In England, Thinking of Women (Three Months Later)

I saw a tree outside my window as I smoked a late night cigarette, thinking about that girl, which seemed more vivid and clear than its surroundings. Although not much larger than a sapling and in a clear, open area it stood still and proud under an orange lamplight. Seeing that tree alone and proud I was not sure whether to feel happy, sad or empty. Maybe it was just a fucking tree.

Anticipatory Science Forecasts

I am trying to tell the future (Hand me my glasses)
There are trends in sex trafficking. There are things to be seen.
But I have not seen them?

There are trends, in earthquakes.
Their position, their timing. I’m sure if you give me enough time I can predict the next one. If I guess the Richter level, perhaps they will give me a prize.

If I guess the story of a hero, who drags the screaming children from the rubble, perhaps they will give me a Pulitzer. Maybe I will give hope. I can do it, but not without my glasses. This is where you come in.

Hand me my glasses and I will mention you in my acceptance speech.

“I sure am glad that my predictions saved so many lives. Those children are alive now. And that is not a problem as I solved over-population too. That was a simple one. Stop fucking.” Careless fucks cost lives.

I will be given honorary degrees from every major University in the Western Hemisphere. They will create new programmes of study around my theories. The art of Prophecy will be as respected as Literature or Law. Schools will have my picture on the walls. I will be the Chairman Mao of saving everyone from everything.

My wife will be beautiful and she will support me. She will accurately identify when to be humble and stay away from the press. She will not over-react to my infidelities, as I will have warned her well in advance. Our marriage counselling will begin on our first date. We will have already named our children before we meet; Pablo and Consuela. They will have to attend public school, of course, just like the other children.

They will ask me for the answers to upcoming tests. I will laugh and ruffle their hair. I will send them to the school bus with an extra large hug on certain days, as I know what is in store. It will be difficult for everyone – but there will be good times.

I can already remember the time when we will visit Lake Tahoe – the sun will shine through the trees and scatter around our feet as the endless passages of time embrace my arms and legs and pin me to the dust.

Groceries

In the cafe on the main street downtown I can see my ex-husband. He is sitting at the window, with his head down, picking at his food. I recognise him straight away and am suddenly very aware I will be walking into his eye-line if he lifts his head. I ghost between two parked cars and park myself on a bench, just out of sight, beside a tree.

His top section is visible through the window along with his feet, resting on a ledge. I can make out his expression to some extent, but I cannot, for the life of me, place it. He scrapes something off his burger before taking a bite. I watch him as he chews for a moment before looking out of the window, gazing into the distance. I imagine myself there beside him, several years ago. His frame is thinner and his hair is thicker, but his eyes glow the way only I have seen. I could walk into the cafe and act surprised, I could tell him how great he looks, perhaps we will embrace awkwardly. Maybe we will have a coffee, maybe we will laugh about the time we spent in Rome, and how the cheap champagne made him sick; how he sang me a song about maidens and castles as he lay slumped across our cheap, unmade hotel bed. Then can imagine how the conversation will progress. I will accidentally bring up Marianne, perhaps I subconsciously want to, and things will turn sour. He will raise his voice a little and say ‘I thought we were over this’ and he will look away, resignation in his eyes. I will catch them in the mirror and something inside me would shatter beyond repair.

Suddenly I am standing, turning away from the cafe. My feet are guiding me away from the hostile situation. Maybe one day, but not today. I can pick up the eggs from the grocery store on the end of the street instead, it is a little more expensive there, but that hardly matters. And the bread? Well, that can surely wait until tomorrow.

That Which Lies Before Me

Jellyfish

As we looked out over the beach she said ‘I wish that we were
in the sky’

I said ‘like moons? Just you and I?
She said ‘Well, she could be there too, you know I’m not the
jealous type’

I said

Well

If I were the moon
And you were the moon
And she was the moon
Then there would be too many moons

Besides,

The sea would go all weird and a...ll the fish would die

She said ‘I don’t think I want to see you anymore’

It was understandable – I wouldn’t want all those deaths on
my conscience

And just think of the jellyfish

Poor spineless bastards, things are hard enough for
them as it is.

