‘Homines non nascuntur, sed finguntur’

Some heroes are born. Some are made. Some are found by the investigative talents of vigilante detectives to whom the internet secretly owes the world.

Let’s take a glimpse into the journal of Sputnik user ArsMoriendi…

Each song is something I’ve been digging from each month within the past 5 months. While writing this I decided that the first four songs easily relate to the four temperaments of humorism (choleric, melancholy, sanguine, and phlegmatic respectively.) It feels pretentious to point that out, but it’s true. So check these out anyway:

[“Digbox” – reimagined by SandwichBubble, 2021]

November 2020: “Don’t Call Her No Tramp” by Betty Davis

Much of classic funk has the same energy as rock, but with the bass in the forefront. This often makes early funk incredibly fun and danceable, while retaining the earthiness of hard-rock. Betty Davis is one impressive lady within this already fantastic genre. Not only was she the person to influence her husband Miles (you know that trumpet guy, maybe you’ve heard of him) to incorporate funk and rock into his jazz (yep, she’s why Bitches Brew exists,) but she also made a hell of her own frontwoman. “Don’t Call Her No Tramp” marks itself as They Say I’m Different’s centerpiece as it oozes with confident sex-positive feminism. It’s backed by, roaring bass, shuffling keys, and Betty’s purposefully gruff voice. Everything about this song is a statement bursting with personality.

December: 2020 “Gronlandic Edit” by of Montreal

Anyone who has been paying attention to me in the last year should know I’ve fallen in love with of Montreal and the variety, humor, expression, and charm their music brings. “Gronlandic Edit” is on the other side of the funk coin as “Don’t Call Her No Tramp”. It’s modern, poppy, and light with sweetly sung vocals. The bass is still on the forefront, but it’s more of a hook than the huge jam from Davis. The lyrics are incredibly introspective and depressive to a point of despair. There’s an element of self-obsession to be found in Kevin Barnes’ words, the kind many people might find themselves in during a depression episode. It really is a pretty pity party of a song, but it’s so catchy and memorable at the same time.

January 2021: “The Late Greats” by Wilco

I’m honestly not really sure what “indie” means anymore, or “alternative” for that matter, so I’m just gonna call this one folk-rock. Jeff Tweedy cheerfully makes up some pretend musicians only to tell you that they’re better than any real artists and that you’ll never get to hear their songs. The lyrics and instrumentals are so simple and carefree, that it causes the entire premise to be absolutely ridiculous. It seems as though someone telling you to go fuck yourself with a big, toothy, genuine smile on their face. I love when music is goofy and spirited, even if it’s often seen as comparably juvenile. Do you ever feel like the status of seriousness in music is overrated?

February 2021: “Hypnosis” by 4 Bonjour’s Parties

Some music remains obscure despite being absolutely gorgeous and accessible. Everything, but the kitchen sink is to be found on “Hypnosis” by 4 Bonjour’s Parties, but not in any sort of bombastic way (except for a brief section toward the beginning.) Instead, it’s an orchestra woven together with electronic sounds, and rock instruments, into dense soothing force slowly moving forward. The flutes and chimes are the most prominent -making the song feel as though it’s shimmering. There’s this joyful, but laidback energy where the lyrics are far more of an instrument than a poetry delivery device. You could *yawns* almost fall asleep to it, yet it’s not boring just… nice… and placid… and zzzzzz.

March 2021: “You Call Fall” by Broadcast

It’s strange, but also common when a song sounds both of its time and anachronistic. Call it “retro-chic” to package that sentence into a single term. Trish Keenan’s droney, yet pretty female voice might as well be an ode to Dorothy Moskowitz of The United States of America, especially since The USA has been stated by Broadcast to be their biggest influence. Both artists make dark, dense, spacious psychedelic pop made primarily by electronic programming with no guitar. Lyrically, “You Can Fall” is simple: no matter how secure you feel, failure is still possible. It’s quite creepy musically: some of the electronics sound like broken grandfather clocks and others belong in the soundtrack to a lonely midnight city walk. This overall tone gives the impression that she’s threatening someone, rather than giving them advice. It’s no wonder that Broadcast cast is a figure in the hauntology scene.

And now everything is clear! Many thanks for your contributions, Ars – see you again in a few months’ time!

Please volunteer your Digbox! Keep the dig going! Hit me up with 3-9 blurbs, Spotify links, and an introduction paragraph at your convenience.