Album Review

Kestrels 'Kestrels' 

As featured on GIGsoup

Kestrels’ self-titled album reflects the band’s clever opposition to genre compartmentalisation, soaring against the breeze that is the sound of contemporary indie-rock, and landing in a sub terrain known as shoegazing: where neo-psychedelic meets mid-nineties alternative. It’s Tame Impala meets Nirvana after a curious collision with Neon Trees.

Upon first play, the unacquainted listener may describe the album as bewildering - even misleading. While guitar riffs like that in ‘No Alternative’ evoke images of an experimental garage band playing on a Sunday afternoon, Chad Peck’s almost-ethereal lead and backing vocals in ‘Neko’ offer the listener a more psychedelic experience. The apparent clash of genres works symbiotically, resulting in the Kestrels’ repeat-worthy third album.

Paul Brown’s drum-work is strong, providing a solid backbone to each track, and paving the way for the development of tone through electric guitar chords and solos. ‘Suspect’ will have listeners punching the air mosh pit-style, while ‘Neko’ instantly encourages spontaneous foot stamping and involuntary air drumming with its tribal beat.

The album lyrics are minimal, often allowing for subtle synthesizer sounds and Devin Peck’s bass to take precedence. Notably, ‘Are You Alone?’ begins with heavy, monotone guitar and bass reminiscent of The Smiths’ edgy ‘How Soon Is Now’; its dark, foreboding tone complemented by haunting lyrics in the form of rhetorical questions.

Listen to Kestrels at Soundcloud here

‘Lying Down’ is a calm and welcomed tribute to late nineties rock - Peck’s voice reflecting a Liam Gallagher-esque longing, responsive of ‘Champagne Supernova’. Its passivity brands this the perfect ballad for rainy a Saturday, listening while laying lethargic and languid on the lounge. And yet, Peck’s melodies often deviate from the predictable. ‘Decent of Their Last’ breaks indie convention when the lone space-like synth and constant drumbeat increasingly energise the listener, only to forcefully slow down at the introduction of Peck’s unhurried, astral vocals singing a verse that in melody and structure should be naturally contained to a chorus; this is further emphasised by awkward transitions from natural to flat throughout. The sudden chord disruption and juxtaposition of pace affects consistency, displacing the listener in the process; but this is part of Kestrels’ appeal as a musically non-conforming ensemble.

While ‘Ace’ fails to inspire, it acts as the perfect background song for the drive home after the long workday; its vocals again drawn out peacefully, and nicely accompanied by a high-pitched guitar solo echoing the mid nineties. Disappointingly, ‘Wide Eyes’ struggles to engage; its music fast-paced while the lyrically repetitive chorus highlights its problematic structure. The song plays for a short 2m 04s - an indication of the band’s possible struggle to pen effective and meaningful lyrics, instead focussed on devising an interesting blend of chords and obscure instrumental solos.

The self-titled album gives more than it receives, with ‘Temples’ generously offering listeners an escape. Peck sings “lie awake at night. It’s too late…” before trailing off into a placid, introspective guitar solo sentimental of a child’s lullaby. It is lyrically ironic that they concluded the album with this song, beautifully lulling the listener into a state of slumber. Commendably, this song persuades the listener to hit ‘repeat’ before the track’s end, perhaps due to its safe distance from the tentative subgenre and astute acceptance of conventional nineties alt-rock structure.

Overall, Kestrels’ have recorded a consistent album, though dependent upon obscure melodies and varied instrumentalism. While it may not satisfy the majority, tranquility is undeniable, making this the perfect ‘background’ album. No need for lyrical comprehension; the music itself should be the main focus when giving this album a spin.

The Kestrels’ ‘S/T’ album is out now via Sonic Unyon Records.

