After The Noise
Everything Is Equal
Thursday 02 April 2026
John Lennon & Yoko Ono – New York City (1972)
The original Listening Log was a bit more “serious”. Mostly music with few diversions. No wandering off into whatever was happening around me.
I was encouraged to follow other music blogs. One of them was Brutally Honest Reviews. Lived up to the name. Mostly just slagging things off for the sake of it.
Almost everything recent by huge artists was by default terrible. Elton John, Paul McCartney, The Rolling Stones… all dismissed. Then Hackney Diamonds comes out and suddenly it’s a masterpiece. Bit of a turnaround.
It was loud. Constantly chasing a reaction. I stuck with it for a while because, to be fair, it did push me towards things I wouldn’t have tried otherwise.
This album, Some Time in New York City, was one of them.
I went in expecting to pick holes. Instead, I found myself really liking it.
There’s plenty of Yoko Ono on the album. Not on this track, mind. She was probably off meditating or creating something wonderfully abstract. She got a hard time, as usual. Predictably. But We’re All Water is brilliant.
And this… this is just John Lennon doing rock and roll.
Straight. No messing about. Proper energy. You can move to it. Foot tapping, head nodding. Alive.
I’m home now from the morning school run. Parked up, letting it play while I finish this off. One of those moments where you consider sticking the whole album on and letting it run.
Might do. Might not. The playlist’s been doing a good job.
I used to go into albums looking for faults. Ready to dismiss, ready to critique.
Anything created from scratch has worth.
This playlist’s changed that.
Everything’s equal on it. No hierarchy, no expectations. Things land as they land.
And more often than not, they land better that way.
Being critical for the sake of it… it’s just narrow.
The classics are landing today…
Patrick Cowley, Sylvester – Do You Wanna Funk? (1982)
I remember this one.
His only other UK hit, aside from You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real), just scraping into the Top 40 at 32. Should’ve been bigger.
Played it on the radio once and the bloody thing kept skipping halfway through. Ruined the moment. Properly annoying, because it’s such a tune. I didn’t make the end of the seven-minute track.
Today, it’s saving my sanity.
Absolute chaos on the roads. One of those drives. Everyone out, everyone in a rush, everyone convinced they’re the only one that matters. Bentley flying past like he’s late for his own ego. Tailgaters. Late indicators. Cyclists weaving. Pedestrians glued to phones.
Standard city madness. Just a bit worse with the bank holiday looming.
Meanwhile, this is just… groove.
That Cowley pulse. Patrick Cowley was ahead of his time. Gone at 32, before the world even fully understood what AIDS was. Sylvester not long after. When the big disease had a little name.
And yet this still sounds alive.
His voice floating. Pure movement. Nearly seven minutes of it, steady and unbothered.
It’s funny how a track like this can hold everything together. Without it, I’d probably be shouting at the dashboard.
Instead, I’m tapping along. Letting the nonsense outside stay outside.
And every now and then… a miracle.
Someone uses their indicator.
And the next track beckons.
Bob Dylan – Rainy Day Women #12 & 35 (1966)
What a tune.
Bob Dylan in full flight.
I’ve always been a dabbler. Dip in, dip out. There’s stuff I’ve missed, stuff I don’t care for, but most of it… most of it I like. Yes, he can drone a bit. But he’s Dylan. He can do what he likes.
From Blonde on Blonde. Opening track.
It just bursts in. Loose, chaotic, almost big-band. Slightly drunk. Completely alive.
“Everybody must get stoned.”
Meanwhile, Manchester traffic the day before Good Friday seems to have taken that literally.
Absolute chaos.
Phones. No looking. Cutting in. No acknowledgment. Sunshine and school holidays bringing out the worst decision-making known to man.
Coming round Great Ancoats Street… trouble as usual.
Past the Frog and Bucket. Pelican crossing. Normally carnage. Today, one person actually waits.
A small victory.
Then back to normal. Taxis doing taxi things. Cars edging out. You’ve got to stay sharp.
And through it all, Dylan just rolls on in the background.
Holding it together.
Thank you, Bob.
And finally, an old chum comes to the party.
Morrissey – Satan Rejected My Soul (1997)
Satan Rejected My Soul
This was odd.
The God Squad knocked on the door. Julia thought it was a parcel, so we both went charging downstairs. Quick glance at the camera… Bibles in hand.
I stayed well away.
I don’t like it. Never have. Not sure why knocking on doors uninvited to sell salvation is considered acceptable.
Anyway.
Afterwards I said, “You know what you should’ve said? Satan rejected my soul.”
And then… this comes on.
From Maladjusted. Not peak Morrissey, but still firmly his territory. Minor hit, but a good one.
Rockabilly edge. Nothing spectacular, nothing weak. Just solid.
I’ve always liked it. One of the better tracks from that period.
But the timing today… ridiculous.
And later, out walking Bowie, there they are again. Smiling, handing out leaflets.
Managed to avoid them.
Another small victory.
And now I’ve got the perfect line ready, for the next time.
END OF LISTENING LOG
The Listening Log 