There are not many bands that vex me. There is Beautiful Small Machines with the ultimate geeky cheerfulness that is a serious competitor against Carebears for sheer nauseating cuteness. Then there is Anamanaguchi making yearn for my misspent youth of warm summer days spent hiding indoors in front of 8-bit friends. And finally The SoHo Ghetto (née Marc-Antoine and The Soho Ghetto) which is a local band in Halifax.
All these bands have something in common, beyond the fact that they vex me. They have yet to push a full album and do not release new material all that often. Which is mildly maddening due to the fact that each one of these bands is on my weekly playlist.
I do not often discuss music except with a select few and even then sparingly. The reason for this is simply because I agree that writing, or speaking about music, is as bewildering as dancing about architecture. Still I must make an exception because this morning while I was spending some time decompressing my thoughts on SoHo Ghetto’s new single a thought occurred to me as to why I love them quite so much.
You see, while trying to watch the ceiling fan while lying on my floor I put on the Anchor Tattoo single on at a pleasant background volume. This is when I started to focus on the song I began to think about my own little life and the little smile, that I sometimes carry, crept over my face.
All my memories that are from my vagrancy period started to flash by to the tempo of the tune. My own little music video. A few of the greater loves of my life and many of the lesser. All the smiles, the running, the eating, the kissing, and even some of the more pornographic moments. Now obviously based on the song the memories evoked were all the pleasant coming and goings that I managed to finagle from life but to anyone that listening to the song there is no real bitterness to it. Just a feeling of complacent joy despite the occasional ‘desperate waiting’.
I then decided to review the Parisian EP just to see if the same feel was there. It is but of a slightly different flavour. Maybe the wounds are still a little fresh to truly be nostalgia but also maybe there is something to be said for additional players and the added femininity of Rachel Sunter.
I did get this EP way the hell back in January 2010. Marc-Antoine then spoke, during a couple of the patter sections of the show, about being down and out in Paris. And like many young men in Europe, including myself, when the land of modern fairy tales confront the cruelty of reality we become somehow different. Wiser but in a unique way.
I would like to think that this is for the better. I would like to think that these lost creatures of Europe live in a perpetual wake for their former selves and take on a purposeful smile and can even laugh at the heart ache.
It would seem that the music of the SoHo ghetto is like the smile of the chesire cat. Something delightful that stays long after their lines are sung.