It’s a faffing day. Record Store Day is not a day to buy a vinyl record, and it’s not a day to think for a moment about whether the release of a single is the right thing to do. Rather, I’d like to think it’s a day to think for a moment about whether we are actually doing anything at all that we claim to care about.

Record Store Day is a weeklong celebration of independent record stores, with day after day of new music from musicians, usually in the form of an album and a few singles, which are sold out within a day or two. It’s great, except that it’s also a week where I wonder if the only thing we do care about is whether we’re doing something we’re not sure about.

This is especially true this year, where we are in a state of complete indifference to the actual music that we buy – no streaming, no CDs, no VHS videos, nothing, even, as the mothership moaned. It’s not that I don’t care anymore, per se, but it’s more that I don’t want to care anymore.

Which brings us to this week, where we find an album that is not an album; it’s a collection of little songs, with instrumental introductions, which at times resemble the self-help music of a cult dedicated to the therapy of self-destructive tendencies. Which is something of a lie, as I don’t think this is intended as a cult. I think it’s a self-awareness of the value of self-improvement over the meaningless, just as the feat of this album is a lie itself. And a lie that’s a thousand times worse than the bullshit lies of the past decade.