Music

The Songs of Sunday Homebody

It was an outside kind of day. But I had records to listen to.

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It was the nicest day of the year so far. Warm, clear, sunny and just five weeks away from the solstice, when it will seem like the summer is going to last forever.

And I live across the street from the beach. Everyone and his dog was there, I could see them from my balcony. But on that Sunday I stayed home mostly, aside from an hour and a bit, spent swimming at the pool across the street.

It felt like the right thing to do, without really thinking about it. It was the kind of day that I revel in just doing projects around my place. And listening to music, with the ocean air coming through the open sliding door. I had one record or another playing constantly. I don’t think I talked to anybody all day.

I’m normally a creature of habit, I’m normally a creature of order. But when I took one record off the turntable, I’d just put it on top of its cover on the shelf adjacent, and eventually another cover would go on top of it and its record on top of that, when it had finished its service on the turntable.

And so on. All day long.

Eventually, the successive records formed themselves into an unruly pile several inches high that told the story of the whole day. I just left them like that on Sunday night.

They were still there on Monday morning, when the unadorned freedom that the weekend provided faded into the reality of the weekday. And with it, my desire to reimpose order overrode my desire for organic randomness, and I set about putting the records back into inside sleeves, the sleeves back inside album covers and then the whole thing into its outer sleeve, spine out to the open end. And then into its rightful alphabetical place of each on the shelf.

It’s about a 10 minute job.

And of course my records are in alphabetical order, based on the artist’s name. Is there any other way? And don’t say by colour or anything else insane.

It was the re-creation of order that made me replay the day before.

Sugarcubes / Life’s too Good (1988). A bit of Icelandic pop music to start the day as the sky grows lighter. I found this at a record dig a few weekends ago and when I put it on, I remembered every word from 1988 when this album was on heavy rotation in my suburban bedroom. Coffee and reading Medium articles on the balcony as the sun started to make itself known and Delicious Demon was the next song.

Naturally, I wrote an article about finding that record.

[embed]Life Really Is Too Good I finally found that key record from my youth that I had long been looking formedium.com

U2 / The Joshua Tree (1987). Something from the same time as the first record. More of the same activities, things still on a slow, slow burn for Sunday morning. And another cup of coffee. The plants need their Sunday watering but they’ll have to wait for One Tree Hill to finish.

The first runner of the annual marathon blazed by on the street below, looking like he had been shot out of a cannon. Probably 30 kilometres in, like it was nothing. Cowbells and people cheered him on.

Suede / Anti Depressants (2025). Thus motivated, it was now time for me to put on an album that would get things underway. They are a great live show and I am going to see them at a festival in Bulgaria during my travels this summer and based on their setlists, it’s going to be important that I know this album to fully appreciate the show. I shall be Dancing With the Europeans on that day. The laundry went in.

Belle and Sebastian / The Boy With the Arab Strap (1998). The intensity of the previous album was a lot for the hour of the day, so some twee but also rollicking Scottish folk rock from 25 years ago to bring it down a bit and fully return to the gentleness of the morning. Reading time is not quite over yet.

Kasabian / Kasabian (2004). And straight back up again. Hang up the laundry on the rack and put it outside to let the air off the Pacific Ocean dry it. But I don’t turn around ’cause the Reason is Treason.

Beastie Boys / Check your Head (1993). Onwards, ever onwards, but now back to 1993 for an intoxicating amalgam of rap, hip hop and punk rock by three Jewish guys from NYC. Whatcha watcha watcha want? Besides a clean kitchen.

Prince / Greatest Hits 2 (1993). He was smart when he put out the greatest hits 1 and 2 separately. The biggest hits were spread across both albums and you had to buy both to get them all. Little Red Corvette and a late lunch time. Baby, you’re much too fast. But cleaning the bathroom takes way too long.

OMD / The Pacific Age (1986). The place is nearly spic and span (enough) now and though it is getting towards later afternoon, the beach is still in peak form, no one is ready to go home just yet. How about some mid eighties synth-pop on an album named after the ocean in front of me with a drummer that makes the whole thing worth listening to again. Forever Live and Die

Steely Dan / Greatest Hits (1978). The boats passing by just beyond the beach below make me reach for music to go with the vibe that the people on those boats might be feeling. I’m cleaning the floors and the sun is streaming in to show the spots I missed, even after three rounds. You go back, Jack and do it again.

The Pretenders / Learning to Crawl (1984). Inexplicably (or perhaps not, anymore) a clip of Chrissie Hynde playing a Pretenders song comes across my one social media feed. I reflexively look at the P-section on the shelf a few feet away, and due to the way the records lean, this one is already looking at me. On goes this record, side one is so good. I found a picture of you, those were the happiest days of my life.

Morrissey / Make Up is a Lie (2026): Say what you like about him, but our Stephen Patrick can still spin a tune together and clearly has a few tricks left up his sleeve. He and The Monsters of Pig Alley say that all my hard work deserves a mixed drink.

ELO / Out of the Blue (1977). The sun is on the decline, but there’s still time to rise the day up again and get dinner underway. The Electric Light Orchestra never fails to raise the mood. Jeff Lynne’s unmistakable voice paired with the background vocals on Sweet Talkin’ Woman. Yeah, good.

Sting / Nothing Like Sun (1987). If there is one song I’d like to hear during as many sunsets as possible, from here until then, it’s Fragile, the song that ends this album. Do yourself a favour, as the sun is dipping below the horizon in the distance, hold out for the very last guitar note at 3:37…and let it hang there for a moment.

Chicane / Behind the Sun (2000). Now the sun is down, but there is still light, albeit fading. Perhaps another drink. “The hiding sun, like the hiding sun / Feels like it’s just begun”. It will be back tomorrow, sure enough, but first Autumn Tactics.

Massive Attack / Blue Lines (1991): Now it’s dark. The place is not quite spotless, but close enough. And the nighttime is the right time for some early 90s beats. “How can you have a day without a night?” Unfinished Sympathy.

And there it goes…a whole Sunday of music. And one at least surface clean apartment. And one recharged social battery, thanks to time spent on one’s own.

What was it that Tom Hardy said?

“Being alone for a while is dangerous and addictive. Because once you see how peaceful it is, you no longer want to deal with people.”

Ok, maybe that’s a bit intense and anti-social. So how about this one from him, then:

“Some people don’t understand that sitting in your own house alone, in peace, eating snacks and minding your business is priceless.”

The music sets the scene. What else do you need to know?