For better or worse, the North West clubbed the (north) London teams today. Prior to this, however, I was very tired.
A pair of new discs containing one track a piece, both clocking in around the thirteen minute mark or thereabouts. Manipulated tape loops sourced from my favourite comedy by William Shakespeare hit the synthesizer tones to hover across seas into an abyss on (Aversion to) The Tempest, and on blacker curtains, there’s a feedback, synth and ukulele vibe on the burn with a few jams mixed together in a suitably crude way. Only a tiny quantity to exist in physical form, but you can stream and download from the bowels of Hell, or these links:
Friday night equalled an absolutely brilliant gig at Sheffield’s Audacious Art Space (co-promoted by Singing Knives), with the line up including the likes of Joincey, Stuart Arnot, Luke Poot and a herd of other epically wild outsider folk. Saturday morning equalled a groggy-headed start in a double bed (cheers Andy and Jess!) in Nether Edge. Nevertheless, a brisk walk in to town followed by a cup of coffee and some scran at the Blue Moon was enough to blow the cobwebs off. So, one did the reasonable thing and strolled to the station. Rather than opting for the direct train, I opted to get the train to Wakefield and change there as it was leaving fifteen minutes earlier and absolutely chuffing freezing in Sheffield. Excellent.
Then Wakefield Westgate station brings the news that some bastards have stolen a load of cable at Mirfield, meaning there is a replacement bus service. Just what one needs. The Sheffield – Huddersfield journey already manages to take one hour and half as it is by train, no matter which route you take, so Saturday road traffic was going to slow things down. Still never mind.
Then, an hour later, the bus still had failed to arrive, accompanied by a stream of bullshit and misinformation by the caring customer services staff (“He’s five minutes away” and “He says he is 200 yards away” were some of my favourites when the bus was 15 minutes late…) When the bus finally arrives, the driver was suitably knarked to the point of rudeness, which really added to the warm feeling that I had for the ‘public’ transport system. Anyhow, I got home four hours after leaving Sheffield station. Bath, food, zoned out for a little, and then it was time for Catharsis:
So, I finally got a round to dubbing the first few copies of ‘The reading of contracts’ c36. Two side-length tracks of rattling metals, cassette loops, scorched reed organ, oral glut and analogue electronics, all bleaching the tape at full volume.
Dubbed in glorious mono, or available digitally in fancy stereo.
I’ll be bringing a few over the to Astral Social Club, Culver, The Piss Superstition and Midwich show in Leeds next month, so you can grab a copy from me there, or trade/name price. Just get in touch via email@example.com.
Upon forgetting that this day is a bank holiday, thus granting slaves such as myself a ‘day off’ from The Man’s needs and wants, I was terribly disappointed to find the Post Office appeared to be closed when I approached it this morning. My eyes did not decieve me. It was closed, and indeed shall remain so until tomorrow morning. When it will be populated with staff, and The Man begins this year’s crush. Again.
So, having returned home with a day of domesticity and hot lemon drinks planned, I got on with such tasks. Until I was bored. There really are only so many loads of washing, sweeping, hoovering, pots and hot lemon drinks that one can progress through before completing the necessary amount. From here, there was a problem.
With time extended and seemingly closing off my leisure space at an alarming rate, I decided to listen to the radio. Detuned, of course. I did so until the neighbour injected some thumps of a sexual nature from my ceiling, and at this point, I decided to use headphones to keep that sound out of my sound.
Only I added some other sounds.
Following the simultaneous celebrations of our saviour and Christ child’s birth and the annual appearance of the Santa burglar, I’ve pieced together a composition based on lots of field recordings of a walk up and around some of the moutains around the villages (née hamlets) of Ardouane and Brettes, within the Hérault which is within the Languedoc-Roussillon.
This was done today, in this newest of years and is for the fruits of the labour of a certain Seth Cooke and Sara Sowah which will come to full fruition at some point this month in the form of what scientists call a ‘child.’ Their work thus far has been stellar in all forms, forums and projects, so we expect great things and great times. No pressure…
Walking up a mountain for baby or “Crawling on all fours. Another in another dark or in the same crawling on all fours and devising it all for company. Or some other form of motion.” (Beckett, 1980) is available to download now.
Beckett, Samuel (1980) Company, London: Calder