Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Ian Grimble and Richard Matthews at 2KHz at Church Studios, Crouch End, London
The aching remains at an even pitch throughout the duration of most Deaf Club songs, never dragging or trailing off too much. It's better that it all just stays on a smooth trajectory. It's that place that feels the most natural anyway. It's less healthy to feel the maddening swings in feeling rather than to feel mild turbulence in the running transcript of what seems inevitably forthcoming.
Lead singer, Polly Mackey, sings, "Is this why I sleep through mornings?" and it's a line that bleeds through in a number of ways, providing that piece of sentiment that you pin up on the corkboard when you're trying to figure out what a group of people are intending with their art. It's a line that makes us look at them as believers in what can be accused of being a great loss. They are believers in there being very few things that should be taken in while alert - that the days are far too bright and so underwhelming that they should be mostly slept right the fuck off and looked at in a historical text - what happened, when did it happen, who did it happen to, does it affect me little or greatly, what now?
It's when all of those questions have been properly vetted that we can determine if we've made the right decision of even getting up at the time that we finally did oust ourselves from the covers and our self-made, cocoon of warmth. You know what, it's probably not at all fair saying that these people that we don't even know are believers in something that could be characterized as total apathy, but it's not far off to peg them as disenchanted and wont to figure on there being some major bruises absorbed every day and perhaps not all that many hugs and embraces to counter them with.
When you're almost scolding yourself, "Is this why I sleep through mornings?" it's obvious that you made a choice - a decision - to get up, believing that somehow things were going to be different this morning, not ALL mornings could be as disgusting and dastardly as they've always been and then you're hit with another one. It's not like the others have been, since you have to ask the question, but it's bad enough that you know that it's from the same strain of sour notes. It's hitting again - that dull pain that has dulled itself right into your comfort zone.