Goldicot Culls The Week - VII

by Goldicot on Mon, Feb 24, 2025

Some find heaven in sevens and elevens

In keeping with the albums themselves, I’ll keep it brief this week. Listen to music. It’s your job to enjoy it, not music’s job to entertain you. Art is the end result. The question of what is the interesting part. It is better to give than to receive. Insight comes from within, not from without. You can do better. 3 Spume Orgy of Corpses Independent February 18 One of the main motivating factors for these weekly articles was a way to honor the prolific artists who release multiple quality works in a single calendar year.

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Goldicot Culls The Week - VI

by Goldicot on Thu, Feb 20, 2025

40 days, 40 nights / Broken people go without

Six weeks in. I’ve completed my first goal: get some writing done whatsoever. Time to look ahead to another goal: that writing should be good. After all, the artists behind the art might be reading these. And what would they think, if instead of insightful commentary and discussion of the contents, it was mere faff and babble about their geographic residence, or lists of bands that bear some vague resemblance, or entirely unfounded observations about genres, et cetera ad infinitum?

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Goldicot Culls The Week - V

by Goldicot on Tue, Feb 11, 2025

Thus ends the beginning

And so through the door we are fully passed. Janus, the two-faced god, represents both beginnings and transitions, which I find a useful way to think about resolutions; to make them habitual they must be an endless succession of re-beginnings, in order to produce a transition in the actual pattern. January, of course, is not an actual beginning, except calendrically, just the endless procession continuing unabated. Nonetheless, it is the start of a new pattern, perhaps yet unrecognized, but the thread begins, indeed has now begun, to form, only fully glorious in hindsight and memory, yet you can still bask in its light as it dawns.

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Goldicot Culls The Week - IV

by Goldicot on Tue, Feb 4, 2025

4/4

If I had time to listen to it all, I would. I don’t. This week, my defeat, already ever present, became known to me, when 20 albums a day was not enough, and when bygone weeks had albums I’d missed. This sensation of defeat feels like relief; having failed, I am free of the fear of failure. But not of its consequences. Henceforth I shall have two sections here: three from the present, as is tradition, and the misses from yesterweek, however many they should be.

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