Fear of the Unknown

London Calling

It was a cold and drizzly Tuesday afternoon. I’d just left work, happy to have left with a feeling of elation that my six lessons that day had gone off without a hitch… and having chatted with my crush made it all the more better. The wipers undulated slowly across my windscreen, slightly blurred by the fine moisture emanating throughout the atmosphere below the dark, foreboding clouds. No Doubt’s ‘Settle Down’ played through my car speakers. I sang along emphatically as I normally would within the safe, non-judgmental confines of my black Jeep Wrangler.

‘You can see it in my eyes / You can read it on my lips

I’m trying to get a hold of this…’

As the lyrics continued, my chest tightened slightly, leading to a sudden and deep breath of inhalation. In this unexpected moment of previously avoided introspection, I remembered the life decisions I needed to address. As the lyrics suggested, I was trying to come to terms with something. The uncertainty, the doubt, the anxiety… it was still there, threatening to consume the forefront of my mind; threatening to wipe my pleasant, short-term memory clear, much like the wipers sarcastically waving to me from the outside of the windscreen. As Gwen Stefani’s vocals endured, little did I know that the song I was so happily belting out foreshadowed what was to happen next. And further to that, what would happen next would be the perfect metaphor for my current situation.

**

Driving my usual route home, I noticed a digital traffic update sign that flashed 'Accident on Richmond Road. Take detour.' “Poor bugger…” I thought, silently thanking God that it wasn’t me. I flicked on my left indicator and moved into the next lane of the freeway, leading me to take an earlier exit than usual so as to avoid the expected delays.

Gearing down appropriately as I approached the red traffic lights, I touched the brake peddle and came to a complete stop. I squinted at the street signs through the misty air: one pointed left, the other right. It was an intersection I was unfamiliar with though I recognised the street name. I made an executive decision within due course before the lights turned green – my inner compass has always steered me in the right direction. “Right it is,” I said aloud as I slowly but surely released my foot from the brake. Much like riding a bicycle, my foot now pressed gently upon the accelerator as if automated to do so without a second thought.

As I crawled my Jeep around the ever-dampening bend, my eyes remained focussed on the cars in the two lanes to my right. One car was slightly overhanging its lane, clearly having misjudged its ability to fit in behind the car that was ahead. Knowing I had to be even more careful, and acknowledging that my tyres had a tendency to slide erratically in wet weather, I lightly tapped the brake with my right foot so as to slow down even more.

Big mistake.

Suddenly, my car careened around the bend uncontrollably, and at an unexpected speed. The back tyres seemed to have absolutely no grip. I’d lost control of the vehicle. I put my foot down harder on the brake - no dice. I turned the steering wheel as fast as I could to avoid hitting the car that had driven up alongside mine. I spun the wheel one way then the other. My reliable Jeep had lost its shit. Before I knew it, I was situated halfway up the sidewalk facing oncoming traffic. I was directly below the freeway’s underpass at the time.

The most dramatic part was over. I was at a full stop. I was unharmed. I was safe. Miraculously, I’d avoided hitting any cars at the T-intersection and although I did feel a sudden jolt as my Jeep exceeded the gutter, the incident left me quite literally parked perfectly between two enormous cement pylons. Somehow, I’d managed to avoid making contact with either one.

‘No big deal (I can handle it) / It’ll bounce off me (I can handle it)’

I wasn't hurt. I wasn't even rattled. I distinctly remember my unsettlingly logical and calm train of thought as my car spun into a frenzy: "I cannot afford an insurance claim right now. This is bad timing. I really don’t need this. If I have an accident, I’ll have to call work and let them know I won’t be in. What a hassle!" Logical, calm and forward-planning as always. Though my immediate reaction to the potentially fatal situation was alarmingly skewed, it did instigate me to drive with more patience and care from then on.