Wolf

We had been separated for two years. It was around two, perhaps eighteen months. Either way I was in her apartment, sitting in the middle of the floor. She laid across the sofa, draped in colourful sheets. I had removed my socks as they had started to come off with my boots and I had wanted my actions to seem purposeful from the offset. I hoped she would see this as an interesting quirk, perhaps something that signified change, but even I knew it was pathetic. She looked at me with a mixture of intent and pity. I stared at the floor. The silence was excruciating. My mind was racing but words were not forming.

“I saw a wolf” I paused for a moment, unsure if this was the path to follow. “I saw a wolf, when I was walking home the other night. He looked like a wolf. He was white and grey and proud. He looked at me, he looked at me straight on and he mimicked my movements.”

I looked up. She was looking at me. I could see that she had no ring on her finger, It was poking out slightly from under the covers. I could see a t-shirt strewn over the end of the sofa. It was too large to be hers.

“I mean, I think I saw it. I’m almost certain.”

She stood up and smiled and walked towards the kitchen. Through the door I could see half of her putting a kettle onto the hob. After a moment she hovered in the doorway.

“This wolf, as I walked towards him, he mimicked my movements. He looked more purposeful though, he looked like he could strike, but you know, obviously I couldn’t tell what he was thinking”

“Obviously”

I tried to seek playfulness in her voice but it seemed harsher than I remembered.

“I walked towards it, it was in a garden, underneath one of the old boarding houses, next to the pub in the dale. I wanted to see how it would pan out, you know, if I walked towards it, I mean, I couldn’t avoid it, it was on my way home.”

She walked back into the kitchen and took the pot off the boil. She poured out two cups and presented one to me. I sipped it. It was black with a shot of cream. I sipped it and rested back onto my elbows.

She looked at me as I sipped the coffee. I did not say anything else. I began to think about the snow outside. I could hear it crashing against the window. My boots were beside me, the snow had melted from them slightly and there was a small pool of water around the soles. I had bought the boots in the Summer, to prepare for the cold winter. I felt a certain satisfaction in this.

“Go on”

I spun back towards her

“The wolf. Go on.”

“Okay, the wolf, yes, I mean, I was almost at the point where we had to meet. But it was cold, my hands were frozen. I put my head down and walked as fast as I could. Faster than I should. The lights were orange and the road was empty, I tried to look back when I was a few paces forward but I couldn’t see the garden. It had big hedges each side, I could see the edge of the driveway but that was it. I try to think back now, you know, to the garden. If there were some paw-prints in the snow or something, but for the life of me I can’t remember.”

She sat beside me on the floor, dragging the cover down from the sofa. She gave me a corner to cover my feet. I wrapped it around them, pulling them together for warmth. I felt more comfortable now and I laid down on my back.

“The next day, all I could think about was that wolf. I would be going through the day and carrying on conversations but the whole time I was thinking of that wolf. We even joked about it, you know, maybe it was my spirit wolf and all that”

She laughed a little and lent back against the edge of the sofa.

“But then I thought, that day and thinking about the wolf. It’s the most I’ve thought about anything in as long as I dare to remember.”

She looked at me now. A different look.

“What did you come here for?”

I thought.

“I wouldn’t want to say. Just in case I was wrong.”

I walked home and it was light. There were birds singing. The birds carried on singing, but they knew, just as well as I did, that the wolf would be at my door when I returned.

White Christmas

I saw a white Christmas this year
For the first time since my birth

On Christmas day we sat, and we were pleasant
My father reminded us as it was a day of Christ

He has read the greats and travelled India
I would like to discuss the old Russians

But they are meaningless to him now
He has God

I would like to discuss the great Russians
But it would not do either of us any good.

At Christmas he was unhappy, but he is happy now.
He would like to discuss God but I am not of the age or mindset to accept this

It was a white Christmas
And I am an adult now, for what it is worth.

Cheap

What of you bony hips,
Does you cry for your dignity, I know of men
But to claim for one,
Who could tell?
Who on earth could tell?

Do you better yourself, what is your comparison?
There is a family, shopping, in sync,
Calling for the perfect,
Perfect.

Hair, swept and manicured, furrowed brow
Of hard work, not thought
And never a worry beyond the payment plans.

Test your passes, don’t fall in love.
Stay strong and challenge
But you fight.

Do you know?
Does she know?

After all, that’s all it is, isn’t it?
It’s cheap
It’s cheap.

It’s cheap and you are poor.

On the steps

I am back here
on the steps,

It is Autumn.

