Archives for posts with tag: musings

I wanted to show my love of an up and coming queen in the music industry and tell you all why you should be listening to and loving her as well. After a session on Spotify’s discovery section I came across TĀLĀ, an Iranian/British singer and producer. It only took two songs for me to decide I had found my new musical love. Listening to her Alchemy EP is a haunting, magical experience that made me wishing I were in a retro independent film; eating at diners on the coast of California with my friends and having rad hair.

Her vocals alternate between being at the forefront of a track like in Unfinished Business, to being barely there and letting the pulsating electro beats do her talking, in songs like Serbia. I find this contrast between songs a unique aspect of her sound, as she seamlessly combines her talents in production and vocals, with a range of cross-cultural sounds to create a listening experience like no other. The Duchess and Unfinished Business are my favourites and to me represent her versatility within the electronic genre. The Duchess is a dark piece of music, with almost no vocals but a thrumming bass line that you feel right in your core. Whereas Unfinished Business is a fast-paced dance track that just makes me want to get up and move (even though I can’t to save my life; making my “moves” more of a flailing motion) with warbling vocals atop of it. Her love of M.I.A is certainly obvious as her tracks have the same in-your-face, unashamed bad girl vibe to them, just like M.IA’s do. TĀLĀ’s vocals also have a kind of FKA Twigs feel to them too, which once again adds to the otherworldly nature of her sound and brings another element into her  slick production.

Her amazing music combined with her lustworthy style makes her my number one UK based artist at the moment and I am not too embarrassed to divulge that when she favourited a tweet of mine I yelled a bit. So here’s to another kick ass lady who is sure to take the music industry by storm.


A month ago in a flurry of excitement I ordered all the bleach and dye needed to make my hair a lilac delight. I became immersed in looking at pictures of gorgeous pastel hair on Pinterest and envisaged myself rocking the same cool colour. When the dye arrived I meticulously did all the tests needed and arranged with my friend (who was supposed to be a dyeing expert) when we were going to do it.

Friday came around and we set about bleaching the shit out of my hair, now its important for you to know that I already had medium/light blonde hair so it should have been relatively easy to do. Oh how wrong I was. Having used up all the bleach powder my friend started to make somewhat disgruntled sounding noises. My heart filled with fear; “um is everything ok?” I nervously asked. “Yeah I think so” came the reply. Not something I wanted to hear to be honest. I wanted a sound, resolute “everything is great!” Regardless, we carried on and eventually I washed out the bleach; only to discover instead of going white my hair had turned a brassy, orange kind of colour.

By this point I was already beginning to have my doubts, but the state of my hair meant I couldn’t quit as there was no way I would go out in public looking like I had Lucozade infused into my head. It was only after we started adding the purple that we both realised a mistake had been made, my hair was not taking the colour and in a fit of temper I rinsed it all out. This left me to put it nicely, looking like a science experiment gone wrong. The ends of my hair to mid-way up had gone purple, and the rest had patchy coverage with ginger and white everywhere. And my roots. Oh god, were they hideous. On the verge of tears I asked my friend to go into town and get everything needed to salvage my hair and dignity. An hour later she returned, armed with colour stripper, toner and brown dye.

The brown hair dye terrified me. I had been blonde my entire life; the thought of having dark hair majorly freaked me out. Not only would I look extremely washed out; which being super pale was something I really did not need. But I just couldn’t envisage myself going dark. But alas, what else was I to do. So after stripping my hair, which turned it a mermaidy aquamarine, I then made my shower look like a slaughterhouse, due to the masses of red toner I washed out going absolutely EVERYWHERE. I’m talking up the walls, on the shower curtain, somehow under the curtain and up my door, the toilet-seat and all over the floor. My bathroom looked like Michael Myers had been busy in there and how it happened still mystifies me. Anyway an hour and a half later I was sat, looking at the mirror with dark brown/burgundy hair. And I hated it, I loathed the sight of myself. It was just wrong, this wasn’t me, I looked weird. I had to go back to blonde, somehow.

As I write this I am awaiting my hair appointment to go back to my true colour, my calling, my one true love. I have had to wait a month though; and boy has it dragged on. In that month I did learn some things about myself, for example brown hair makes me look mildly like the corpse bride, so I can now do makeup which reinvigorates the face mildly. So if the undead ever rise I could end up with a lucrative career in a zombie beauty salon. Which is handy I suppose; always nice to have a back up plan. But finally I shall be myself once more; an 80s obsessive with thick eyebrows and blonde hair. The glory.

I’d love to know if anyone else has suffered a hair calamity and what lengths you went to to salvage your precious hair.