LISTENING POST

MORE SONGS ABOUT GIRLS AND THE APOCALYPSE

My name is Michael and I’m a Vornaholic. My addiction is recent. Some of you have been there a lot longer than I have. I can’t rationalise why I crave More Songs About Girls

and the Apocalypse. I’ve mainlined it – its confusion, waywardness, clarity, humour and its familiarity even when it alters my musical memories (he’s far too young for them to be his) on Flint

And Tinder, which waltzes along questioning and craving what love might feel, look, sound and taste like and then trips out on a Pink Floyd acid flashback.

I know there’s method in Vorn’s madhouse but not even John Cale could out-deadpan Anna Eddington on Drowning Kittens, and This Is What is like being at a bar mitzvah except for some creepy stuff going on with the lyrics.

But I can forgive him for that because he’s such a clever dick with words and plays around with them in the same way that he plays around with musical styles – he Vorn-dalises them so that you really believe that yellow IS the new black.

He must be wired differently. Vorn thinks in crooked lines but I like wiggly. It’s fun, it’s adventurous, it’s unconstrained, it’s liberating. It gets in your bloodstream and you’re hooked.

At first I thought this Vorn thing was just harmless, like a playful puppy. But, of course, puppies grow into dogs and need house-training or they start defecating on the neighbour’s lawn, and, before you know it, your dog and your neighbour have taken over your life.

I’ve tried to stay away from More Songs About Girls and the Apocalypse . Well-meaning friends have told me there are plenty of cheap foreign substances – Biebers, Kanyes and Minajes – and that I didn’t need home-baked stuff to give me a buzz. I know I need help but being a Vornaholic isn’t one of those mainstream addictions. That’s why I’ve thought about going back to church. They tell me that after being born again you won’t need Vorn again but I’m not sure I’m ready. This must be my apocalypse – now.