Hudson Mohawke, "Scud Books"

You know how some mornings you wake up knowing that no matter what tiny victories you manage to extract — or, more likely, which titanic defeats you are briefly able to forestall — it is still going to be a day that brings you further confirmation of how empty, pointless and sad your life — all life — really is? Well, you are right to feel that way. Everything is terrible and only getting worse, and there is only so much pretending you can do to help hide how hollow the motions through which you go really are. Your brief joys are confidence tricks sprung on you by genes that have a selfish interest in keeping you going. Your deepest desires have been drummed into you by a society that wants to sell you something. The only honest thing you own is your despair, and that’s the most positive thing you can say about yourself at this point in your life. Also, there is no future point in your life where your feelings are any more upbeat. The most you have to look forward to is a sense of nostalgia about things you didn’t really enjoy that much the first time around. This song is pretty good though. Maybe it will distract you for a few minutes of your morning? Maybe not. I wish I had anything better to offer but everything is drenched in darkness with a gauzy film of grime around it and even the stuff that seems to promise hope will eventually prove disappointing. Enjoy.