oh Bloom we love you get up

It's with some real sadness I write, looking out at the grey air and thinking about Bloom. There's a strange feeling when a band you love break up, especially one that has always been there as a social lynchpin. Since the first year I was in Brighton they've been around in some form or other, as The Beautiful Word originally, and they have always been able to put on a party. Likewise they've always made music I can have on heavy rotation in my ears when I'm travelling about, a band who I can show off to people if I'm in another country making new friends and we're putting songs on. It was a beautiful thing when I was being shown round a beautiful bookshop in Chicago and my friend Nate told me he had read a post I wrote on this blog about their album, and that he put them on in the shop at closing time. Bands split up a lot and projects end. The feeling, though, that there won't be another gig or new songs is a pang. I am having a similar wrench with mewithoutYou at the moment, and now I think of it mewithoutYou and Bloom are the two bands I have listened to the most consistently for the longest time. It's strange listening habbits. One of these bands most days, then a lot of jazz and usually a bit of happy hardcore to get me from A to B. Maybe something related to the obsession of the hour. Anyways, it feels like a friend I will always have, and I want to leave a note here directing you to their last single (bottom of this page) and to say thank you to all of them for every single gig, recording, party, ridiculous adventure and all the laughter. That special impetus to keep working precariously, to give and give and give and to inspire others to do so. Thank you, Bloom. Thloom.

x

https://open.spotify.com/album/3JIoN2BwmQ0eUQSR7CyD8l?si=B02gBh3aQ_SzlrXrulYQ2Q

Triludan

And as it cleared that you lay 

to scatter by me, to dream, then

to copper the sky appears, 

which stars; its body to dream 

or clears the window bridge 

that is beating rest. Who lay 

in a beaten rest to the bridge, 

the dream that cleared to copper 

the stars, and dreams a poisoned sky

in a heat denied to sleep 

and then to dream to the stear,

or you who lay by heat for clear.