Trish Keenan

January 14, 2011 by Post Team 

Trish Keenan, Much has been since yesterday, listened broadcast. It was a little naively granted the right to believe, for once, the “forces of the mind.” Or something like that, call it what you want: it was thought that curl in the voice of Trish Keenan, the belly full of anguish, but her eyes raised to heaven infinite it constantly scrutinized, would help a any way the young woman to find the light. Infinite sadness: Broadcast singer, struggling for life for over two weeks, has finally expired his last breath on Friday morning in a gloomy room melancholy British hospital.

It still has a lot of listening broadcast. To say, by the way: you never, never stopped listening broadcast. For full-time or fine mist in the abyss or the roof of the world, the proud smile or a broken heart, always, always, always, like the body needs air and as the soul can do without heart. Always, always, always have been allowed Trish Keenan blow hot and cold on our moods and we embrace them in his. From Work and Non Work in 1997, the first compilation of singles diamond, first collection of dark pop and prnography, proofreading futuristic Ennio Morricone, John Barry, concrete music, pop and diaphanous Women of the 60s, we followed the group as if possessed, watching his few outings as dependent on the lookout.

It has followed and discussed, from age to age, a dark race track: one leading, slowly, inexorably, to the curse of superglue fishwives absolute. For Broadcast, probably died along with his voice and songwriter adored was killed, it is said one of the best British bands of the last 15 years, if not the best. One of the most sadly overlooked, too. Each album, each new EP, every gig was a chance to yell at engineering and slip into endless beauty, the masses themselves, went to see each other if the poor was not there.

Rich fan zealous rather famous, Thom Yorke’s first, the group quickly realized that what might have been able or become tubes definitive hundreds of thousands of hearts marshmallows (Papercuts, Look Outside, City in Progress or Come On Let’s Go to The Noise Made by People in 2000, for example) would never exceed the perimeter of the prison almost “cult” include not famous during his lifetime and yet loved by a host of romantic shades.

Selling low, losing one of its members to each album to finish in a couple (Trish Keenan and James Cargill), before recording his music with the meager means at hand trembling, Broadcast was then allowed to go its own destiny, ultimately very black and gradually released its complex musical obsessions. The ever more pop Ha Ha Sound (2003) was already beginning to slts prettiness with more pronounced dissonances, concrete replacing the preciousness, an esoteric intimate exciting as spring, an underlying tension extraordinary.

Tender Buttons sank even more poisonous thorn in the flesh pop: the beautiful songs of the group, without getting rid of the sequences rounder and its melodious DNA, were more electronic, more and more corroded, were formally and textually more and more exciting. Knowing a priori definitely lost for popular causes, the group finally came out two years ago the ultimate exploration of his passions for witches occult music: A Broadcast and The Focus Group Investigate Witch Cult of the Radio Age strange and exciting, vaporous, informed, full of ghosts, nightmares, radio spells, pests threatening, twisted beauty. Perhaps the last disc that will broadcast to the world. Who unjust little thing, never thanked, as he ought to have, against all odds and re-enchanted.

Much has listened Broadcast. We lost this morning his soul siren voice and sheer carnal. It has to be quite honest, lost much more: a dear friend, an intimate and constant presence, a sister melancholy, a love of fantasy. We think a lot about her, her family loved ones. And we hear a lot Trish Keenan: it still has many secrets to whisper to us in whispers. “When you’re looking for a friend, its empty goal at The End, when everybody’s Disappeared, You will not Be Alone.” RIP

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