Friday, August 29, 2003

I agree with luka, i too welcome the shadows, good to see a grey old rainy day in London again. Reminds you of whats its all about again. Grey grime, huddling by the tv.

Where would we be if the sun always shone in England, Morrissey would have definetly found it hard to gripe, mind you he lives in California now, hmmm.
Read the piece in Wire bout the blogs, worthy praise indeed, Grime the novel, publishing deals sell out, I can see this little scene is nearly over. Just glad to have caught some of the rants in full flight.
The Coil debate rumbles on, I'm with penman on this one and I love his reveiw of the live stuff. I was at the first two southbank shows and they were something else, especially "Constant Shallowness Leads To Evil".

"No one who attended any of the four singularly different 00-02 sets of Coil (like the same Tarot painted by four different visionaries) will ever forget them.
I just remember the whole building shaking and the pulversing backdrop, Balances raw sincerity and visonary sature on stage, half seer half idiot savant.

"Lost Rivers Of London" is one fo my favourite tracks. I met them once at a Damo Suzuki gig at the Garage, they were very nice to me and i tried to ask Christopherson about Gristle (pissed fanboy awe) but he said it was such a long time ago he could barely remember. I see the knives are out for Keenan, I read the book and although its well written and all that, afterwards i felt like I new a bit too much, like some of the mystique was gone. Also some of it was really disturbing. Keenan actually got me in to Current 93 when we both worked at Record And Tape Exchange, Despite what Jess Harvell thinks about them I think "All The Pretty Little Horses" is phenominal and really important record.

"I am going to drown myself in the lost rivers of London"

Thursday, August 28, 2003

sinister whimsy for the wretched

the view from radons tower

overlooking four corners of the weavers vortex
trains chug in and away from liverpool street
strange shadows exhcange gifts in one corner
from the starboard view foliage and green define the horizon

digest and ingest the cultural tome

overload leaves the being bereft of feeling

vino dilates the soul

rain cleans away the dustand dirt of a hard spent summer
autumns onset reaches out to refresh memory

staggerring bucolic whores screetch out nightly
in defiance of their fate

and records books and shiny things fend off intolerable grief

Wednesday, August 27, 2003

I Am Going To Drown Myself In The Lost Rivers Of London

Fireworks erupt over parkside garden
Leatherface watches from behind frosted glass
Soaking up the nights ether
Cabbies emerge from the morning with dust in their pockets

Revellers sink into the grass
Mouthings become a flow of babble, stirred round and round

No people become thousands
step back from mind
lurching from post to place
bats fly out of the speakers and raid my morning ears

Friday, August 22, 2003

Caluha, baileys and absinthe. Hangover juice. Funny but rubbish night at cargo for Salsoul re-launch, check out the HIdeous new sleeve art, heard Inner Life bout four times. Clones everywhere just like really digging the sound.
One point though, the sleeve art from some of the old albums (backdrop projections quite good) looks really ravey like a raindance flyer from 92 . All air brushed psychedelia and sort of frosted druggyness. As far as I know they did used to cain it down the disco, like proto ravers.
Marshall Jefferson very disapointing set absolutely nothing no suprises just the same old classics. Well what did you expect anyway.
Got pulled by some undercover cops on the way back to my flat for throwing a plank at my brother. They jumped out of an old mazda with blacked out windows (nice attempt to blend), one was old and hard they other one had blond curly hair and looked about seventeen. OK we was a bit pissed but normally out there at that time youve got asian gangs blowing up cars and prozzies getting murdered down the ally way. After some lip and a bit of a stand off starsky and hutch blazed off in the mazda, obviously a report had come through about somekone kicking a can over in shoreditch.

Wednesday, August 20, 2003

Extract from interview with Glenn Branca

"We're physically not capable of hearing something that's new. There is no such thing as a good or a bad piece of music, we determine that 100%. I look at these reviews of Wagner from the 1880s - how could anyone possible have said that it's 'horrible noise - what is this screeching mess of primitive crap'? Now it almost sounds like muzak to us, and that was actually perceived at some point as horrible noise."

cheers for the link Luka ! Wow there might be some people reading this now. See the debate has turned to the music v's flow of feelings real emotion etc. seems that penmam and ingram are masters of their chosen blog aims. Penmans blog reads like a weaping wound whereas T.W.A.N.B.O.C always makes me want to run out "grubbing" for tunes. As for the who's more gangster well that definatley is schoolyard, but for the record I is the baddest gangster of dem all. But seriously I see the Brick Lane gangs pass by my window on a nightly basis and sometimes they aint acting to clever. Also we all know there is nothing worse than middle class trying to acquire badness. This may be a reason why people will get into Dizzee and I notice he has been nominted fro a mecury award but it doesn't remove the fact that it is a mould breaking, heatbreaking wicked album.

Ultimately since getting into the blogs I haven't found work half as boring and the lively debate and references to oblique cutltural theorists have really made me THINK !!!
So cheers guys.

As for Ezra Pound I used to really like his work, although the Cantos I did not get. Pound is like Eliots American cousin, right wing anti-semites capable of lingustic alchemy but marred by these associations. With regards to modern American Poets I re-read some William Carlos Williams recently and found so much my adolescent mind missed. His poetry has a backwoodsy floavour that reads like it should be soundtracked by Fahey.
Anyway keep reading me, this will get more interesting I promise.

