The words should arrive like fire when you decide to let them out. They should hurt as they spill out and leave you with a combined sense of ecstasy and dread. Just spit them all out onto the page or the screen and don’t look back. Leave them there for a sense of posterity. Don’t look backwards and self-edit. Don’t erase your history. I’ve had zero chances in the past week to sit and do anything that didn’t involve corralling a family horde that all wanted to travel in different directions. I’ve taken in three thousand different senses and wanted to shout twice as many thoughts, but I sadly remained silent and broke my own promise to write, write, write no matter what.
I returned to the somewhat more normal world early this morning and discovered a record entitled K7 that was released in France back on Valentine’s Day in 2017. After hearing the opening track, I promptly absorbed the entire record seven times over the course of the day. The three women that make up Tôle Froide create songs that absolutely fucking bask in their own anxious impatience and urgency. It’s true, these are not meticulously well-crafted recordings, but the music owes everything to that “get it on the fucking tape and get it into people’s ears” attitude. This is music that doesn’t just breathe, it seethes. I hate myself a little for not having this record by my side through all of 2017, but now that it’s here, it will accompany me through life permanently.