I very rarely miss clubbing these days. It all just feels like a bit too much effort and the recovery time is just way too hideous to contemplate. Gigs are fine as you can can be home at a reasonable time (yes, I’m aware how old and boring this makes me sound: I’m ok with this) and festivals are different, and worth it. But clubbing isn’t something I’ve yearned for during lockdown in the same way I would have a few years ago. But then records like this come along and I feel almost sick with desire to be all fucked up in a club with a load of other sweaty people, fingers clutching a bottle of water, a mindless grin slapped all over my big stupid face.
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Baltra – Dreaming of a Disco
The Predatory Wasp 