Daddy's Legendary Severed Ragù
A ragù for Album III sans V, some goats are severed, and this rat might just yet be the stuff of legends.
We had to forego our morning cuddles and a story in the big bed yesterday and I was at pains to do so. It’s not very often that I skip a Sunday with her and for good reason. Those slow starts, those quiet times together while the world just breathes are part of the fabric of life and to squander them would be a sin, if such a thing exists. That said, I had good enough reason to need to be elsewhere. Understand that I would have taken her with me but due to other birthday celebrations elsewhere, she would have had scant suitable company with whom to spend the body of an afternoon, despite how much I think we might have enjoyed the journey together.
Hence I placed her in the care of The Mothership for the day, albeit with a dispatch of sourdough bread, ripe avocado and some strawberries for a semi-bougie breakfast. She did insist that I kept some of the punnet of strawberries and became upset when I tried to give her all of them to take with her. Apparently Daddy should also have strawberries to enjoy when we cannot be together for whatever stupid reason. This child.
It was the ragù that was promised and more. Having made the trip out to foggy West London for Mr. Simoncelli’s birthday celebrations, we were spoiled with an afternoon of fine dining, excellent company, and some album III ruminations. I have been privileged to partake of his cooking a few times over the years and it’s always the most authentic experience. The man chops half a baby carrot for fifteen minutes and it goes into the pot and despite my scepticism, something must happen between then and when it’s served because the result is the most considered manifestation of nom that ever did nom.
It’s always nice whenever we have an excuse to come together for a reason that does not involve noise
Mr. Rigot made it down for the latter half of the afternoon, having shipped his spawn off to the phantom zone, aka soft play for a couple of hours. I imagine. It’s always nice whenever we have an excuse to come together for a reason that does not involve noise and/or working and it doesn’t happen often enough. That said, while we were down one V, we did run through a couple of the so-new-they’re-not-even-cooked-yet tracks from the third record and yeah…it’s nearly prepped, at least? There is music and there are words and there is some kind of plan. Speaking of plans, I did kinda tease album II news for this week. I’m gonna have to revert but stuff is real close now. The air smells like nails, the plaster is under my hand and the wall feels thin.
As per, I am late to the party and ’Severance’ is every bit as mind bending as I have somehow missed everyone proclaiming it to be. It is in no way, shape or form what I anticipated but then again, I don’t know exactly what I was anticipating, if I even was expecting anything at all? Perhaps I expected it to be more about whatever The Work is and less about the questions it poses regarding a whole other sentient version of you that never gets to touch grass. I don’t mean any of this in a bad way but I’m aware that clarity is lacking.
I mean, making yourself an indentured servant to yourself could absolutely seem bad but the writing itself thus far, i.e around half way into season one is a rare type A of phenomenal. I am hooked and there is every chance that The Work is as horrifically compelling as any other heretofore workshopped concept of a moral quandary. It’s also true that this is one of those shows where one can drop incredibly specific details out loud in question form without ever fearing spoiling a forbidden thing: What are those numbers? Who is everyone, really? Why are there goats? Also, why are there goats!
if any fucker decides to whisper “Harker” into a hot mic, I’m out and I’ll run through a brick ass wall to get there
It’s also frequently masterful. Jessica Lee Gagné’s frames evoke a mood alike that of ‘Twin Peaks’ long shots, ‘Long Legs’ composition…actually the audio design has a lot in common with that movie too and if any fucker decides to whisper “Harker” into a hot mic, I’m out and I’ll run through a brick ass wall to get there. When I say that it reminds me of that film, know this: I mean it as a compliment and I mean that it sticks with you like trauma but maybe in a good way. In a way you want and hate at the same sweaty time. Like that scab on the back of your hand that you just can’t help but pick.
The acting is top chops but then again, he’s here and I am usually compelled. All of it comes together (drawn in no small part by Theodore Shapiro’s eerie AF score that I’m gonna pedestal to the same degree that I did Marie-Hélène L. Delorme’s terrifyingly breathy and inventive work on Netflix’s ‘Wayward’) to create a show that is ineffably mysterious, frequently funny in an often pitch black kinda way, and queasy as the unlit hallway to your back in a house you know well but wonder if it’s as empty as it should be…
I feel like I’ve been with Viv & Co. for a while now. It started with ‘Legends & Lattes’, which I picked up in an awfully great book shop before putting it immediately back down and running away from its YA vibes. Of course, I eventually returned, looking for something suitably cosy and devoured the entire confection in a few short, snug sittings. If you’re reading this, there is a high percentage change you are aware that I am partial to both fantasy and coffee in almost equal measure, hence if there was ever a series that has felt more directly targeted, nay targeted with missile precision toward my frontal cortex, I have yet to encounter it in the wild.
The premise of the first book is similar to that of Richard Morgan’s dark fantasy/sci-fi burner, ‘The Steel Remains’, in that we join our hero AFTER the battle has been won, dragon vanquished, and any associated princesses released from their respective towers. That said, this is nowhere near as dark or cyber-punky as Morgan’s schtick. It’s an appropriately cinnamon toasted affair for a story largely concerned with the trials and tribulations of a pioneering coffee shop in a city that’s not Athkatla.
I shall admit that it spooked me more than a little in the approach but Travis tricked me and I’m okay with it
Instead of providing a continuum, book two takes a fresh approach and goes back before the beginning of the beginning (a prequel, if you will) and introduces us to your new favourite orc barbarian at the start of a glittering and bloody career, along with a rat who may also be a friend. Book three then brings us back to the present and goes off on an actual sequel with said rat. I like this structure. I shall admit that it spooked me more than a little on approach but Travis tricked me and I’m okay with it.
I think I must be about a hundred pages or so off finishing this last one now and I’m still unsure how exactly it’s gonna go. Difficult to say, partially because I’m reading it on Apple’s book thing on my iPhone. I’m an awful person who enjoys the convenience of always having their book in their pocket, yet this does make page numbers difficult to judge in how they might relate to any book in reality. Besides that, I’m not sure how I would want it to go if it were me writing this thing. Which I’m very glad it’s not but I do think I would eat more? It’s worth noting, primarily because (and I feel keenly that this must be to the series credit) I absolutely give a damn about this rat.
JD out.