And so we come once more unto the burn. There was a song about it once…something about feeding ducks. My memory fails me or at least that’ll be the story until I’m able to break down some hard liquor. Teeth and/or antibiotics are antisocial bitches, both. It has, as always, been a tad mad and this may be something of a cram session. ENGINE CHECK.
Mr Galo has delivered and his vision is quite perfect. There’s a Goldilocks quality to the amount of grain he was able to squeeze out of every shot and that burr lens (correct terminology according to yours truly) is blackberry jam. We are most pleased and totally convinced of its festive merits, even if noone else is. Maybe. Absolute salute to Resident Studios and their legendary warden of engineering excellence, Mr Tim Hill. Also, to that Teo Miller, without whom we would always sound distinctly average.
As promised, the delightful Ms Rees (she of Agent Provocateur fame) magicked a store into our basement, sporting some of the most comfortable bed-to-street wear known to human kind. I confess, I have spent the lion’s share of my existence in black skinny jeans, yet even I could be convinced of the merits of the [the?] Les Girls Les Boys jogging/tracksuit range. It demands nothing of you other than you be thoroughly at ease and wish for as minimal a barrier as yet conceived betwixt pillow and corner shop. If I’m really honest, I would be wearing them right now if I could and I think I might just get away with it.
Some things do appear to be coming full circle at House Alchemy, not least Kjartan Sveinnsson and Ragnar Kjartansson’s ‘Der Klang Der Offenbarung Des Gottlichen’. Whence we last trod these vulpine halls, I suggested that this particular piece of contemporary opera is intense but I hesitate to say that there are any operas that aren’t. Intense, that is. It’s most likely endemic to the genre and entirely necessary for brooding by the fireplace or looking out over a lonely, windswept moor. It is perhaps that quality which has played on my mind since parting ways with our original copy and exactly that which leads me now to be holding a second one, purchased via the infernal portal also known as Discogs. I ordered with good intent - for it to be available for purchase in my weird little cave - but due to reasons, it may no longer be acquired and shall remain in my possession forthwith.
People here generally fly to their respective sites of origin for Christmas, on or around the 20th. To do so later invites the kind of chaos TFL specialises in; any earlier and family’s family. I know you get me. Knowing us as we do and how time has a tendency of vanishing with alarming rapidity of late, we decided to get ahead of the curve and do dinner with the band & co early this year. The miniature version of Nico is totally in his formative years and these, I believe are the experiences which go on to inform how you feel about a thing without knowing exactly why. Especially Christmas. I think I recall bombing down a grassy hill in a pedal car at playgroup, aged about two years old and that might be the total sum of my memories from that early back. That being said, I have no doubt that those early days set the mould and I am glad for him. It’s a good mould.
There are only so many ways to finish things in the run up until the day itself and they all, invariably leave a portion of things unfinished. This year, that toboggan slope of work, studio and other awkward miscellany has led me only to the conclusion that there were things I have meant to do and yet, for the life of me, I cannot recall what they were. Perhaps the only real way to seal such a monumentally contrived envelope is to indulge in that which I so carefully abstain from throughout the rest of the calendar year. Christmas is and always has been the correct time and place for The Pogues and there has never been a more perfect piece of the black stuff with which to herald its coming.
JD - TACOCAT