Following a scheduled cycle from Bath to Portishead, a ride that was cut to a Bath to Bristol ride due to technological ineptitude and a shortage of time, I didn’t really feel like running up a hill yesterday afternoon.
You see, thee hXe folk recently took a jaunt over to the south of France and indulged in a bit of outdoors activity. A few sups of rosé wine, a couple of 45km bike rides and walk up a mountain occurred. Uncomfortably healthy. Unnatural. Unnerving. Still, a tan was acquired. My otherwise pasty self knows not how to respond to these chameleonisms. You have to take what you can get, I suppose.
The above image is a digitally created post-cubist view from the top of said mountain. 1200m up, it was harder work than I’d anticipated, which only left the descent. The descent was as philosophical as it was a pain in the arse.
Still, I captured a bunch of recordings en route: insects and animals; leaves and flowing water; the breaking of stones underfoot; my energy eeking away;
the existential realisation of time seeping away. Add to these some heavy static synth action with some minimal electronics, and you have La peur de Gorges d’Héric.
We’re also off to see Kate Bush in a few weeks. We are engaging with popular culture. Whatever next. Running down hills? Sublimity awaits.