red army fetish

Judy Nylon, now sixty-two years old, arrived in London sometime in 1970.  Between the death rattle of the swinging 60s and the arrival of glam rock, most of the British Isles – the media would have had one believe – was deep in the grip of a very public mourning over the demise of The

a fluttering of owls

Some years ago, too many years ago, I was arguing with my then partner over breakfast. I no longer remember exactly what prompted it or where it went from there. I had arrived somehow in my thirties – a good way past the stain of the big “3-0” – without hitting the panic button, and

newtown #1 | take two

That is thing with new towns. Architectural interventions. Less than ten years on, the paint is worn; the litter and graffiti proliferates. Thirty years on, and the third generation has evolved its own indecipherable mother tongue.Postscript On 19th September, 1977, Arianna Forster, Viv Albertine, Paloma Romero, and Tessa Pollitt – collectively The Slits – recorded

silkwood, wormwood, taggart | ghetto defendant

My wife sat down to watch the latest instalment of “Taggart” last night, hobbling on to our screen with all the weariness of a geriatric nosing after a curled fish supper. I caught most of it out the corner of one eye. Preoccupied as I was with clipping my toenails. It has never been the same

divided alien | kif-kif da bus

On the eve of Planet Gong’s scheduled European tour through March to April, 1978, archastral projectionist, Dingbat Alien was allegedly assailed by dark forces set loose in the here and now. The doors of perception stood ajar but Alien’s free pass was permanently revoked. From Planet Gong: “I couldn’t actually get on stage. It was

poche town

I suppose this might have been prompted by Beer and his travails with the French in Dope City. Or my own stubborn imperviousness to learning a second language. A disinclination to hop on a bike and peddle green onions. Joe Falcon got busy with an accordion from the age of seven. Born near Roberts Cove

handcuffs | restraints

‘hassle’, not ‘haysil’: april 29, 1936 – april 25, 2005.“…I said, ‘could I smoke ?’“Uncharacteristically understated, on first inspection, the Haze nonetheless lets rip here – at 1’20”, and towards the fade – with a chilling approximation of a police siren wailing. Just one of 7,000 reputed original compositions penned and recorded for various labels,

boone county feet | blisters and grass

I am hurtling through those backwoods in the company of Jesco White and Hasil Adkins, heads lolling and spooling drool, when we hit a fork in the road. A box elder stump with a 7 ½ lb axe embedded straight through its heart. Spitting feathers. Entrails.Well. I just about piss myself when White hops up

a mellifluous clash | a cobbling of posts

BYG 529.029. magick sibling, daevid allen. note the lower case. gare de lyon train station, may 1968. on the cusp of toppling de gaulle. smyth & allen remain in France. EMI insists on submission. As the title suggests, this is in no small part a collision of two archived posts; from August 2008 and September

nine weaves of being

through an enneagram darkly by ib. manett as herself. Manett is all woman.An “Enneagram 4” currently residing in Brooklyn by way of Guam.She writes, “the organs sound kinda trippy dippy, I didn’t mean for that but I like it. I didn’t even write it with the organ riff, but when I got to my friend

fetch me a rickshaw | our bed is on fire

arson scare. adpapted from a photograph by grey villet, 1960. This post is a week behind schedule; the agony prolonged by the arrival of a mail order bed and the dismantling of the old. A brand new futon to be exact.The sagging fold down sofa which formerly occupied house room grew just too torturous. Full

the last loose nickel

a doctored photograph by loomis dean, paris, 1959.Previously: “The CD, “Break Through in a Grey Room” comprises a collection of cut-ups recorded in the 1960’s in various hotel rooms in New York, London and Paris… recorded circa 1965 with Ian Sommerville between the Chelsea Hotel; 210 Centre Street, NYC and London, and owes as much

time added on

The game is two halves of uneven possession,won and lost from corner to footstool. Coffee tableand kitchen sink. Dishes, ahtrays, spindle legs.In my mind I am still smoking Navy Cut behind thegoalposts – a late substitution, an opportunist –adrift somewhere between 1974 and four years on.Avoiding the pitching cross, passing on the play.Even now I

vachel lysol blues

lincoln’s stovepipe.Well. I confess I was not even remotely familiar with American poet, Nicholas Vachel Lindsay until Bill Altice opened my ears. Unless The Gentlebear got there first with an antique photograph of a bowler hat in an avalanche.My memory is full of holes. And travellings beneath the ice.Born in Springfield, Illinois on November 10th,

gang of four | content

Gang of Four are back with content over product. A share of profits pledged to Amnesty International.Arriving on the heels of The Mekons and Human League, four men from Leeds promptly introduced an unsettling essence to Bob Last’s Edinburgh based Fast Records in 1978. A seething undercurrent of ennui, an agitated dislocation as informed by

milton on drowning | waving one’s hands in the air

The breeze comes at a price.Each time we step out, tiny flecks of paint and metal are sucked up from the demolition site. Whipping against exposed flesh. Not quite drawing blood, but leaving face and neck scored. Livid.“Fuck off.” I spit. Dragging my son to one side as a tin of coke two thirds full

mod my bed, gonna lie in it

Produced by the great Shel Talmy, this Harry Vanda and George Young classic was seemingly released first in the UK through Parlophone. Sometime in 1977, I purchased London’s “Summer of Love” EP solely for their cover of this one perfect song. Ten years later, again, and the hostelry which kept my pool cue racked behind

itunes 9.2 and the song which was

It has been unusually humid. Late last night, I wallowed naked on the sofa and emptied out my pores. An oil slick on the upholstery. Granted, we have slipped into July on a tide of televised soccer, but it takes me by surprise every year. The widget reads 17°C as I type, yet the windows