I tell people off when they listen to the same album over again just so they can have some noise in the background. I tell them it spoils music. It reduces it to nothing, to dust motes and furniture, to boredom.

I don’t mean that when you fall in breathless love with ONE SONG you can’t then play it over again. You probably shouldn’t, but you can. That’s different. That’s music like sugar, like nitrous oxide, like crushes that take on a life of their own until you can’t remember anything real about the person or song you got the crush on.

I hardly ever do this anymore, because it’s greedy; because it’s just diminishing returns, like caffeine, carbs, coke, gas.

But I’ve listened to track 2, The Platform on the Ocean, three times since last night. I have no idea anymore whether it’s any good or not, whether I’m damaging it or myself by repeated listens. All I know is that for some reason (pick one: dusty drum machine; gentle motorik beat; one-note backing; Suicidelike synth simplicity; unexpected brass; sad, sad, sad, layered, delayed, wavered vocals hovering around the drone note and doing, what is it, pentatonic or something, one of those modes, lazy tunes, anyone can do it, s’the only way to sing around a one-chord song, gets me every time; a reminder throughout of dreams and imperfections; the feeling of a moment frozen in time; a bit like Martin Rev’s sweet and underrated solo record of 2000; it speaks my language; oh, fuck knows, all that and a bit more) I’ve listened to it three times since last night, and one of those times, I noticed that it was making me cry, just a tiny bit.

All the other editors are busy editing stuff. It’s just that I can’t review this reissue because it came out ages ago, so here is my one-sentence review.

“A precise beauty with untidy edges to its pretty features, happy disappointment in its eyes and quietly, gracefully, awkwardly, shamelessly dancing feet.”