Warning: Personal ruminations of a thinking-out-loud nature follow.
Isn’t it great when you discover a new band? Something just clicks, and, after a certain number of listens, you realise you’ve made a friend for life.
Sometimes it’s an old band that’s just new to you, perhaps as a result of their praises being regularly sung by others and hence your feeling that you really should make an effort to see what all the fuss is about.
But when it’s a band that you dipped into years ago and they left you stone cold, that penny-drop moment is all the more joyously baffling. “This stuff is bloody fantastic. Why didn’t I get it first time round?”
It’s a long time indeed since I plunged into a band’s oeuvre with a convert’s zeal, pored over their lyrics and liner notes, bought books about them, sought out cover versions, outtakes, bootlegs and rarities, and listened to literally – and I use the term ‘literally’ literally – nothing but them for months on end. But it’s happened to me this year and I want to tell someone about it. I hope I’m among friends.
It is The Afterword’s fault, after all. Well, Twang’s, specifically, as we shall see.
I continue in the comments…