We were thinking about this again in the context of bedroom-produced, laptop electronica: music made by private people in private places, assembled and disseminated digitally but never actually performed. And that reminded us of this nice little piece by Lauren Laverne on the relationship between technology and creative activity. In the digitised 21st century, the sound of the city is a small, dry whir at the edge of your attention span, like the hum of laptop's fan.
Anyway, we were idling around the local Oxfam when we spotted what we thought was a CD by Deptford Goth - mysterious purveyor of the sort of spectral, synthesised, Mac-made soul that soundtracks grey afternoons in empty London parks. We like this sort of thing so we picked it up, only to discover that it was in fact a CD by Fat Goth, lairy purveyors of pun-spattered grumble-rock. We like this sort of thing as well. Creepy Lounges put us in mind of long-gone but never quite forgotten heroes of grubby misanthropy, Earl Brutus. Here are the two goths to battle it out: the night before and the morning after.
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