As we plumb the depths of despair we stare into our dried out cups and see only dust. We remember the glorious days of taps and liquid, cups of tea and refreshing cold glasses of colourless wonder. We satiated our thirst as if it was always going to be there as if at the twist of a faucet we could be as strong and healthy as Lee Majors. Water, life itself, free to gorge yourself, damn – you could even swim in it, wash the dishes with it or clean your clothes, flush it away, pump it, make ice lollies, heat it up, cool it down, shower under it, submerge yourself in a bath with it, keep plants alive with it, surf on it, you could sail on top of it, you could take out your private submarine and sail into it, under it. You could float on it, waterski on it, go fishing in it (poor fish), be eaten by a fish in it (poor humans). In winter you can skate on it, ski on it, you can sledge on it, build a snowman with it, you can roll it up into balls and throw it at your friends, walk in the rain with it. If you are Chauncey Gardner you can walk on top of it. You are in fact ‘it’ and we take ‘it’ so for granted. So far the plumber has not made it but he is coming tomorrow morning at 8AM, what joy for a boy who likes to go to bed at 5AM.
Up on the Princess May recreation ground, the funfair has gone, taking their cacophony of screams, grinding metal cogs, rowdy music and cheap fluffy toys with them. One of the fairground workers told me that they were having trouble finding a place to set up because of the virus, festivals were cancelled and councils just wouldn’t let them come for fear of crowds congregating upside down in spinning machines, spitting and jabbering and screaming and laughing, it’s pleasure that spreads the virus most rapidly.
The evidence of their presence could be witnessed on the scarred landscape, these towering metal monsters, giant trucks and generators, brightly coloured towers of glee and sensation, tears and rapture leaving behind gouged-out turf, deep tyre tracks from heavy vehicles and the ghosted shapes of disappeared booths and kiosks, rides, both relentless and stationery, now quiet. It’s like alien spaceships have landed and left their scorch marks on the earth, only your imagination can determine how impressive their ships were by the residue and their shadowy imprint.
I tried to catch up today, I picked up the phone and reached nobody. I sent off emails but not to everybody and I managed to put away just half a dozen records. It’s all happening all at once. In 3 hours we have an exclusive premiere of the first available track, ‘Gone By Noon’ from the new MOAT album Poison Stream. The Big Takeover is a busy online magazine that always tries to help us out and we are most grateful. It’s not a single. What is a single anymore? It’s just a track we like and hope you do too. It’s not designed to catch your ear, have you sing with the milkman, reach the charts or sell records by the ton. It’s just a slice of mood and atmospheres, an evocative piano and voice over an organic background telling a tale of some soul somewhere.
I spoke to Salim today and we discussed his record and mixing and all those things that happen once you’ve recorded the record but are a long way from finishing it. Noel came to visit today before he heads off back to the hills of Surrey. He brought us lots of water so we could fill kettles and the like but the chaos of the weekend left us little time to talk guitars or songs but as Whizz Blitzer he did take some photographs of Olivia and I as we plan for our shows next year. I also found out today that the Anekdoten dates in November are being moved to the spring. One wonders if when the new year comes will we still be moving dates forward. “Life keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping, into the future”.
Music today relates to the alleged plumber’s visit tomorrow: