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Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Lucid Dreams
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural

We're in London mixing a few songs with Mr Dan in his studio. It's similar to our place in Glasgow: not much of a conventional studio. A superslinky spring reverb hangs from the ceiling and various odd instruments scatter around the room. The Saarang electronic tambura is a favourite. You can't tell it's a studio from the street. It has a false front: looks like a restaurant that doesn't do much trade. It reminds me of a place on Duke Street, Glasgow around ten years ago: a Chinese supermarket where the only thing for sale was one ancient packet of wan tun at the bottom of a deep freezer. I don't think it was a studio they had in the back though.

We finished mixing Lucid Dreams before the weekend. It's going to be in Pacman, Donkey Kong or something. We mixed Ulysses yesterday after putting down the celeste in the dream sequence. There's a bit of a dream theme emerging, Dream Again and Lucid Dreams. A Severed Head too. It's the title of one song, the characters of another came from the Iris Murdoch book and the lyrics of Lucid Dreams came from a severed head at the bottom of the well by Tynron Doon. Today we're mixing Katharine Kiss Me. My favourite part is the human bones percussion. It sounds like a dead man dancing: because it is. When you hear the chorus and notice the rattling rhythm it's the clapping of dry carpals and metacarpals.

I went to see Gonzales last night. He's one hell of a performer. I was at the Fridge in Brixton at the weekend: great tunes and scary bouncers. I've been staying with a friend off the Holloway road. On the night bus back there was a steaming guy wearing flip flops. He seemed to have had his toes run over or stamped on. The nails were broken and blood was seeping from under them. He didn't seem to care. The guy next to him was half leaning against him eating Dixie Fried Chicken. When the bus swang round a corner, a few greasy crumbles would drop from his droopy lips to land between the flip flop mangle toes.

I'm reading 'The Emperor' by Ryszard Kapuscinski. It is a set of interviews with the courtiers of Haile Selassie shortly after his downfall:

…His majesty would take his place on the throne, and when he had seated himself I would slide a pillow under his feet. This had to be done like lightning so as not to leave Our Distinguished Monarch's legs hanging in the air for even a moment. We all know that His Highness was of small stature. At the same time, the dignity of the Imperial Office required that he be elevated above his subjects, even in a strictly physical sense. Therefore a contradiction arose between the necessity of a high throne and the figure of His Venerable Majesty, a contradiction most sensitive and troublesome precisely in the region of the legs, since it is difficult to imagine that an appropriate dignity can be maintained by a person whose legs are dangling in the air like those of a small child. The pillow solved this difficult and all-important conundrum…

Now where's my Pillow Roadie?

Alex

Интересно он пишет, как мне показалось с моим фиговым инглишем.Они сидят в студии и что-то творят с песнями.)Алекс ходит на концерты и читает "Императора".