Monday, May 18, 2009

Bob James and fuzzy cushions

Working as a flippant, lazy and incongruous reporter isn't exactly a road map to cool.

You're supposed to know things in this game - who said what in City Council, why are there breeze blocks where my tyres once were, why are you hitting me with a billy club. The modern newspaper is becoming as viral as Ben Chapman's re-election prospects, but you still have to keep up appearances.

Information = cool.

The same applies to music. Until recently, The Board could never claim to have a cool taste in music. The assertion in 2005 by an American girl that my CD collection was "a cry for help" stuck for quite a while.

But flapping around the Limerick Leader newsroom, dodging deadlines like so many swooping pigeons, has exposed him to a better standard of listening these past months. In the last year, his CD collection has become defined by introspection and oddity.

Bob James. Jill Scott. Marvin Gaye. Raphael Saadiq. De La Soul. Common. Ladyhawke. Friendly Fires. Miles Davis. Hell, even Gerry Beckley gets a rattle.

On The Beat may try and take credit for this. As always, he will be dismissed with a burst of four-letter expletives.

Though he does deserve credit for introducing me to Eightball's Release Party at Aubars every Friday.

The Board was there on Friday, and while he grew more inebriated by the second he found his surroundings to be more than pleasing.

Fuzzy cushions. Cosy surrounds. Cracking music. Pretty women.

It's given Friday nights a whole new relevance. It is highly recommended.

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