As soon as the car came to a halt, I took off my seat belt, pulled up the handbrake and started to reach for the ignition, ready to switch off the Jeep and assess the damage. It hadn’t quite clicked that I’d gotten off scot-free. As I looked at the two pylons neighbouring either side of my front bonnet, I realised just how lucky I had been. No one had been hurt. There was not a scratch or dent to be seen. Few people saw so my dignity remained intact. As my motor continued to hum healthily, I assessed the area for oncoming traffic and reversed back into my original lane. Slowly I made my way home via the detour I otherwise would not have taken had there not been a reported accident on my usual route home.

**

The near miss became a symbol of my inability to choose between the two choices I was facing at the time: the comfortable path I was already on as a high school teacher, or to forge ahead towards the challenging obstacle course that was the unknown. If you're a close friend, loved one or acquaintance, you would know I lead a very busy and purposeful life. Leaving no stone unturned, my spare time is often spent writing and researching for personal fulfilment, learning a second language, working as a P.A. at geek cons, playing guitar and piano, and dedicating a good amount of time to exercise. If this comes as no surprise to you, then you'd also know I've booked a one-way ticket to London in 2016.

"You must be so excited!" people chime. "London! This must be a dream come true!" The response to both of these statements is a dull and boring "no". Besides the fact that many focus on the 'holiday' aspect of the journey rather than the stress of migration, the impending move to London has evoked in me a sense, or rather, fear of the unknown.

Currently, my future in London is completely set: teaching work is all systems go; working visa has been sorted, and accommodation is close to finalisation. However, if the extensive administration of moving to London was so simple and stress-free, why then am I so damn opposed to the idea?

Plan B was hurled into action as soon as the doubts began to surface. Ardently, I set forth on a job hunt, passionately seeking a career outside of teaching that would allow me to immerse myself in the world of writing. The ABC advertised a position that had me head over heels in love with the idea of working for a highly respected and ethical media corporation; but alas, my heart was broken when, after spending a solid two weeks writing a three-thousand word selection criteria document, I received the dreaded email that my application had been rejected. Painstakingly, I continued to search for similar jobs, my mind set on establishing a career that prided itself on truth, accuracy and the exposure of media manipulation. It was soon after the professional rejection that I came across a position modestly titled ‘Writer and Editor’ for an eclectic Sydney marketing agency.

Upon calling the Editorial Director, I learned that the role comprised of copywriting and managing social media for a multitude of fields: design, business, hospitality and medical to name a few. I could do this job with my eyes closed. The next six days were spent working tirelessly on a cover letter that thoroughly addressed the obscure selection criteria of the advertised position. During our phone call, the E.D. had noted that applications were open for another three weeks, so I had plenty of time to make this one count.

Only hours after my car had spun out of control on the wet and slippery road, I was eating dinner and sitting at my open Macbook Air, decidedly set on completing my convincing application. Another hour later and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Done...” So eager was I to apply that I’d kept the advertisement open in my web browser for six days – its presence acting as a reminder that the figurative clock was ticking. Ready to submit, I clicked Google Chrome’s ‘refresh’ icon. However, rather than being invited to ‘Apply now’, I was met with ‘Sorry – this job is no longer advertised.’

‘Here we go again / Are you insane?
Underneath the avalanche / So heavy again…’

I felt lost, even more so than before. I felt directionless. I felt hopeless. I felt like I wasn’t good enough… No – rather, I felt like I was damn good but my talents and expertise were being disregarded by future employers, and wasted in my current job. I felt frustrated. My future was hanging in the balance, and I was desperately grasping for lifelines that just weren’t there.

“Maybe I’m destined for London,” I thought before dragging myself to bed, dejected. “Maybe that’s the universe’s plan.”

Of my decision to live abroad, my friends and family have been incredibly supportive - I cannot fault them on that. Each of them wholeheartedly wishes for me to embark on the adventure as they know I’ll realise aspirations that would otherwise have gone unaccomplished in Australia. They lament on upcoming ventures they envision for me. They tell me exactly how we will communicate in the future - Skype calls with my friends and their yet-to-be-conceived children is the agreed mode. They tell me that they will miss me dearly, and selfishly wish I’d find a job in Sydney so that we can continue to see each other on a regular basis. Although their support has been so very appreciated, it has me left questioning my ability to cope in a foreign land without so much as a loved one’s hug for months on end.

