It began with a frost sharper than cheekbones. This, along with the yellow tint from the windows of First Great Western’s 8:55 to Paddington, brought to mind images of long-gone Christmasses that didn’t exist. We were talking about this. I associate Bob Dylan with Christmas, or, rather, the mid-winter that surrounds it. Time Out of Mind, Love and Theft, and Modern Times: all Christmas. John Foxx? Not chilly enough. Even Metamatic, with its icy synths, and The Pleasures of Electricity (THE soundtrack to February 2002): there is just too much WARMTH there. I think someone said the latter was a dark record. Well, it is, but the city is fully lit. I should go to London more often. By half 12 I was in the Black Lion, pint in hand, notebook spilling with lyrics for abandoned songs of the future, reading of My Bloody Valentine’s return, and listening to the fabulous In Rainbows (Radiohead), of all things, playing in the pub.
People arrived. Warmth. Peter, Andreas, Michaela, Craig. Meeting Richard for the first time. Then Sarah and Tess and Mr No and Gem, Rob of course, Natalie, and numerous others. Great to see you all! After a brief long queue, and discussions of bespoke gentlemen’s undergarments, we were inside. What a great venue! Friendly, cosy, and intolerant of talking while bands are on. Perfect! Both sets were brilliant, the latter better but only by several pints. I have just checked my submission of 5 tracks: none were played – I guess I’ll just have to form a tribute band. And yet, I could swear I’d actually voted for Swimmer 2, Europe After the Rain, Dancing Like a Gun, Camera, The One Who Walks Through You, Miles Away and Neuro Video. And the old favourite Making Movies, one of the best B sides ever, did I detect a sneer in John's voice? John talking to himself? “YOU’RE always making movies, that’s really what YOU do” whereas I’M a musician and singer and I like making electronic noise with my young apprentice, Louis Gordon. Thanks to all who organised this event.
The morning came and almost went, Tom Waits no cure for a hangover. Seasick sailing on sunshine. Only fresh air, mineral water, and getting lost in the so clearly shifting capital city can do that. Building work and decay. The weight of organisation and chaos, the structures of civilisation and history. Ten thousand ways. Why only ten thousand if there are a million cars? The lyric intrigues but is somehow true. Morning Glory (one of my votes) was Hyde Park’s earworm. Everybody’s Sunday best.
