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Music | Fresh!
Reading “produced by Tim Burgess” and “recorded at Rockfield Studio” in the same sentence is enough to raise the expectations for Opus Kink’s latest single “This Train”, released this July via Nice Swan Records.
You’ll only need to listen for about 19 seconds to realise that the hype is completely justified. Enticed by the pounding drums and gloomy vocals that sound like a mantra for the brainwashed, you’ll be met by a frenzied bass line followed by shrieky horns that add solemnity to the absurd. The paced descent into a synth madness will leave you unsure of where you’re going but unable to turn back, welcoming you into an eclectic, groovy journey that escapes cataloging.
In fact, Opus Kink seems to enjoy leaving us perplexed as to where in the ever-expanding map of musical genres they are to be placed. But it doesn’t matter, because this is a band that requires no prior knowledge to be thoroughly enjoyed. If anything, the surprise factor adds to their charm, leaving the listener excited, confused, and - in the case of “This Train” - a little hysterical.
Article | Editorial
The keen netizen will be familiar with the viral video of a guy drinking Ocean Spray Cran-Raspberry juice on a longboard to Fleetwood’s Mac’s Dreams. But before there was Nathan Apodaca, aka DoggFace, there was Sabina (me), and my very own, non-internet generated obsession with Dreams from Fleetwood Mac.
I am no Fleetwood Mac super fan, mind you. While not immune to the band’s captivating history of intrigue and breakups, I don’t own a t-shirt, I have never gone to pilgrimage to the Hard Rock Cafe in Atlantic City, New Jersey, to see a pair of black patent spike-heeled boots signed by Stevie in silver ink, and I would likely struggle to name all the bandmates. But Dreams holds a special place in my heart. I’m perfectly aware that it is an egregiously basic pop ballad, but it’s pretty perfect in its silliness. Dreams is suitable for when I’m sad, when I’m happy, when it’s my birthday, and when we’ve just entered lockdown number 3 and I’m on my own in the office, writing about cybersecurity training, with full control over the speakers. I can play it on the Ukulele - yes, I’m white, and yes, it’s only two chords, but one of them is a barre. Ask anyone in my life which song I want playing at my funeral and they’ll all tell you that my coffin will be carried along the aisle to the words “players only love you when they’re playing”. Hell, put those words on my grave too, a forever testament to my fear of commitment and tumultuous dating history.