Some days, it’s normal to feel completely rushed and wish that the day was going a bit smoother. Some days, it’s normal for things to go smoothly and to wish the day would pick up a bit because it’s getting boring. And some days are Bank Holidays, when things can be simultaneously relaxing and stressful at the same fucking time.
Although it may come as no surprise to anyone who reads the shite I throw up here, I complain a lot. This isn’t like some sudden revelation, I haven’t just had some veil taken away from my eyes. But as it turns out, I can only really write things if I’ve got something to moan about. And as a recovering self-put-downer a lot of that moaning tends to be directed at me, even though there are more terrible things in this world that truly deserve complaining about.
Societal class division, fundamental religious extremism and Hollyoaks are all equally viable subjects for having a bit of a moan. The UK Government has spent a good week squabbling over who deserves more or less benefit out of life. The Belgian capital has been struck by people who’d rather explode than talk about their opposing world views. Hollyoaks is actually still a thing. And yet, I’ll still not moan about them to much extent.
Instead, I’ll internalise whatever thoughts I have and not distribute them in the one domain I actually give myself licence to do so. I do this mostly out of two things: fear and laziness. If I begin rattling off my opinions on bigger subjects, there’s a chance the rest of me may get dragged along with them. I worry that my views on government could have me wading so far into political debates, forcing me to explain or justify whatever stance I may have on subjects I know very little about. I worry that bad mouthing groups of people notorious for carrying bombs, guns and religious ideologies could make me a target for two of those things. I worry that Hollyoaks will keep on being a thing.
But I won’t necessarily moan about them. I’ll moan about my own inability to moan about them, merely using them as examples of the types of things I should be moaning about and nothing more. Despite holding many moan-worthy opinions about things (not all necessarily negative – I could moan about how something brilliant doesn’t get the attention it deserves), I’ll never be able to unleash that thanks to my own self-censoring consciousness. This is probably why I’ll never be satisfied with anything. I might as well use an old cliché and pen an open letter to everyone stating: “Dear World, it’s not you, it’s me.” Even though in my mind, I’m thinking: “Fucking hell World, it’s totally you.”
My first experience of what Wikipedia describes as a Scottish post-rock band came about whilst watching what Wikipedia describes as a French supernatural drama television series. Prior to watching Les Revenants (or The Returned if you prefer), I simply thought a Mogwai was a little furry creature that only wreaks havoc in Christmas films. Turns out, Mogwai are a collective of ambient sound makers, often capable of complimenting a show about the living dead… but in less of a “hoard of blood-thirsty flesh-eating zombies” kind of way, more of a “oh mon Dieu, je suis back from le dead, trés bizarre!” kind of way.
Since their “Musique” credit, the odd track has jumped out at me and gnawed on my brain a little (I suppose in more of the first kind of zombie way). One such was Teenage Exorcists, but that was two years ago so it doesn’t really belong here. Instead, I’m offering this more recent piece of audio, which appears to be accompanied by images reminiscent of the opening credits sequence for The Last Of Us, nicely tying in with this whole zombie motif.
Mogwai – Ether
Jamie Walsh 
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