Wednesday, 11 July 2012

Non Sleeve Notes:

The actual sleeve notes don't really explain. There's a reason for that but I'm not telling. If you're curious or can't help yourself digging, then here's the notes from the non-sleeve, attempting to explain the thin reasoning behind every track and giving some hint at to whether or not this tired phantasy will be to your liking:

The Seams Of Goodwil (Blue Blood) is the song that used to be  The (Other)Door's second single & coursed veins at the peak of the mushroom flashes of 2003-2005. The slow pitter patter of the hand drums makes a bad heartbeat but is based on a folk song invented at The Place That Never Rains (nr the old abandoned army base at Houndstone) & later dribbled with dew & the smell of smoked bracken. The original song portrayed a whole / hole in the ground, with unnamed sprites & fancies falling in & out, each grinning with the glee that eventually blanks the eyes (now Glee). The hole is still there; it’s a friendly abyss that Nietzsche would have turned away from in disgust, a place to fall when falling is the only option.  

The Crackling Dubb was a lost boy, a gentle soul who went to prison for stuffing a man’s head full of Bostik on a fog fucked morning circa 1990. He is the lost eL of Goodwil. Of course, there's an element of Industrial Exotica here and that is probably intended even if the original intention was simply to map the dull clicks and whistles of Dubb's brain in music rather than language.

The Line Of Wounds will mean nothing unless you too were at Montacute House on the day that B.lycanthroped his way into the Western Gazette, his chest full of duck fat & donkey shards, his eyes yellow with fever. No one screamed but many were bitten & compared their wounds like soldiers. If Mandrake or Datura were still with us, were Beverages of Kings, then perhaps Comus A Come, which was the original title of this song. 

The Blue Danu isn’t blue anymore & perhaps never was; the song is a siren is a song. This chant is no more now & stolen instead. If the singer is out there, I can only apologise & hope that worse things are yet to come.

Seconds out, round nine; here is just a slow slur on the Frankenheimer film, an offcut that made it off the flaw. There is reinvention, of course, at the core of this but none of it is intended. If Rock Hudson understood the horror of his own performance here then it is a remarkable feat of belief, a leap of faith that would have made Kierkegaard proud. Dali holding a jenny haniver is a similar echo.  

Trailers & Smunting were the original names given to twin techno tracks that simply lost their way in the woods. On another day, they’d have found themselves friends with b-sides but now they’ve been twinned & Twigwitched & rendered inoperable. This track, in its original form is partly a response to this long night, though the actual song contructed the day after now bears no relationship (except through association) to this one; it's like a wrong memory, a mnemonic fall. They were stompers, rave-sets & bleeders: now their time has gone. Trailer was a Goblin acid kid, a manboy who lurched the corridors of College, who folded his arms in acquiescence & prayed to Gods that no one else could hear, Smunting was a conspirator of words, who used them like a whip, who finally found himself hanged, upside down, in the newly built Quedam Centre, Yeovil. He couldn’t out run the rain.

A Hanging In TS Eliot’s Garden is the sound of several floppy haired indie boys, wrecked by Spacemen, attempting to free their friend from gravity. The garden, in East Coker, is still there; the tree now blanched & burst, a tradition of tree sleeping that lasted just three short years.

Shoggothics is based on a found tape that in fact has never been lost, has been closely guarded for years & stored under spirit since the Death Of Healy (who became as uncertain as Heisenberg). I had a habit of taping my friends & using it against them; this is how the world whirled back then because everyone I knew thought of Burroughs & Sommerville before they thought of themselves.  

The Sutton Wytch Hunt is the slow, dimwit twin of The Line Of Wounds, a slightly loaded question & a recognition of minds spared by crumbled hashish & too much Lovecraft. Sutton Bingham Reservoir was also the dawning of Eon / Aeon in a wytch hunting car that drove so slow with the lights out it  felt like you were floating. There were wytches, even if they were mostly singing.   

In The Blake Midwinter contains a sample of a song made from rubber bands & a copicat tape echo that was sent to me by an anonymous source sometime around midwinter 1988; no one I know has ever admitted to the track, which now acts as a kind of death threat. It is included here as a glum TG tribute & because perhaps, one day, that threat will be discontinued. In many ways, this track exists because of Kevin Ayers and is tangentially related to a mysterious project that, as it turns out, never actually happened.

Gurnings doesn’t make any sense in this context & should have been called The Coping Mechanism; the fact that it isn’t is partly the fault of an exhibition called Xanadu that I saw in Hong Kong & partly the result of the despicable tones of Marshall Applewhite. 

Oggle Hatch is The  Place That Never Rains & so comes full circle, dry as bone, earth hard as iron, water as stone. This place is relevant to some extent. 

The next album might happen one day and this time I'll listen to myself more clearly.

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