They're pulling out the old streetlamps on my road.

The council are replacing the orange buzz of a drizzly night with a clearer blue-tinged futuristic haze. My strolls home, stumbling and weaving, head shielded from the weather will be safer. More secure. Illuminated.

Although the hunched shapes on the street at night will be bins and not muggers thanks to the new eco lights; though (apparently) the stars will be visible for the first time in decades, there'll be no accounting for the loss of musical atmosphere. The UK is going to be a little bit less desolately grimy in the dark hours of winter. Sometimes there's nothing better than stepping off a bus and walking home on a miserable, artificially amber night. In a perverse way, the grimness is satisfying. The melancholy street lighting of the cities of this country have helped inspire heartbreakingly barren music in the heart of genres that could easily be seen as lacking in emotion.

It seems odd to mourn the passing of such a thing, but that glistening ambience created on damp nocturnal streets is nothing less than a perfect backdrop for some of the most intrinsically British electronic music made in the past fifteen years. The gently bleak light easily lends itself to sub-genres featuring artists like Burial, Zomby, Dusk + Blackdown, Blawan and many other even more subversive manifestations of dubstep, grime and even drum and bass. Musicians who spend their lives distilling exactly how the cities of Britain feel. It’s a testament to their craft, really, that the inspirations for their work can be clearly identified. That music can sound like the over-tired feeling of waiting for a night bus, a drive through a high-rise estate, or the loneliness of a boarded-up house is an incredible notion. There’s a lot to be said for a slowed-down garage break.

If you’ll pardon the crudeness of this observation, it seems so perfectly obvious that music made on the streets would have some sort of tangible link to them. You can almost hear the lamps buzzing in the background; an integral part of our nightlife. If you haven’t had the pleasure of listening to Endorphin in the rain at 1am in November all lit up by amber streetlights, you might not fully understand how beautifully the two weave together. I absolutely recommend it.

I worry it'll affect my playlists; these bright invocations of a cleaner, nicer, admittedly somewhat distant future don’t hang in the air the same way. They’re sterile and sinless and they bleach out all the cracks. The twenty-first century songs of the UK in the pm aren’t clear and radiant; they’re flickering slivers of distant beauty. They’re gory, shattered blasts of urban anger. In a time when the dirty atmosphere of the street is being spit-washed and led into the charts, perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised that the soft-focus street halos are being sanitised.

I’m definitely going to miss those orange lights.