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Mar 13 2021

TO WHERE I AM NOW

It was a normal Tuesday, the alarm went off at 7.30 AM and as the spring was on the way you could see that behind the curtain there was a wall of light, it was dull but it was there. It was welcome after a torturous winter, the coldest on record and now the weather was finally beginning to break and buds were appearing on branches, little bright green sprouts of life, a miracle on the what seemed to be the dead brown branches of the surviving trees, because not everything survived, not trees, not animals or pets. Francis stared up at the ceiling for a moment and watched a cloud of breath ascend from his throat and dissipate a few inches away from his face. There had been no consistent heating in the house for six months, not since the first freeze, and many pets had frozen to death in their homes. They were chopping up furniture to keep warm, huddled together in one room but when all the furniture was gone the whole family slept in one room dreading going to the bathroom until they didn’t go anymore holding out till morning. It was warmer in the day but you couldn’t stay outside long. On a good day, it was minus 30 degrees and one family member was designated to go to the dangerous food drops each day, electricity came on and off, each suburb had a designated on time so you ate hot food when it was your time, there were no traditional meal times anymore.

Apart from the electricity and the heating problem and the missing kitchen table and chairs, hat stand, telephone table, and garden fence, things were beginning to get back to normal. Francis swung his tentacles out of the bed and slipped down onto the carpet. He crawled across the room to the bedroom door and threw up an arm to the handle. He could hear Clarissa downstairs, she was already wiping the blood from the walls after last night’s feast and Francis slipped quietly down the stairs so as not to startle her. At the bottom, he let out the morning shriek and Clarissa knew he was up. Moving planets had been good for lots of families of the squids as the Earth pets called them and initially, there hadn’t been any trouble until the first killings and then they became more regular, and eventually, everyone was doing it. It was so hard not to kill someone else’s pet because you never really knew who belonged to who.

Luckily for the cold-blooded, the weather wasn’t really a problem, more of an inconvenience, and eating the pets was more of a decadence than a need. Never had the conquering of a planet been so easy, the pretence at the beginning and the destruction of anything that could harm the squids, not just traditional weaponry but Earth-only substances like chalk, that burned the squid’s skin till it withered and death came quickly. Some of the pets had found a way to turn it into an effective weapon using catapults and protecting themselves by covering themselves in the stuff. There were places where the squids couldn’t go and these were the places where the resistance had based themselves, headquarters Dover.

Clarissa and Francis needed new pets after last night’s feast, so Francis said he was going to nip out for a bit of a hunt before breakfast. Clarissa shouted from the front room “Ok dear” and Francis opened the front door and slid down the garden path towards the street. There were some other squids out and one group had managed to herd together enough pets for the week. It was sometimes easier hunting on your own though, just for your own family, no squabbles, just targeted prey.

Three streets away from home, Francis found what seemed too good to be true, around ten pets walking in the road. Francis slid toward them, fangs and poison barbs out. The squids could move so fast, it was hard to escape them once they had spotted you. In for the kill, but then Francis felt something hit him on his back, it was a chalk bomb, it was a trap, the chemical burned into his bulbous cranium and he shrieked a fearful sound that echoed between the houses. No one had mentioned any stories of attacks like this in this area and that’s why he hunted alone, there was no general threat. His outer layer of skin began to fizz and he thrashed around, smashing into a doorway and breaking the front windows of a house in the street. The pets looked on and cheered as he slowed and finally collapsed, parts of his body still dissolving into death. Meanwhile, Clarissa was all finished and slid into the middle of the room and proceeded to use splintered bones to pick the pieces of meat from between her teeth.

