My Pop Life #204 : Never Enough – Boris Dlugosch & Róisín Murphy


Never Enough – Boris Dlugosch & Róisín Murphy

Do you belong to what you’re hanging on to?

Are you caught in a loop? What is wrong with you?

You keep making do…

Dear Ralph,

Everything is shit.  I don’t know about you lot, but I fucking hate life.  What’s the point of it all.  Everything I do turns to ashes.  I’ve got a cold, I’m injured, My eyesight is going, I’m lonely, I’m depressed, no one is interested in me.  Is it me?  I’m so tired of being alone.  So tired of it.  I’m so fed up with my buttons not doing up first time around, I always have to have two goes.  At least! At everything.  I pick something up and it falls out of my hand.  I go to open a cupboard and it slides out of my grasp.  I pick up a cat toy from the floor and it drops from my fingers.  Infuriating !  Rage the size of Niagara courses through my veins, popping from my eyeballs and I feel a clench in the heart of my being, my voice gets tight, I am not like water, I am a rock, I am banging my hand against the wall, I am banging my head against the mirror.  So sick and tired of all these pictures of me.  I mean what is the actual point?  Heh?? Atomic frustration on a mini-level, the atoms themselves defy me and re-organise each moment to frustrate my every move.  Self sabotage. Self hatred barrage.  Nigel Farage.

Have you given up on hope? I could be your antidote

Are you lost in a state of anxiety? Just let it be

I’m stuck basically.  I’m full of self-loathing, vicious contempt that I should suffer from baseless anxiety when there are suffering millions across the globe who shame me with their fortitude and courage, their focus and their sheer damn hard work, all I have is a spineless capitulation to the icloud of depression that always hovers on icloudy days, provoking me with its basic formulaic symbolism, jeering at my dependence on the sun for joy and happiness, refusing to allow a smile across my miserable features unless a beam from the mote of a star caresses my carefully moisturised skin.  The depression that tells you that hey, bro, yes, that’s right – THIS is Reality, playing magic tricks – look over here, up there – because the rest of the time you are merely distracting yourself with flim-flammery, with culture, with art, with sport, with food, underneath all these doubtless pleasurable fripperies which fill your neverending daisy is a giant iceberg called Reality and once you’ve spied the tip of it, better watch out boyo because the other 90% is gonna drag you under by the shark-tailfin of your chequered cab and I can’t sit down I’m going overboard in this heathen town.

I cannot enjoy and appreciate the simple things of life.  Despite a culture of gratitude around us, the simple pleasures have curdled and become stale, the deadly filter over my eyes has turned it all rotten, shaded all beauty with decay, rust and dust.  It is a tiresome repeat of so many dear dead days, that waking up becomes a burden, a heavy tread downstairs for catfeeding, tea and the bastard internet as I contemplate my entirely unstressful life with a baleful eye and a frozen soul that can only see Reality, pain, failure, humiliation, extinction, pollution, cruelty, greed, sickness and death.  Nothing ever matters.  Nothing really matters.  To me.  Ennui.  But wait.

Excuse me, please I’m just so happy I could scream

Adjust your mindset, do the same All that you lost will be regained

One phone call.  One message.  One walk down the street to the pharmacy, one social interaction. One glimmer…  As Kacey Musgraves country singer she say – if you’re looking for a silver lining, gonna have to be a cloudy day.  Straighten up and fly right, tighten the core, chin up, purpose, direction, focus. You have life you have love you have nothing to complain about, I am blessed I am comforts I am whole got my arms got my legs got my hands got my feet got my brain got my eyes got my mouth I got my smile said Nina Simone, you have friends and flavours projects and zoo animals in your house.  Books and records and everything ever written or painted or recorded in history at your fingertips.  But it’s


 it’s never enough, Is it ever enough, when it’s just enough? If it’s never enough, why do we hang up on hope? Enough is enough, never enough


images.duckduckgo-2Róisín Murphy


Boris Dlugosch
She’s an Irish lass who studied in Manchester then met Mark Brydon at a party in Sheffield (“do you like my tight sweater?  See how it fits my body!”) then formed the pop band Moloko around 1994.  Their first album was called Do You Like My Tight Sweater?   They were reasonably popular & successful until a song called Sing It Back was mixed and remixed by Todd Terry and Uncle Tom Cobbley and all and all until Mr Dlugosch got his housey hands on it and it became a massive hit reaching number one on the US Dance Charts in 1999.
images.duckduckgo-5Rather than pay the fella, Róisín co-wrote his next song called Never Enough and it was another big hit in 2001.  That’s all you need to know really I reckon.  Because whatever it is, it’s never enough.