The name “post-pandemic radio” really isn’t going to do but for today it will stay, if only for a lack of imagination on my part. I can’t think, and I can’t be bothered. The fact is though is that we aren’t post-anything. Even as the virus goes through its ebb and flow and is abated in some places, and inflated in others, it’s become evident that we will never be the same. Covid-19 has led us into a new era of hysteria and stupidity. It’s deepened the divides in political… not political thought… It’s just fucked things up even further. When you thought people couldn’t be dumber, states like Arkansas stood up and said “hold my beer.” Yes, it’s true.

Anyway, it’s in these times when I emerge from my cave, throw my hands up and say fuck the lot of you, that music takes a more forward role. Any art medium does, actually. It’s where the only honest expression lives, and always has lived. It’s where you find truth when everyone else has gone fucking bonkers.

This recording just happened to drip into my feed this morning, and with no idea at all of what to expect, I clicked open a blessing. There is no definable genre. Any Smithsonian Folkways junkies among you might be disappointed that this isn’t your “world music.” It’s almost a mellow lounge jazz… low-key. Cool and steady and easy. The vibraphone makes it. It’s not frenetic, hepcat stuff. Like I said. It’s just easy. It’s perfect for this very moment.

I may or may not have decided to forego any further carrying on about what I do or don’t remember from my hospital stay. It all seems redundant now. Things are far from healed but I’m upright. That’s all that matters. There were some poignant moments there in Room 7055 and thereabouts but they are filed away for safekeeping. They are stored away with the oddly hilarious moments and everything. It doesn’t escape me that it was a serious event, but it doesn’t really merit a novel. It just simply happened.

Still feeling rather dull though so I’m going to ride the rhythm section here.

Cheers.