24. Underneath Your Skin - Pleasure Symbols
Well now, it appears my love of London house has rustled some jimmies, with this esteemed critic being called a sell-out by Graham, aka Earl Gray, aka Graz Money, aka Dutch Graham, aka half of Grunny in what was a scathing and scurrilous assault on the professional integrity of this blog which I started yesterday.
I have no choice now but to remind everyone why I wear a brand of faux-1970s polarised brown sunglasses you've never heard of and present to you my 24th best song of 2016: Underneath Your Skin by Pleasure Symbols.
Underneath Your Skin is about a lot of things. It's about addiction, the slow, dark heaviness of withdrawal, the crinkly shapelessness of your wrapped skin as you are sucked out of yourself by the sharp plastic numbness of absence and need. It's about how dirty and cluttered and ruined a hostile wasteland the world is when every face you see sees you weening yourself from corner to corner in the aching anger of their rejection. It's also about how Brisbane, when it's overcast, looks a hell of a lot like the outskirts of Glasgow.
I went swimming in Brisbane, once. If you're not from Australia you probably think that sounds great. I drank too much ouzo with my spanakopita and tripped down the stairs at South Bank, slamming my face into the concrete slab covered in sand that some perverse city planner who hated Brisbane thought should be installed as an artificial beach in the one city in Australia that absolutely did not need the addition of a beach. As I looked up at what was still the Queensland sun in summer an eight year old with wet board shorts and parents I hate shot me in the eyes with a super soaker.
In other news, Underneath Your Skin reminds me a lot of the Order of Death. This is what I wanted, and this is what I got.