Tuesday, 10 January 2012


Sometimes I listen to Burial and wonder what I was making a fuss about. Then again, sometimes I sit and listen and cry because it feels like I've been pulled directly into his open heart. Such vulnerability coming from such a guarded soul, cloaked heavily from the meddlings of the outside. He makes me want to stand on a south London hill by his side and stare silently at the city below. That uncanny knack of making you feel as though you understand a person when you don't know them at all. That's the mark of an artist.

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