The Joup Friday Album: Broken Social Scene – ‘You Forgot it in People’

Broken Social Scene's You Forgot it in People

Broken Social Scene’s You Forgot it in People

Nature is reclaiming my elderly neighbour’s house. Really rubbing his nose in it. Recently I’ve been walking around all my former haunts, and this album has been accompanying me. Of course, there’s nothing like the olfactory and auditory to fast-track you to your memory banks, but this is nostalgia illegitimately invoked since this is an album as new to me as the year. Ordinarily I try to unearth an album to share with you that I’ve lived with for a long time, but strangely, this is an album that takes me to the era it was made without me having heard it before.

‘Capture the Flag’ Opens with a kind of spotlight scanning panorama of opiated jazz brass and bass, then creaks with guitar into stop/start scrabbling gallop ‘KC Accidental’ – by scrabble I don’t mean assemble words with fate-dealt letters, but rather to propel yourself hastily across a footing constantly shale-flaking away, frantic for traction and purchase.

Other than its blissful, ascending, looping riff that I surfed down streets that looked like classic movie locations to nobody but me when I visited the streets I grew up-in the other week, ‘Stars and Sons’ has this ridiculously gratifying, ever-so marginally out of time hand-clapping in it that excites and elevates me about this fingerprint stuttering over the inside edge of the beercan rim and everything slowly growing and disintegrating everywhere, and being in so enviable a position to my inevitably dead-self.

‘Almost Crimes (Radio Kills Remix)’ is the epitome of the energy you had in your incendiary twenties, suffused with a sadness in the screamed earnestness of its flaky, abstract meditation on love and hate.

If you need from me the obligatory hybridisation analogy, I can reluctantly wretch-up a Sonic Youth riffs and guitar crescendos inseminating early Arcade Fire or Animal Collective, and it doesn’t exactly sound such, so much as evoke the energy and infectious idealism.

Even if ‘Looks Just Like the Sun’ sounds a little bit like someone melancholically impersonating ‘Sketches…‘ demos-Jeff Buckley, wearing a bowler with a matchbook in its band on a staircase at a house party, it doesn’t matter, because on this album, true to youth, they inadvertently bullseye with every misfire.

‘Anthems for a Seventeen year Old Girl’ is the girl’s bag that you know so well from seeing everyday at school, looking incongruously alien in it’s natural habitat, hanging over the back of her bedroom chair.

‘Lover’s Spit’ is the kind of song that makes your funerary list; it precognizes itself for the last minute and thirty seconds of the song that precedes it once you know it’s coming, and I almost want to turn it off unless the setting’s correct, like wading out of a Pale Ale and stoned ocean into the dawn with my life around my ankles and the Stanley Kubrick Super-Ego training it’s camera on me in symmetrical slo-mo, or if that isn’t convenient, sombrely soundtracking the Tequila Sunrise-coloured NTSC bleed of once-cool teenagers painted in Hi-8 on a CRT TV, riding the train to Coney Island in Nineteen-Eighty-whenever was long ago enough to melancholically wound everyone in it with 30 years-worth of memories and deflation inevitable after that fact.

Tagging Tommy.

Chester Whelks

Chester Whelks

Chester Whelks is a peripheral figure on the fringes of existence. Predominantly bothering the local music scene of his native Manchester, England, he has a very finely attuned Justice-button, and knows how to call a spade a ‘Multi-Purpose Murder/Concealment Device’.

One Response to The Joup Friday Album: Broken Social Scene – ‘You Forgot it in People’
  1. Shawn C Baker

    Shawn C Baker Reply

    You know, I’ve always wanted to hear this band and never did. Changing that now, listening for the first time as I listen. Really dig it – thanks once again my friend. Great piece.

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