On my turntable
When I started this journal entry this morning, it was Narciso Yepes' Guitarra Romantica but it wasn't (because Andres Segovia's Eight Lessons for Guitar had mistakenly found it's way into the Yepes sleeve), then it was Thievery Corporation's Saudade, which was a good transition to pre-lunch John Frusciante's double, The Empryean, then the turntable played something more it's age with U2's Unforgettable Fire.
Finally, I checked the mail and if there's a right way to end the work week or a right way to begin a weekend, it might be with new vinyl. The double record Circe, composed by two members of Sigur Ros, arrived and the gap between discovering the package and spinning it was only the time it took to take a photograph of it.
It's dark. Maybe mildly threatening. At least Side B is. And side C, too. Part of the way I judge how much I like something creative is if I feel a tinge of jealousy for not making it myself and this album makes me feel a little jealous. That's a good sign.
Music is so subjective I hesitate saying too much more. The music is beautiful in the way I am drawn to beauty. If you like an evergreen forest at dusk, your own dark thoughts, heavy fog, can sense the heavy jazz in early Black Sabbath, reminiscing about getting old (dying, lost, etc.) before you actually have, or the poetry of Jimmy Santiago Baca, then you'll probably like this album very much.
New vinyl and nice new music aside, this is what made me smile the most about my newest of records. The little ding on the edge of the sleeve that was pre-explained on the online store. For some reason, that has just made my day. Small corner ding accepted.