Then there are the heartstrings, and the incredible guy tugging at them. As individuals in a highly digitalised society where face-to-face interactions are becoming more uncommon by the day, rarely do we meet people we have an instant connection with, as if drawn to them by some unknown force. Sure, I’ve only known my crush for a short period of time, but our conversations both in and outside of the workplace have led me to consider him a valued friend. I was instantly comfortable with this gentleman, as if I’d known him for years. Within a week or two, I found I was sharing my inner thoughts, hidden 'talents' (or rather, my less than desirable musical attempts), expressing self-doubt without restriction, and exposing my flaws quite comfortably. It was (and continues to be) a beautiful feeling.

While our paths seemed to cross in synchronicity with our experiences at the time, London remained a ticking time bomb, threatening to destroy the positive progress made with this intelligent, witty, grounded, soulful and kind-hearted man. Though regardless of who the love interest may be, my commitment to international migration created a temporary barricade around my love life, the sign stating ‘OFF LIMITS’ to any man who may be interested in getting to know me further. London soon became the invasive chaperone that ends your date before you get the goodnight kiss. It is the stroke of midnight that turns a beautiful ballgown back into rags. In an ideal world, our friendship would blossom into a solid relationship, albeit in due time. I worry that my efforts have been in vain if London's calling lures me to its shores in 2016.

**

As I write this, it continues to rain. Not drizzle, but pour. I’m sitting at my desk in an empty staff room, listening to the obnoxious ticking of the clock on the wall, well-aware that I’ve stayed well-passed my usual finish time, and further aware of the stringent amount of time I have to make a decision about my immediate future. If time is of the essence, then, like my wily car accident, it’s no wonder I’m so uncentred.

That said, I am resilient. I am focussed within my very being. I know exactly what my end goal is, though I may not always like the journey. I persevere, I endure, and I overcome obstacles as they occur.

**

As I drove away from the dangerously damp intersection of which my car slid, I couldn’t help but thank God resonantly for not only keeping me safe, but for making me the irrepressible person I am today. ‘Settle Down’ continued to play as I glanced back at the freeway’s underpass. Despite the immediate events, I continued to sing along with the equally tenacious Stefani:

‘I’m a rough and tough / And nothing’s gonna knock this girl down…’

By Belinda Pearce

4/11/15

Evocative Music

What Is Love?

What is it about certain songs that evoke empathy in the listener? Is it the perfect amalgamation of intricately composed music and complementary lyrics? Is it the composer’s integrity and influence of context in writing the song? Or does it simply come down to the idiosyncratic performance of the artists themselves?

Evocative songs target a gamut of audiences, are not genre specific and embody a range of relatable themes. Paramore for example can persuade their fans to feel heartbroken, angry, complacent and victorious within the capacity of one album. The Beatles hold the power to evoke an array of seemingly endless emotions: excitement, nostalgia, introspection, regret, a sense of spirituality and of course, love.

I’ve noticed though that as listeners we gravitate towards particular songs in order to match a relevant mood; we want to feel understood in times of hopelessness, instability or love and lust. While this quality is potent in itself, what I find even more fascinating are the rare songs that give the listener no choice but to feel what the vocalist expresses in the song, whether invited or not.

Love is a common theme in pop music and often the go-to concept for lyricists seeking to make a quick buck (particularly in the music industry today). But what is love? And how do we as listeners know what it feels like if we haven’t yet experienced it for ourselves? Countless musicians have lamented this conundrum in hundreds, maybe thousands of songs over the years. Foreigner even wrote a well-known power ballad about it.

