Music to bathe in

Tom Ravenscroft opts for comfort over clever where indie's concerned and discovers he's an underwate

I like Swiftumz -- not just because they sound like they might be one of those tasty children's cold remedies that used to make you pine for sickness when you were little but because they are a slightly rubbish indie rock band that I derive a strange comfort from. I like it when bands sound like they haven't been playing together for very long and don't necessarily retain any musical talent but manage to slog out a few good tunes through sheer desire. Swiftumz give off that impression; everything slightly out of tune, time and practice. I suspect this may be a well-organised and intentional sound but I'm happy to believe it is not: I'm getting a bit bored of listening to clever and hope this isn't. Their album is called Don't Trip and is out in August.

I was told this week that I was a fan of underwater sounds. I wasn't aware if this and I'm not sure if it's something I need worry about. Then, right on cue, Dam Mantle's new EP We arrives in my life and perfectly fits this accusation; it is music that sounds like it's been put through a tap. It is warm, pretty and sleepy sounding. You should take a bath in it.

Fresh sounds from the BBC 6 Music DJ
Show Hide image

“Minoan pendant”: a new poem by Mark Granier

“Yes – I press my nose / to the pleasantly warm glass – / it’s a copy of one I saw / cased in the cool museum”

Yes – I press my nose
to the pleasantly warm glass –
it’s a copy of one I saw
cased in the cool museum –
gold beaten to honey, a grainy
oval dollop, flanked by two
slim symmetrical bees –

garland for a civilisation’s
rise and collapse, eye-dropped
five thousand years: a flash
of evening sun on a windscreen
or wing mirror – Heraklion’s
scooter-life buzzing and humming –

as I step in to browse, become
mesmerised by the warm
dark eyes of the woman
who gives her spiel and moves
softly and with such grace,
that, after leaving, I hesitate

a moment on the pavement
then re-enter with a question
I know not to ask, but ask
anyway, to hear her voice
soften even more as she smiles
and shakes her hair – no.

Mark Granier is an Irish poet and photographer. He is the author of four collections of poetry, most recently Haunt (Salmon).

This article first appeared in the 16 June 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Britain on the brink