Not my town, no abode, no contact
Alone on the steps, as they pass
Features blur.

You could pick them out if you wished,
but I see no need.

I do not wish to meet these people, merely observe,
It seems lazy
And clichéd
To wonder where they are going, what they are doing, what they are thinking, how they continue, how they do not give in, how their families are, how they fuck, If they make love, how they met their significant other, if they are happy in the way they love their lives, if they are happy with the world around them, if they are the world around them,
If it becomes them,
If we are linked,
If we are attatched,
When they disappear from view.

Perhaps their sobs were smothered as children,
Perhaps that’s why they do not spill,
On the pavement
As I watch
From the steps.

It's hard being a man, living in a garbage pail...

Grief (First Draft)

The lights clicked off, one by one by one. She ghosted through the hall without a sound. It was a walk she had made many times before, she could beat the lights now, or even make the walk in the dark if needs be. Once she reached the office, she slipped inside. The room was presented in cold grey stucco. On one side was a thin table. It had thin legs, a thin top and was also grey. There was a chair beside the desk, red, and another in the corner. The chair in the corner looked slightly cheaper than the chair in behind the desk, and was a little smaller. During the day she would often sit on the chair in the corner, but if she had the opportunity she would sit in the larger chair behind the desk.

She stood with her back pressed against the door for a moment. She did not sigh. After a moment or two she moved away from the door and approached the desk. At one side, hidden slightly from view, were several fleece jumpers. These were emblazoned with the company logo. She unfolded and spread these across the floor in the small area of floor between the desk and the wall, away from the door. Slowly, she laid out across the fleeces. Under the desk was a small book of poetry. The inside cover contained a hand written dedication. Each night she would open the book at the page with the dedication. She had not read the poems in side, there seemed little that these poems could convey which this opening page could not achieve. The writing was fairly elaborate, yet subtle. The f’s and g’s swirled majestically, sitting beside the other calm and understated characters. When she had first examined this page, little over a month ago, she had thought of the meanings behind the handwriting. It occurred to her that perhaps there was a strange synchronicity in the handwriting. He could often dart around with the most extreme and soaring majesty, then settle back into a life of weakness. The weakness was an odd phenomena. Since she had known him he had been a strong man, in behaviour and convictions. This had enveloped almost all characteristics of his personality, governing his friendships, work, pleasure and indeed his lovers. The weakness of his later months had always seemed, perhaps, a certain fate. Before a man like he could pass, a second sense ad perspective on life was needed. An acceptance if you will.

Over time the words themselves, and now even the handwriting had affected her less and less and now failed to inspire any feeling from her. It seemed more like a ritual.

After a few minutes the lights clicked off. The sensors were based on motion. Sometimes if she stirred in her sleep they would trigger and a flash of fluorescent light would wake her, but this happened less and less recently. It almost seemed like most things were clockwork. The sensors would not be triggered. She would sleep and awake at such a time, she could glide through the halls and into the toilets until the others arrived.

That night as she slept, she dreamt of a ballroom. He was healthy and they were dancing. There was no music. Just the sound of her dress brushing the sparkling tiles.

Start

An indigo sky pulsed over the waves. A screen of thin grey film over the windscreen due to the smoke slowly bleeding from the crumpled front hugging the trunk of a great oak. Its embrace encapsulated the warmth running through her chest, the splitting pain and warm sensation of what had passed seemed beleaguered to a sense of cutting scandal. The only section of the automobile still in tact and working order flipped down on cue to reveal a smile split centrally by a single trickle of dark claret.

50 songs for the year

Girls – Lust for Life
Arch M – 21st Union
Casiotone for the Painfully Alone – Killers
Shoes & Socks Off – Vice Magazine Has A Lot to Answer For
Animal Collective – Summertime Clothes
Atlas Sound (feat Stereolab) – Quick Canal
Future of the Left – Arming Eritrea
Los Campesinos! – The Sea Is a Good Place To Think of The Future
Matt & Kim – Daylight
Diamond Rings – All Yr Songs

Grammatics – Relentless Fours
Kindness – Gee Up
M. Ward – For Beginners
Washed Out – You’ll See It
Memory Cassette – Last One Awake
Deerhunter – Circulation
No Age – You’re A Target
Wavves – Mickey Mouse
MSTRKRFT – Heartbreaker (ft. John Legend)
Emily Neveu – My Cosmonaut Edit

