourous melodies and the benign vocals. Sure enough, when he straps on his electric guitar it's the signal for a startling series of effortless solos. One minute he brings to mind Joe Walsh ('Rolling Universe') and the next David Gilmour ('Natural Rhapsody'). There is a langour and a blissful ease with which his band sits in behind him, a prominent Hammond organ adds texture and space to a sound which wraps itself around the venue - I close my eyes for minutes at a time and it's a feeling close to meditation.
There is an honesty about Wilson which is endearing. He unshamedly evokes a hippy era which is very nostalgic for a lot of people. The stage is strewn with vintage analogue equipment and the instruments have the appearance of being used to death by a travelling band. Towards the end of the two hour set they put their foot down and it goes a bit Crazy Horse - unfortunately Wilson hasn't got the rasp or the vocal power of Neil Young and he looks more comfortable hunched over his guitar. The trade-off with the other lead guitar never quite approaches the telepathy of Verlaine and Lloyd but the convergence on the complex and addictive melodic figure that underpins 'Desert Raven' is hypnotic.
We head back to Leeds just before midnight and into and over the Pennine mist. Not quite the romance with which Wilson imbues his semi-spiritual journeys into the heart of nowhere but the experience must have rubbed off on me somehow as even the protracted M62 speed restrictions fail to impact on my wonderfully serene view of the world.
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