The Nature Of Begging
Need? -- Lack
Want? -- Need
Life? -- Death

Monday, August 18, 2003

Here is a good story http://norlonto.net/gyrus/fuckingpride.cfm , I like the guys writing.
Just sitting at my desk before anyone else gets in listening to Branca, fucking loud dude, or as loud as the shit speakers on this p.c. will go.
I'm going to stop blogging at work so much, I cant flow when I think some asshole might come in the room or be sculking around.

Sunday, August 17, 2003

Oliver Craner you are the don of blogs, I wish i could write like you. The detail the detail !

I quote directly from atimeforfear.blogspot.com

"Stuck paper flags in mounds of sand, and found a Casio watch that didn't work. A concrete path along the bay that got so hot on hot days it scolded the tips of toes and heels. Doves, gulls and terns tore trash from the sand <<< starfish in rock pools, seashells and mineral deposits, features marked in limestone. Hidden coves found: clambering over wet rocks, slipping on seaweed, feet sinking into sand, sound sinking in dulcet tones, inside dank caves where water fell in frail cascades and sometimes we saw icicles. Arctic acres, inside - meanwhile... >>> Black sand cools at dusk. Channels set hard like peat. Streams cut through salt, shingle, seaweed, sand. Ropes and plastic bottles washed up from ships. Swansea dock spits out yachts and speedboats. A spell unwoven: degeneration. Tugs swarm, escort rough eyes into cold bondage. Dock arm extends, dark as tar, time-stained, expels and sucks in Balkan cargoes. Horizon hidden in the night except for light across the bay: amber, crimson, white. Pilot flames flare at exact intervals. Eventually retreat into cycles of daylight, sun and showers. Low tide at dawn leaves black sand beneath white......"

This is super 8mm memories merging into collective consciousness, oh england lost battered and bruised england . Journey through albion and breath in the romance. Romance you cannot buy romance you can only feel fleeting by. Monologues riffing like the narrator in Patrick Kiellers "London". Soundtracked by Piano Magic the spinning film whirs and clicks, oh ive lost it now.........
Saw "Adaptation" on video, pretty good and funny. Meryl Streep is actually not annoying at all.
Post Punk sampler on rough trade Bush Tetras , "Too Many Creeps" on vinyl at last.
Good exhibition at the British Museum on London. Loads of Hogarth prints, looks like Hoxton now. Dandies and fops everywhere, bone idle media wags soaked in gin. Wicked map that covers a whole wall, from 1745 of the City Of London. Brick Lane is on there and many of the side streets but not Fournier. Bethnal Green is literally that, just a few dwellings and fields. Hogarths Gin Lane is a classic and looks well grimey.
The east end is so grimy, there is a street near Three Colts lane that makes me nearly vomit every time I walk down it. Under the rail line its like a pigeon graveyard, hanging from the shit encrusted netting in the arches they are suspended like decaying bats just oozing onto the street. Tower hamlets should go in there and torch them or something. Grime, saw some kids throttling a younger kid as we were walking up to kingsland road, it looked as if they were just having a laugh then it just turned really nasty, the kid struggled free and legged it thank god. Moving north from bethnal up to stoke newington you traverse the cultural mix from asian to turkish, west african and caribbean with russians and host of others thrown in the mix. The russian pub on kingsland road looks quite grimy. Whats so Russian about it though, apart from the sign?

Christian Marclay video instalation at the Whitecube. Four large screens with random clips from films old and new that come together in an amazing syncronous movement. The musical movement cuts a swathe from left to right and takes in classic clips and some great jazz footage.

Got the Dizze album at last, fucking brilliant love it. And I dont care if I'm unhip white apologist or whatever its just engaging and the music is wicked.

Relaxed Muscle-"Billy Jack" funny as fuck single with Jarvis cocker singing the sleaze rap.

Glenn Branca-Symphony Number 5 (Describing Planes Of An Expanding Hypersphere), love this, god wish I was about when he was doing this stuff live. In the liner notes they talk about the demands made on p.a.s by brancas sound and how as a fuck off to a promoter who told them to turn it down they played an entirely acoustic set to a half enraptured, half enraged audience.

My mate Milo has a new record out, its called "World Of Bauxite" by Kruton, available in all good record shops, hurry though there's only 250 and I aint even got one yet.

Tuesday, August 12, 2003

Im back (hi mark) so all my millions of readers can all breath a sigh of relief. I'm sure one of the other lot (see blissout.blogspot for comprehensive list of the blogs that matter) could post an essay on the existential angst of posting blogs to no one and knowing this but creating an imaginery readership thats just as valid as a real one . or something. Any way had a quick look through the blogs and I see Luka is still firin (heronbone.blogspot) and Ingram has changed his layout and has a rather good competition (T.W.A.N.B.O.C) also Simon Reynolds has some good stuff on grime and some reveiws of elusive grime promos that he picked up from the pomos in blackmarket. Sounds like its getting serious out there with nothing selling and people pressing up one siders etc.
I've been walking in the French Pyrenees for two weeks, time spent away from the grime has been great , I'm trying to resist the pull back into a world of constant hate that commuting to white city leaves me with. Hey ho, payday soon and with that a trip to the shops I feel, hav'nt bought much new vinly lately , not even the Dizzee album. The only music that I took with me to France that made any sense on my mini-disc was Durutti Column and Fahey which fitted perfectly with the lush forest covered hillsides and vistas of rock sky and circling vultures.
I really like this excerpt from Robert Lowell that I rediscoverd at the weekend.

Stop,back off.The salmon breaks
water, and now my body wakes
to feel the unpolluted joy
and criminal leisure of a boy-
no rainbow smashing a dry fly
in the white run is free as I,
here squatting like a dragon on
time's hoard before the day's begun!

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