An interlude about Daft Punk’s Random Access Memories.
Travelling to my in-laws’ last weekend, still buzzing slightly from inadvertently having driven at 110MPH when my MP3 player proffered Debaser, I switched to my current album of the moment, Daft Punk’s Random Access Memories. Before long, my girlfriend – very often an opposite to me in terms of music tastes – asserted that she didn’t really like the record, claiming its beyond-polished production, abstracted and cyclic lyrics and propensity for vocoded vocals robbed of it emotional impact. Startled, for I was at that very moment deep in the midst of a highly emotional response to the strutting disco breakdown in the middle of track six (and my favourite), the undulating, unpredictable, bittersweet, all-music-at-once Touch, I briefly struggled for words.
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