In considering which artists have compelled me to ‘fall in love’ in four minutes or less, three songs immediately come to mind: ‘As The World Falls Down’ by David Bowie, ‘Universe’ by Kind of Pluto, and ‘Don’t Get Me Wrong’ by The Pretenders.

For those of you who have never experienced love or romance first-hand, allow yourself to become lost in the rhythmic storytelling of these songs, and you’ll understand what it feels like to be both loved and in love.

‘As The World Falls Down’ - David Bowie

Rhythm:

Imagine you’re sitting on a cramped subway, desperately seeking a mental escape for the remainder of your journey home after a long day’s work. You scroll through your iPod playlist for something elegant and serene. “Ah! Now we’re talking,” you think to yourself as you settle on David Bowie’s ‘As the World Falls Down’. You pop your headphones in and allow your mind to escape the hustle and bustle of this overcrowded city vessel… at least for the next three minutes and forty seconds.

The song’s constant beat in 4/4 time has you tapping your finger gently on your leg in your conscious state, while every second beat sees you sway gently from side to side inline with the carriage’s movement along the track. As you close your eyes, you slowly fall into a fantasy of which you’d never consciously imagined before. You see your perfect match, a man of unfamiliar appearance, moving in graceful strides towards you across a wide, softly lit space, through a sea of blurry figures, - his eyes locked on yours the entire time. This astounding person takes your hands as you stand there breathlessly; it’s as if time has frozen and you’re the only two people in the room.

The subway ride continues, and the beat leads you further into your reverie. As your head falls slowly and sways in 2/4 time, the corners of your mind tell you it is rested peacefully upon this man’s chest, your eyes closed, feeling completely at ease.

The song’s subtle fade out, avoiding the cadence typical of so many contemporary love songs, allows your dream to come to an unobtrusive end… unless you’re listening to this song on repeat, in which case, your existence in this dream-state is essentially endless, and your ability to feel adored can continue.

Instruments:

The slow touch of the piano keys, producing treble notes of different octaves sound not only like drops of dewy condensation as they drip off the petals of a pastel rose in the fresh morning light, but the gentle caress of a kind lover. The delicate melody seemingly alludes to a thoughtful, fresh Sunday morning in a sunbathed room, two lovers cuddling as they look out a thinly veiled window to a placid scenery. In this moment, it is the two lovers alone, and it is comfortable and blissfully serene.

The powerful bass, holding every third note over two beats mimics the strengthening of a deep bond between two lovers, while the electric guitar creates an emotive crescendo, building your own passion to the highest possible point; this marks the exhilarating point in a new relationship when the chance of falling in love is at its peak. The crescendo marks the journey upon rocky terrain into love, while the diminuendo marks the ease felt when the feeling is reciprocated by the right person, leading you out of the lonely desert and to the wide, grassy meadow of which your love can now grow.

Lyrics:

Not only does Bowie employ visual imagery to describe what he wants you to see in his romanticised world, but so too does he describe the specific process of falling in love in its simplest and most beautiful form, quite implicitly through the metaphoric descriptions of his universe. The lyrics convey the intensity of his adoration for you: essentially, you are the air he breathes, the water he drinks, the land upon which he walks, the stars he gazes to at night. Without you, he simply could not exist. [To prove this theory, listen to Bowie’s ‘Within You’, also featured on the Labyrinth soundtrack.]

Bowie makes promises, and unlike your past lovers, you know he intends to keep them. [When I refer to Bowie in this sense, I refer to him as the voice of the fantasy realm created in this song, not Bowie the composer.] His evocative and gentle tone, expressed with buttery vocals details the lengths he will go to nurture the relationship, protect your heart and remind you of your self worth.

‘I’ll paint you mornings of gold /

I’ll spin you Valentine evenings’

Without you, his world is without merit. In fact, he goes so far as to attribute parts of the universe to your own body, and project his love for you as far as the universe will allow.

‘I’ll place the sky within your eyes…

I’ll place the moon within your heart…
I’ll leave my love between the stars…’

Quite simply, you are his universe.