Music today has been an odd mix of German band Frumpy’s third album By The Way (1972) and then their live album (1973). But I dug into some Emerson, Lake & Palmer and listened to the debut (1970), Tarkus (1971), Pictures At An Exhibition (1971), Trilogy (1972), and Brain Salad Surgery (1973). One of the most hated bands by the glammerers, the punkerers, the indie kids, the reggae fans, the soul boys, the sixties lovers, the critics, and the parents. I saw them at the Liverpool Empire in the mid-seventies on the Brain Salad Surgery tour (artwork for the album by HR Giger). They pleased nobody with their indulgent semi-intellectual, classical-leaning virtuosity and long solo sections with drum solos and keyboard madness with Keith Emerson jabbing a dagger into his Hammond and summoning monstrous noises. Carl Palmer double bass drumming his way through mad symphonies supported by Greg Lake’s twangy bass. And then Lake would pick up an acoustic guitar and sing something lovely with his attractive voice. Despised like Rush apart from by the hordes that loved them (48 million albums sold) – just fine if you like this kind of thing.

Music Of The Daze

Written by Marty Willson-Piper · Categorized: Blog

Missing

This is my stolen 1965 Rickenbacker 12-string, serial number EB157. If there's any chance of this guitar coming back to me before I go to meet my maker, then that would be wonderful. Please contact me if you have any information.

11209512_1669022976719710_7288437867089763325_n

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You usually don’t spend the day in the studio an You usually don’t spend the day in the studio and the night at a gig but if you put the studio next to the gig then there’s a greater chance. So @salimnourallah did just that, he put the gig and the studio next to each other and made it possible for me to spend the day recording and the evening playing live 🎵

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TO WHERE I AM NOW A visit in the studio today fro TO WHERE I AM NOW

A visit in the studio today from old mate Mark Burgess from The Chameleons who has been hanging in Texas recently. I was thinking about the two of us growing up in the northwest of England and all these years later finding ourselves in such an unlikely spot together. We fixed a few issues in the universe and I carried on recording some guitars until Mark had to leave. Mark had played at the Galactic Headquarters next to the studio this year as Olivia and I had four years ago and this reminded me to remind myself to remind everyone to remind their friends that we will be playing there with Salim on Saturday, New Year’s Eve, for the ultimate in intimate performance. You can get tickets here (follow link below).

CONTINUE READING: https://martywillson-piper.com/2022/12/to-where-i-am-now-1045

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TO WHERE I AM NOW Sadness manifested in a buildin TO WHERE I AM NOW

Sadness manifested in a building, today we went to visit Paisley Park. Prince built Paisley Park in Chanhassen, about twenty minutes southwest of Minneapolis. It opened in 1987 and he recorded his later albums there. Apart from Prince, REM also recorded and mixed Out Of Time there, recording Kate Pearson’s vocal on Shiny Happy People vocal. Madonna had Prince play guitar on three songs from Like A Prayer and the two co-wrote Love Song, finishing it remotely due to Madonna not being able to stand the cold weather and the rather desolate location of the studio. Of course, there are things around but it’s not in the city and it’s not in the countryside, it’s in a suburb, no distractions, just what Prince wanted.

CONTINUE READING: https://martywillson-piper.com/2022/12/to-where-i-am-now-1032

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"These are awesome sessions that I highly recommend for guitar players of all levels. Very informative, frank discussions on everything related to guitar and music in general. Definitely a must for anyone pursuing songwriting."
(Stephen G., VA, USA)

"Marty knows how to bypass scales and get to the heart of feel and timing. His musical knowledge spans multiple cultures and genres. Perhaps most importantly, Marty is a cool dude. I highly recommend his guitar guidance." (Jed B., MN, USA)

"Ok, so you’re sitting in your home and Marty is across the world but is actually right here teaching you how to play guitar and write songs. He is a delight to talk to and he is your teacher, meaning he wants to see you get something out of his lessons. You know he’s paying attention and wants to steer you in the right direction. I am so grateful and humbled that he offers his time in this manner. This is an amazing opportunity for anyone who admires anything from his enormous body of work. How often do you get to learn from somebody that inspired you in the first place? Amazing." (Ann S., CA, USA)

Missing

This is my stolen 1965 Rickenbacker 12-string, serial number EB157. If there’s any chance of this guitar coming back to me before I go to meet my maker, then that would be wonderful. Please contact me if you have any information.

11209512_1669022976719710_7288437867089763325_n

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