64. Anathema

Koko

26 September 2014

There are some records that latch onto your life like barnacles, permanently fused to a moment, an emotion, an experience. You don’t choose these musical life markers; they’re inflicted upon you by twists of fate and whatever happens to be playing in the background.

For instance, I cannot, under any circumstances, listen to Macy Gray’s “I Try” without feeling my stomach drop like a malfunctioning lift. Why? Because that wobbly warble of heartbreak was playing on the radio at the exact moment that I underwent a horrific breakup. With that, poor Macy was doomed to spend eternity in my personal Room 101 of unlistenable artists.

Then there’s Weather Systems by Anathema. Not tied to a petty breakup, but something far heavier, the loss of my brother-in-law and my dad, both in the space of a week. That album, specifically the tracks Internal Landscapes and Untouchable, became the sonic scaffolding that held me up when everything else was crumbling.

I played it relentlessly, letting it drown out the worst of the noise in my head, like some kind of emotional life raft. It had such a profound impact that I even wrote to Danny Cavanagh, the band’s chief architect, just to thank him for unknowingly helping me keep it together. And in an act of unexpected kindness, he sent back a handwritten note, along with pages from his notebook where he scrawled the lyrics to “Untouchable”.

So, when the chance came to see them live, still carrying all of that, it was never going to be just another gig. Some concerts are beer-fuelled, sing-along affairs; some are pure nostalgia trips; and then there are ones like this, bittersweet, overwhelming, something you feel.