Track of the Day #5: Sparrow & the Workshop - Shock Shock

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Hello Monday, you cruel, cruel beast. Aspects of my life that propriety forbids me from disclosing in a music blog are in tatters. Sleep has become a rare visitor to my feeder. Things with vicious teeth lurk in the shadows at the edge of my over active imagination: land-lubbing piranha sensitive to twitching emotions.

Empathy keeps the shakes to a minimum. And empathy comes - in waves - from the greatest music.

Bob Dylan sang Sara to me through my parents nearly separating when I was a kid. Frankie Goes To Hollywood kept The Bomb at bay with Welcome to the Pleasuredome. Robert Smith sang existential bon mots to my fledgling heart and sebaceous id ("it doesn't matter if we all die..." rock on, Fat Bob!). The Beach Boys got me through the dole queue when I had no idea what I was reaching for in life. And The Joy Formidable's The Greatest Light Is The Greatest Shade and Tendons have knelt on my chest and pumped water out of my lungs through most of my recent kitchen sink melodramas.

All buoys in stormy seas. Banjaxes the mind to think that One Direction are similarly important to some people.

Today's hand over the cliff edge comes from Sparrow & the Workshop. They're one-third American, one-third Scottish, one-third Welsh and four-thirds brilliant. This is music, it's not supposed to add up.

Shock Shock is their forthcoming single on Song By Toad Records (11 March 2013). It's a precursor to their third album, Murderopolis, which should be with us in time to soundtrack leaves returning to the trees.

Which is a rather atypical, positive notion.

Shock Shock, though, isn't Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep. It has a heft and echoing truth to it - like someone pleading to you through a thick mist at history's frontier: much more in common with Moby Dick - and Ahab's tragic obsession - than, say, Sex and the City.

And yay to me, for such a thoroughly contemporary reference point.

I mean, it's strange to find solace in a song that sounds so filled with the promise of a cold watery death: Throwing Muses covering a lost Nick Cave classic.

Maybe it puts my trifles into compound time perspective?

Whatever the source of its dark wonder, it's been on repeat play most of the morning and I'm almost contemplating getting dressed and going off to wrestle that hard-faced git called life.

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