Nearly 346 days ago a rather understated Tristram Bawtree played a lovely gig in Brighton. For most of the time since then, there have only been four rather wonderful tracks from the now-group to go on which, given how enjoyable he is, is not enough. I am disgustingly guilty of using the word “lovely” too much, but I’m going to pretty much slap it all over them.

“We are four people playing seven (usually) instruments, and singing about a variety of subjects, including but not limited to: zombies, James Dean, assorted authors, love stories, love-going-wrong stories, ships, bicycles, astral travel and fruit. The effect is not as jocular as this description implies, but is never the less very agreeable,” says the band’s description.

They make me proud of words. I am getting very easily excited by good words recently, and am writing new ones down on the nearest thing when I hear them. I want to collect them all up and draw them into my head.

Jonathan has written a fantastic review of Tristram, and he writes about music far better than I do, so perhaps there is a chance he will do them justice. (He also writes a good one about the flood of folk music in which, ultimately owning a ukulele or cello does not guarantee musical prowess.) They also have streamers. I’m a sucker for that nonsense.

Their next album comes out on November the 15th and they are coming to play Brighton on October 30th. This made me squeak excitedly.

Lovely.

Every time my Firefox crashes and relaunches, fifty tabs or so that have been carefully opened and immediately forgotten about need re-loading. Essentially, it is a giant to-do list and started during Brighton to London commutes over summer – when I a day went work, sleep, repeat and I had very little time – and never really stopped. Everyone is quite cruel about them and laughs at me, because it is a silly amount of tabs. Even I, who gets excited by lots of tabs (some sort of modern display of Internet wealth perhaps) think it is ridiculous. I thought I might take a tentative peek at some and try to scale down the nonsense.

I am glad I did, for it is full of good things. I have re-discovered a blog called Ten Thousand Foxes. It is a good blog and it is full of foxes: an ‘online exhibition’ made up of nice drawings emailed, facebook or even posted in. I like that they are posted in real life envelopes. I also like that this one wears a scarf and drinks tea. This is probably because I have a silly fondness for giving animals quaint habits and pandas and cats can often be found reading classical books, listening to jazz, wearing small spectacles and sitting in dark green libraries in a silly room in my head.

If you are particularly keen on drawing you should submit yours. I may have a play around one day and post it in a real envelope, in some hip rebellion against the social-media driven web 2.0 world we inhabit.

Each week this summer like clockwork I navigate my phone to download Foursquare. And every time the grey download bar begins to twirl my hand twitches, leaps out and abruptly hits CANCEL. I look around awkwardly to see if I’ve been caught. Because I don’t like Foursquare very much.

“What do you think is the next big thing?” I was asked at an interview in August. I should probably have talked at length about my curiosity over Scvngr – albeit a slightly shit app, it’s a nice location-based treasure-hunt idea that interests me – but I did not. I had a think and stared at a tree.

“Well, I can’t see any of my friends getting into Twitter or Foursquare,” said I, thinking of Aidan who is buying an HTC Desire because it is new and swish. I meanwhile got it because I do, in short, want to tweet on my every whim and be a geek about it all. My housemates like raves and funny videos, and do not much care about social media beyond Facebook. I mentioned Foursquare in Wagamamas once and saw their eyes glaze over as a little barrier went up. They sipped saki and nodded.

In this clever visual metaphor, I am the dinosaur

But then I thought hard, because I am not used to waxing lyrical about the next big thing or predicting the future. I can – if anything – see my housemates checking in for burger deals over 140 character microblogs any day. That said, they’re not about to join in a shoe-chasing game or leap on Nike’s latest effort of physical exertion, but that is because they fit their stereotype of people who like raves and funny videos, and neither of the above. But give them a drinks deal through foursquare and twitter, and foursquare’d win.

And this surprised me, because apparently I get excited about what’s hip and wow for early-adopter types, and I don’t believe this post is a brilliant new idea of any kind (I still want to think and keep thinking, about the original question itself) but I realised I forget to get excited about what’s new for people who aren’t early-adopters: i.e. what’s big for Average Man (‘Dave’ I’ve heard him called), which is something I’d never noticed. Hopefully some day it’ll be more like “foursquare good, twitter better!” though, and I can continue a tirade of Animal Farm puns.

I meanwhile, in some vague personal triumph over my grumpy will, have finally downloaded Foursquare because I subscribe to the idea that if you work in social media you need to be active in social media. Maybe next time I’ll get over my grievances and hop on the bandwagon quicker. It’s a pity though, that I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s not much keeping people coming back to use the service (argue of that what you will).

