It was almost 11 years ago, now that I think about it. I was visiting various grad schools all over the country. I visited Athens, Ga., in February. It was one of those classic middle-Georgia February days - which is to say it was 70 degrees and sunny and perfect. After talking with professors and touring the department, one of the grad students I met invited me out for drinks at the Manhattan with some of her friends. Over whiskey sours, and then, later, PBR, we talked about books and feminist theory and music. Because music was everywhere in Athens; you couldn't ever not talk about it. And by the end of that impassioned conversation, I was quite smitten - with the Manhattan, with Athens, and with one of the grad student's friends, a geography student I'll call "John." Oh, how easy it was to be 22!
John was one of those people you date briefly and would otherwise completely forget about, were it not for that one magical mix-tape he made you, the one where you first heard that first song by that band whose album you'd immediately go out and buy, based on that one song, and then you'd play over and over and over again, still, now, almost 11 years later. That song was, "We've Got Time," and the band was Broadcast.
This song still stuns me with its beauty. "We've got time to work it out, we've got what numbers cannot count. Who knows to what this will amount?"" Trish Keenan sings in the chorus. It's a classic song about romance. Like the Chairmen of the Board's "Give Me Just a Little More Time," it perfectly captures that moment when infatuation ends and you have to decide whether the relationship is worth pursuing. In John's case, it was not - we mutually ended things before I even moved to Athens. But in Broadcast's case, it was - from that first record I bought, Work and Non Work, to The Noise Made by People, which I bought later that year, to 2003's Haha Sound and then 2005's Tender Buttons. (I never got around to getting their most recent album, Broadcast And The Focus Group Investigate Witch Cults Of The Radio Age or 2007's EP compilation album The Future Crayon.)
When I made friends in Athens outside of grad school, I was delighted to learn they were Broadcast fans too. Of course it was trendy to like indie British electronica, but Broadcast filled in this gap between the peppy political pop of Stereolab and the chilly, challenging Hood. Trish Keenan's haunting voice always kept Broadcast on the pretty side of things, even when the music underneath went beyond.
When I was snowed in on Monday and working from home, I listened to Broadcast at some point. As I heard "Winter Now," I thought, "Oh, I should post this on the MP blog! It's perfect." But then the phone rang or I checked my e-mail or something happened to distract me, and I forgot about it. So it was jarring to hear the terrible news this morning that Keenan just died from complications from pneumonia after contracting H1N1 on a recent Australian tour. It's unbelievably sad and tragic, and never has listening to Keenan's voice seemed more heartbreaking than it does at this moment. Winter seems very bleak indeed.
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