Archive for August, 2009

two hundred twelve

31/08/2009

Child to cowbells and handclaps. More noise!

two hundred eleven

30/08/2009

Roiling storms on a balcony that feels like a boat, an arc, the only lovers left alive. 2004 on the stereo, which could be ’06, which could be ’08, Echoes of movement and Rapture.

two hundred ten

29/08/2009

I’m in Montreal in Dusty’s, thinking back. This diner is the psychological brother to Veselka’s, and when Billy Bragg bursts onto the speakers it feels like a home.

two hundred nine

28/08/2009

The Lady would surprise everyone.

two hundred eight

27/08/2009

Authenticity becomes a silly idea, a shapeless space in which the individual has to force a fit between concepts. Embracing a character, if only for a time, reframes the question of who you are.

two hundred seven

26/08/2009

I would later write: No names, please, just ideas.

two hundred six

25/08/2009

The girl at the crossroads looks fresh, a vision in classical tones and sepia sounds. Her eyes, the very pupils, are the deepest black.

two hundred five

24/08/2009

Adventures!

two hundred four

23/08/2009

“Man, this cover, you’d love it: loads of white space and a pastiche of Line Up. You know, the Elastica album.”

two hundred three

22/08/2009

Stark white space appeals to me, as does revisionism. It’s my visual default, as my aural is lo-fi and emotive.

two hundred two

21/08/2009

Shelf blur is a real problem: no white space, just aggressive competing explosions of colour.

two hundred one

20/08/2009

Few things are less comfortable than crossing paths with someone in a cemetery.

two hundred

19/08/2009

During breakfast at Veselka’s HST is full of wisom: “It’s just plain reckless to start this now you know. Do more. Hit the road. Fucking live a little man.”

one hundred ninety nine

18/08/2009

“‘Wolf Like Me’, it’s perfect isn’t it?” Oh, yes.

one hundred ninety eight

17/08/2009

It could be said I was The Idea of Kate Jackson’s fractured self-esteem, but that would be a lie.

one hundred ninety seven

16/08/2009

The Idea of Kate Jackson wakes me with the crackle of assorted 12″ records and the hangover I practically demanded. Here, in the perception of a feminine idol, my life feels like a noir and I only wake in time for the matinĂ©e.

one hundred ninety six

15/08/2009

“You’ve got to believe me when I say, I never wanted to be liked”

one hundred ninety five

14/08/2009

Years after K- I would kiss a girl who tasted of blood, an act that felt like chasing whispers with my lips, and it took me back. Poor thing. She only ever wanted to be wanted.

one hundred ninety four

13/08/2009

I came to, an ugly sight, warped with booze sickness and crouched over a pan in my room, apologising for using the wrong name, something to this day which I don’t remember doing.

one hundred ninety three

12/08/2009

K- : “I didn’t know they got Saddam Hussein.”

one hundred ninety two

11/08/2009

Every netizen witnessed the death throes of Saddam Hussein, even if they never saw the video, a grim harbinger of communication culture. Discourse swept at maybe half the rate of Jackson’s death, a symbolic end to an era that butchered my generation’s faith.

one hundred ninety one

10/08/2009

The fractured, distended corpse of Saddam Hussein – reaper usher of the 21st Century – waits for no man.

one hundred ninety

09/08/2009

What is ‘Temptation’? The sound of the space on the dancefloor when someone grasps you by the lungs, locking you in the exhale, and you want to capture how great the lights look reflected in their eyes long before all those unspeakable things start coming to mind. It’s about the surface of that sensation, slick and hot, about never having to accept the empty, vapid, hollow mind that comes with it until the final 7″ is packed away in the early hours of the morning after. It’s about how nothing is everything for eight minutes at a time.

one hundred eighty nine

08/08/2009

All others forgotten when K- locked eyes on mine to the sounds of ‘Temptation’.

one hundred eighty eight

07/08/2009

Spite and lethargy are a killer combination: rip the target apart and refuse to deal with the fallout.

one hundred eighty seven

06/08/2009

The Boy with the Casio watch nails it: “I love that you’re both spiteful and lazy.”

one hundred eighty six

05/08/2009

Man, K- never knew what hit her.

one hundred eighty five

04/08/2009

The song starts “People think I’m being perverse on purpose” but I wanted to tell The Idea of Kate Jackson to just wait and see.

one hundred eighty four

03/08/2009

She confused De Stijl for Still and loved The Cure. It could never have worked.

one hundred eighty three

02/08/2009

‘Nothing worse than being a BBC wife’ so the saying goes. It demonstrates a profound lack of foresight and imagination.

one hundred eighty two

01/08/2009

Streets borrowed from Shaun of the Dead: No girls at the crossroads, only zombies.