That said, I’ve unlocked the Overshare badge already. I could kick myself.

I have been listening to Noah and the Whale‘s second album. It was released in late 2009 and I am way behind the trend. I had the chance to see them at the Somerset House gigs this summer, but missed it because a sixth Brighton-to-London commute in a week didn’t seem too appealing. A lazy reason. Mostly though, I worried that their second album would be terrible following Charlie Fink’s break up with Laura Marling whose absence is evident on the album, with all songs focusing on her.

“[The] break-up with Laura Marling doesn’t just dominate this set of songs, it positively defines them,” Jonathan eloquently puts it. (I read his review a long time ago. In general they are all pretty fantastic and perfectly spot on.) My understanding of the album’s history comes pretty much straight from this. I was in no way inclined to hunt the album out; A break-up album is not a good premise – especially not one touted as so heart-wrenching. However, I have (finally long after everyone else) listened to it.

And it doesn’t instill a compulsory misery I suspected it might. It introduces a really rich and broad sense of orchestra – which sounds wanky, but if you listen to the first song it’s immediately there. The first album may have used a good collection of obligatory folk instruments (violin, ukulele) but they really fill the songs in this one, and very rarely do they feel empty or wastefully simple. It is less punchy and upbeat as a whole but there’s something thoughtful and lovely about it, however unpleasant heartache is. With lines like “I know in a year I’m gonna be happy”, it’s a relief to see it doesn’t exist solely to instill a dreary sadness, and neither is it the next album for sad people to stick on repeat and hide in their bedrooms with, which is my main fear taken care of.

I liked their first album but couldn’t shake a feeling that a couple of the songs were a little jarring – something putting me off fully recommending them. This one’s very much something you can sink into. It is more mature; incredibly atmospheric, and to steal a phrase “sweeping and intense.” Mostly, though sad, it’s hopeful. And there’s something wonderful about that.

The first track of many. I recommend them all.

I am home, in a room with propped up canvases, shelves full of old records, a Shaun the Sheep hot water bottle and a very large sunhat that acts like a sail. There is also a suspiciously large amount of loft insulation that is always speedily removed on my return. There is not much to do here – the house is surrounded by tall trees, a fast flat road outside, and a pothole-filled lane leading up to a big lake opposite.

My GPS is at a loss as to what to tell me. I could be in the bermuda triangle for all it knows. And whilst I hated that when I was a teenager, cut off from the outside world a little, it’s wonderful to come back to now – for a couple of days at least. My old room is cream with warm glowing bulbs, thick home-made curtains that let no light in, and it’s all very soft. It’s kind of how heaven’s always pictured but with more texture and a wicker laundry basket in the corner. Heaven probably doesn’t have one of those.

It is nice to have a garden too., with trees. We do not have trees in my current garden. It is full of memories of being driven around in a wheelbarrow and a sun spinner I bought during university from a Brighton kite shop.

I grew up to the sounds of Heart FM and although my Mother gets excited when she hears the Beatles, my parents play faintly poor music (save for some Eric Clapton, and a Bob Marley album I once pushed on them). That’s the privilege of the young though – we’re allowed to think our music taste is substantially better.

The CD here collection revolves around Tina Turner (who should stop wearing leotards now), Capital Gold and Phil Collins, who is an easy target for insult. Having said that, every time since leaving home a Phil Collins song has appeared on the radio or in a film I’ve been overwhelmed with a sense of nostalgia and being ten years old again.

Watching American Psycho yesterday I was overcome with delight and felt the need to jab urgently at the screen, eagerly informing everyone that I used to dance around the living room to No Jacket Required (the album with the startling face of Phil Collins looming out of it) long before I discovered what rhythm was. It’s worth looking up the original video for this – Mr Collins demonstrates some incredibly shoddy acting skills. Even I might outrank him in that department.

I used to sneak Paul Simon’s Rhythm of the Saints album on and listen to the first track because I loved the drums and I’ve been listening to it at work, wondering quite how I feel about Mr Simon. I think I might very much like him.

This used to play all the time on the radio and played in a bar last week, at which point every male in the room (bar one or two) proceeded to do their best Dad dancing. My Mother hated it because it sounded too much like rap. I spent my time wondering why they were singing about rain coats. It’s only now I’ve realised they aren’t. Wonderful and terrible songs that have somehow worked themselves into a deep and darkly loved repertoire.