Loving Jake Bugg


Jake Bugg was born in 1994. That’s the year I started Grade Seven.

He is also brilliant.

These factors, combined, make me feel both old and very, very ordinary. When I was nineteen, my greatest achievement was getting the lead role in my college musical. Jake has had a number one album and seven hit singles. He is currently in Australia (the other side of the world, to him), touring the album, and performing at sold-out festivals.

It would be easy to hate Jake Bugg, if he didn’t make amazing music; if he wasn’t so gosh-darn appealing. I am utterly, utterly in love with his new album. Those lyrics – of love and loss and aching and wild, chaotic freedom. And that voice; that voice. Oh, my heart.

It’s almost all I want to listen to at the moment. I have the new Josh Pyke, the new Cat Empire, the new Noah and the Whale, and while these are all fabulous and on high rotation, I have to play Jake’s album at least once a day or I feel as if something is missing.

He’s captured my heart, the little mite. His album sounds as if it was recorded fifty years ago, and still manages to be utterly cutting-edge and cool.

I wish I was cool. I’m not. I’m an old, hermit-y introvert writer who would happily eschew a night of hijinks in favour of a cup of chai and a good book.

But, when I’m listening to Jake Bugg, I feel nineteen again, and I feel boundless.I still listen to him while reading and drinking chai, though.

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