God, I wish there was a CD of this. I found it and bought the digital release last night. A fifty-minute journey through a weird central European forest.
Comments closedWARREN ELLIS LTD Posts
Alive. Can’t promise more than that right now, but definitely alive. Morning.
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Heading home from visiting my daughter
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Image lifted from IG @vintagepulps.
Some days start before you’re ready for them. It’s 9pm and I am looking suspiciously at the phone sitting next to me, wondering what’s next. But. It’s never boring, and it’s been years of hard work to get the point where the life is sapped out of me by 11 am soooo
It’s a peculiar life, and you’ve really got to want it.
Inbox: 10. Newsletter from Orbital Operations set for Sunday.
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Well, this was a surprise when it turned up in the post this morning, signed and with a note from Len. (Sir Len. ) Cheers, mate. Really looking forward to this.
Comments closedFrom their forthcoming record THE WORLD IS A BELL, the kind of low-tech drone pop I don’t hear much of any more, with riverine percussion that I find very elegant and charming.
Probably a nice change from what I usually play you, reader.
Comments closedI’m not even in my body yet today, so here’s eighteen minutes of deep, resonant, sonically complex drone from Anna Peaker, which to me today is the sound of old England in winter. Beautiful and sonorous.
Comments closedThe piece was developed around recordings exploring registration and extended tones using the church organ at the Old Seacroft Methodist Chapel in Leeds. My aim was to explore the physical effects of the sonority of the instrument and somehow translate that. A heaviness and unease, then eventual lift.
Not sure how I ended up on this particular comps list, but, hey, it’s a new Raymond Briggs, I’m not complaining. A trailblazer and a master.
In his customary pose as the grumpiest of grumpy old men, Raymond Briggs contemplates old age and death… and doesn’t like them much. Illustrated with Briggs’s inimitable pencil drawings, Time for Lights Out is a collection of short pieces, some funny, some melancholy, some remembering his wife who died young, others about the joy of grandchildren, of walking the dog… He looks back at his schooldays and his time as an evacuee during the war, and remembers his parents and the house in which he grew up. But most, like this one, are about his home in Sussex:
Looking round this house,
What will they say,
The future ghosts?
It is a beautiful book, and, on first inspection, performatively melancholy but fiercely alive. He’s 85 now, and if this might be his last book, then it is a fine point on which to sign out and leave the room. And if, as one hopes, it’s not? Then, in these October years, we know that he’s still smiling to himself and still stretching. What a joy to be gifted a new Briggs this season.
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