Bowie juxtaposes his pure feelings with your past heartbreak. He understands why you may be reluctant to let your emotional walls down – he’s psychoanalysed you; however, this isn’t the emotional manipulation you may have experienced in past relationships, no. Here, Bowie shows you exactly what love is by reminding you of what it is not.

‘As the pain sweeps through /

Makes no sense for you /

Every thrill is gone /

Wasn’t too much fun at all /

But I’ll be there for you /
As the world falls down.’

Not only is Bowie, in reality, an incredible musician and a convincing actor, he is quite simply one of the most perceptive lyricists of our time. The interconnectedness of songs such as this, complementing supporting songs on the Labyrinth soundtrack, prove the depth of his lyrical expertise, his value of the English language and expanse of his ability to empathise with lonely and loving souls alike.

‘Universe’ - Kind of Pluto

Rhythm:

The acoustic guitar leads the 4/4 time in this song, the beat accentuated by the presence of varying percussion - namely, cymbals which challenge the monotonous backbone of your standard pop song’s beat. The light and unexpected crashing of the cymbals conveys an image of exploding fireworks, connoting the excitement and unpredictability of new love.

The percussion’s sudden silence before the commencement of each verse allows lead singer Steven Gates to vocally paint you the picture of a beautiful, imagined landscape without distraction. The silence also resembles the anticipation and heart-stopping moments one can expect to experience when holding onto (potentially) ‘the one’. It is reminiscent of hanging onto your lover’s every word, whereas the continuity of the gentle drums eases the listener back into a state of comfort, imagining the solidarity of their nuevo amor.

Instruments:

The reverb of the acoustic guitar at the very beginning of the song, coupled with the wave-effect of the electric guitar’s tremolo bar narrates the resonate love between two people. Everything around these lovers is a blur as they walk hand in hand, their understanding of the world around them uncomplicated by a vignette perspective, and focussing solely on one another.

Gates’ vocal intonation complements the music and lyrics well: fragility, hope, frustration, quiet introspection, even a little audaciousness all delicately align with the tone of the song’s lyric. At times, his vocals even express a sense of surprise for the absolute resonance of his love for you.

The structure and auditory build-up of the song effectively complement this tone, actively evoking from the listener the emotions one would imagine the singer to have experienced when writing this piece.

In short, Steven Gates’ vocal performance is an integral instrument in itself, taking the listener on an emotional journey where the understanding and true feeling of love is the destination.

Lyrics:

‘Universe’, in its lyrical abstractedness appears at first to be a string of disconnected ideas, symbolically linked by one central theme.

‘Clouds are dripping from the sky / it’s magnificent outside
Nothing could be closer than the two of us.’

In actuality, the skillful, ethereal nature of these lyrics is reminiscent of Bowie's 'As the World Falls Down' in its structure. The overwhelming sense of power headed by Gates’ universe is juxtaposed with love itself. While the Earth’s creation is awe-inspiring to the majority, to this quixotic pair, their togetherness is all that matters; their connection is their world.

‘We’ll embrace every resistance / and malice is forbidden
We’ll snigger at existence / yeah, we are our own religion.’

The song is not without its fairytale elements as Gates alludes to the idealistic genre in all its innocence in the crescendo. ‘Concede in happiness / believe in ever after’ is then juxtaposed with the melodramatic ‘set fire to the floorboards / and be hanging from the rafters’, proving the force of passion and masculinity within an otherwise achingly sensitive soul.

Gates, portraying the voice of your ideal romantic partner describes every spectacular scenario as an experience he shares with you, and only you. This is a man you want to trust, and can with every part of your being.

Outside the realm of the song, Gates is, in appearance, your characteristic Australian male. His performance of such tender lyrics, written by the man himself, persuades the female listener to believe that a pure, two-way love exchange exists in real life, adding to his textual integrity as a lyricist and performer. Ladies, there’s hope for us yet.

