I’m so sad and stunned that Broadcast singer Trish Keenan has died of pneumonia following swine flu. Her voice was so haunting and beautiful and – to be selfish for a minute – I never got to see Broadcast perform live.
I always imagined a film of my book Constance Breakwater would have a lot of her voice on the soundtrack. One of the chapters was named after a Broadcast song – Ominous Cloud. Colour Me In and Lunch Hour Pops would be in there too.
And, again selfishly, I wish my flu jab were sooner. Another few days away.
I just listened to The Little Bell. In this context the lyrics are even more heart-breaking than ever:
The little bell lies on the ground
Although it tries it cannot sound
It used to ring across the air
Its sweetened tone would linger there
But from a careless hand it rocked
Its shell is only made of crock
Although it lies there split in two
It still tries to ring out to you
Now deep inside my wooden clock
There is a tick but not a tock
Although into the room it chimes
It only tells me half the time
Why do you leave me so confused
I’ll miss my bus, my job I’ll lose
Oh what is wrong my wooden clock
It breaks my heart to see you stop