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When this album was recorded and first came out I was
very
much taken by the synchronicity of numbers: the fortieth
album, in my
fiftieth year and so on. I suppose it was inevitable
that it should be
so - especially since at the outset of things (or at
least the point at
which the idea occurred that I *might* be doing this for
a considerable
length of time) I had thought that an aim of making
fifty albums over a
career might be a decent target. At the distance of a
few years, this
seems something of an albatross to hang around the CD's
neck, implying
a degree of consciousness and significance about its
making which is
some way at odds with the actual content.
In truth, I made this record much like all the others,
being dragged
along, up, down and into each song by the songs
themselves. Disparate a
collection as it may be, it seems to me now that these
pieces add up to
a coherently consistent whole.
The personnel on the album are the members of the pH
quartet, but here
their contributions are much more as individuals than
was the case on
"X my heart"; this is not in any sense a "band" disc.
Since I'd taken
it as my aim to make a set of songs which covered the
majority of the
bases which comprise my style (if such a thing exists)
it was
inevitable that the unifying factors would be song and
voice rather
than instrumentation.
It would be fair to say that the songs fall into three
categories:
constructed, found and discovered.
Construction is the most normal way of writing a song,
of course: a
melody, chord sequence or lyrical idea makes itself
known and is then
worked upon until it becomes a song entire.
"Unrehearsed", "Nightman"
and "Fallen (the City of Night)" fall into this
category.
"Unrehearsed" is the song which comes closest to the
"epic" and band
styles here. (Perhaps it's odd, therefore, that this is
the one I've
played most from this album live, in solo and duo
formats.) There's an
inexorable shape to this one and the pHQ imprint is
fairly clear. Maybe
I should have cut the riff section down a bit, but it
was great fun to
play and there were also some constructional shapes
which demanded it
last that long! Very sympathetic playing from all
concerned. As is
often the case, the admonishment given to a second
person singular
could equally be taken as being addressed to myself.
"Nightman" is a straight acoustic guitar tune. I can
still remember the
specific moment which inspired it, when I woke at the
dead of night and
sat outside, thinking that I was thinking things
through, but knowing
that I'd recall little or nothing the next morning. At
least I recalled
enough to document the sensation of the moment...which,
I believe, is
not something that's not just to do with me personally.
"Fallen" has an odd resonance, post 9/11. But it's not
just with
dramatic events that cities change under our feet and
before our
oblivious eyes. I was, of course, writing about London,
after (another)
fogwalk through streets which I once knew well but which
are now alien
to me. We carry the cities of our pasts in memory; the
actual cities
are something else, especially at night. (And the
fogwalking reference
is not accidental.) And night itself is a different
city. Well, I won't
go into the densities of the lyrics here, beyond the
obvious night
fallen, city fallen, pay attention at the back element.
But I'm not a
teacher, am I? Just a trickturner between word and
music....A propos of
which...a neat (I think!) bit of Krebs Technik to get
out of the the
choruses and into the end, which took an age to sit
exactly right. A
good riff used incredibly sparingly for once!
It may seem strange to say that "Since the Kids", to all
intents and
purposes a deliberated piano tune, is "found" but it is
indeed the
case. The song came from a lengthy improvisation on
piano - about
twenty minutes' worth if I recall correctly. I then took
this into the
studio and proceeded to edit it mercilessly until
getting the full
form. Only then did I go about finding the lyrics.
Incidentally, my
intention in these was to be absolutely positive, yet
realistic, about
the parenting process.
"Stupid" (yet sweet at the same time) was found just by
messing around
to rhythm tracks. Eventually the shape imposed itself.
An odd collision
of instinctive guitar with my first forays into soft
synth world. The
wild voice, of course, was just that, an undisciplined
wail.
"Always is next" sprung itself into being found from the
bass pulse.
All the guitars and tune eventually coalesced around
that, although it
took a long time to get this one under control, infused
with some retro
spirit of Nadir as it is. The Son of Sam-ish imagery
took me completely
by surprise (yes, discovering what a song is about can
be like that...)
but was entirely apposite.
And in the "discovered" corner we have "The Light
Continent". This was
entirely improvised as far as music is concerned. I
began playing one
morning in a completely open - if somewhat anxiously
reflective and
sombre - frame of mind. Just "I'm making music", in a
free sense. (As
it turned out, while I was doing this, sombre and
changing stuff was
indeed happening elsewhere, but that's entirely another
story which I
choose to retain as private....) I played my parts...my
performance...in one continuous pass, adjusting the
various sound
sources I was using as I went. Again, a process of
editing brought the
piece into (admittedly long) shape. By this time the
vocal line, theme
and lyrics were well under way. (From the outset I'd had
something of a
feeling for the dispassionate white emptiness of the
Sout Pole....)
David and Stuart's contributions were made under strict
rules: they
were allowed only two passes each. The first was without
having heard
the music at all; the only reference points I gave them
were "It's 14
minutes long and it's Antarctic". I remain really happy
with this piece.
Also discovered are the three fragments which appear on
the disc as
link passages. Their presence is essential in order to
glue the whole
thing together. It's often the case that while recording
one listens to
small sections or loops of fundamentally backing music
which are
fascinating nuggets in themselves, but will never really
get to be
centre stage. For three such moments this was the chance
for individual
attention.
On the cover - apart from Paul Ridout's "artist's own"
collection of
objects which embed or signify time - the tachograph
disc was ripped
out of the machine at high speed by Stuart on one of the
many band
Euro-jaunts, to general hilarity, and the watch was my
father's. It
stopped on my wrist within a day of my taking over the
wearing of it.
There's a lot of Stuff on this disc and it goes to some
extreme places
but overall it has, for me, a reflective quality which
simultaneously
acknowledges and regrets the passage of time and of how
small we are in
the great stream. But always is next (soon come), so
we'd better get on
with now....
This record was made in 1998, but it seems longer ago to
me. So much,
and much of the unexpected, has happened since then; but
essentially
the songs here say "accept what's happening right now
and go with it
(even if it's already past, even if you know it will be
past)".
So...whenever it was made, it is done. Believe me, I
don't pretend to
have anything but through-view, as opposed to overview.
In the course of these recordings I believe I learned
enough to sustain
me over (at least) the next ten years of work...while I
wasn't paying
too much attention to learning.
These notes have been made without any reference to the
newsletter of
the time, so may well be at odds with some opinions
expressed therein.
So what and see below. The stuff is the stuff.
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