‘Don’t Get Me Wrong’ - The Pretenders

Rhythm:

The constant drum in 4/4 time echoes your anticipation when counting down the hours until you see your crush again. It's not erratic, but it's certainly not to be ignored. Experiencing this beat is like walking with a spring in your step: you aren’t strolling, and you’re not skipping, but you are walking with your head high, the feeling of confidence and elation exploding throughout your body right through to your fingertips. You may try hard to withhold your excitement by pursing your lips together tightly, however you can’t withhold your goofy lovesick grin from the general public.

Instruments:

The electric guitar, which plucks the same riff varying only in key throughout, expresses the strong hope an individual holds onto in the uncertain stage of any new relationship. It is like trying to keep your head on straight while your heart threatens to leap out of its chest overzealously; like sitting by the phone, biting your lip and twiddling your thumbs, eyes staring off into space as your imagination wanders to the far corners of your psyche, struggling to balance damaging fictional scenarios with an uneventful reality. In doing so, the electric guitar perfectly captures the uncertainty and eagerness of such one-sided infatuation.

Lyrics:

Dreamscapes and romanticised scenes akin to the rare feeling imagined when you think you’ve met 'the one' are so cleverly depicted through metaphor in the band’s 1986 hit. ‘The mystic moon is playing havoc with the tide’ resembles the power imbalance felt when in lust with the idea of someone you barely know. ‘I split like light refracted… across a moonlit mile’ depicts the absence of level-headedness felt by any man, woman or child who has ever fallen head over heels for someone deemed emotionally distant.

What is so beautiful about this song is that while the music and general tone suggest a strong, overwhelming feeling upon first meeting, the hyperbolic lyrics admit human flaw: that in the moment when our emotions take heed, we view the world around us through rose-coloured lenses.

‘Don’t get me wrong /
If I fall in the mode of passion’

Most people want to believe in ‘the one’, so when a rare connection is felt, many allow themselves to believe that the universe has led them to meet. We as mere mortals begin to piece together a puzzle in the form of signs that don't exist in order to suit a reality we hope to achieve; this is captured majestically in each verse.

‘I see neon lights whenever you walk by...
I’m thinking about the fireworks that go off when you smile’

While to the nearby voyeur there is nothing of substance to note, Hynde captures in her lyrics the plentiful range of emotions felt when blinded by the idea of love. The person you fall for, it seems, is inconsequential when expressed in such a way. In this way, love as expressed in this song is not felt for one person in particular, but rather becomes an expression of your willingness as a listener to be open to love one day. And that is love in one of its most innocent forms.

Regardless of what is happening in the listener’s life at the time, these songs, and songs with similar strengths, allow listeners to escape reality, for better or worse. Lyrically, Bowie, Hynde and Gates effectively utilise a number of language techniques to allow for subjective (and seemingly endless) interpretation. Not only do their lyrics appear aesthetically appealing in print, they're also effective in appealing to a broad audience.

Universal themes of love and well, the universe in all its grandeur is a commonality between these three songs, comparing emotion and the value of love to the wonders of the world itself; while the sophisticated and well-produced layering of melodic instruments emotively entrances you as the listener, drawing you into a mode of fantasy within twenty seconds of play.

As human beings whose natural instinct it is to pair up (solitary confinement is a form of punishment after all), songs like ‘As The World Falls Down’, ‘Universe’ and ‘Don’t Get Me Wrong’ allow those of us navigating the single life to partake in the exceptional experience of love in a safe, satisfying and inspiring way.

So for those of you with an untouched heart, notice the tingling under your skin, that smile that creeps across your face without permission, the flurry in your heart as you drift into a romantic daze, and the fireworks that dazzle your vision. As you listen to these songs you'll no longer sense exclusion to the feeling, because that overpowering sensation, my friends, is what love is.

Written by Belinda Pearce

20/9/15