The Twilight Sad – I Became a Prostitute
Nude Beach – Nude Beach
Lou Barlow – Take Advantage
Jeffrey Lewis & The Junkyard – To Be Objectified
Lightning Bolt – Sound Guardians
Pulled Apart By Horses – E=MC Hammer
Nodzzz – Is She There?
Jason Lytle – Yours to Keep
Yeah Yeah Yeahs – Zero
The Xx – Crystalised

HEALTH – Die Slow
KASMs – Male Bonding
Bob Dylan – Must be Santa
Calico Horse – Idiotheque (Radiohead Cover)
Mean Jeans – Steve Don’t Party No More
PENS – High In The Cinema
The Horrors – Sea Within a Sea
The Drums – Let’s Go Surfing
Liars – Scissor
Hot Chip – One Life Stand

A Place to Bury Strangers – It is Nothing
Pre – Dude Fuk
A Sunny Day In Glasgow – Hybrid Moments (Misfits Cover)
Abe Vigoda – Wild Heart
Best Coast – When I’m With You
Japandroids – Young Hearts Spark Fire
Johnny Foreigner – Some Summers
Dinosaur Jr. – Over It
Memory Tapes - Bicycle
Vomit Heat – Everything In Its Wrong Place

Zine

Matt and Kim Daylight Single (for musosguide.com)

Matt & Kim Daylight

However much you care to claim you’re love for obscure Sunn O))) instrumentals or Glenn Branca avant-garde freakouts, deep down, beneath that sheen of indier-than-thou mistrust, everyone loves a good pop song. It just so happens that Matt & Kim specialise in the afformentioned ‘pop’.
One part Beat Happening and one part the Wham! ‘Daylight’ has a hook that could snare even the most bitterly stubborn curmudgeon, topped off with a celestial synth line and stuttering drums, set to a plot of summer fun and perpetual immaturity. Matt Johnson’s call-response vocals to noone inparticular are filled with a sense of happiness and youth that cannot help but create a warm sense of the sheer delight and an overwhelming urge to baptize yourself in ice cream.
In the States Matt & Kim can be found on primetime tv, in commercials and all over the music press and it seems it’s just a matter of time before they find a similar fame this side of the Atlantic. On this evidence it seems the fame would be well deserved.

Wavves - Mickey Mouse

Admit it. You wanted to hate it. You can't.

mp3

A Jingle

Give me some hope in this backwater town,

I’ve staring on upwards from my comedown

The year that was spent can drag out the sweat

Of a penchant for fun and no time for regret.

me oh my

Oh, noose

Tied myself in, tied myself too tight

Looking kind of anxious in your cross-armed stance

Like a bad tempered prom queen at a homecoming dance

And I claim I'm not excited with my life anymore

So I blame this town, this job, these friends, the truth is it's myself

And I'm trying to understand myself and pinpoint who I am

When I finally get it figured out, I've changed the whole damn plan

Oh, noose

Tied myself in, tied myself too tight

Oh, noose

Tied myself in, tied myself too tight

Talking shit about a pretty sunset

Blanketing opinions that I'll probably regret soon

Changed my mind so much I can't even trust it

My mind changed me so much I can't even trust myself

on a lighter note i pissed in a punch bowl at a party and someone drank it.

holler

Leeds, Stag & Dagger

for (www.musosguide.com)

Stag & Dagger Leeds
Friday May 22
Various Venues

It would be easy to dismiss an event sponsored by Vice and Firetrap as cheap throwaway hipster nonsense. It would also be easy to look at the majority of the crowd and expect the same. A Bravery for 2009 perhaps. But then there’s the matter of the most impressive and varied lineups ever to grace the working men’s clubs and University bars of Leeds.

First on the agenda are Abe Vigoda at TJs Woodhouse, branding the audience with their own brand of tropical power-punk. Despite a recent lineup change and near constant technical difficulties the Los Angeles four-piece give a tight and thoroughly agreeable performance, climaxing with a joyous rendition of ‘Skeleton’. Abe Vigoda, unfortunately, have the problem that they are followed on the bill by three of the greatest live acts of today, so many of the nuances and fine distinction of their intricate guitar lines grow hazy in memory.

Crystal Antlers do not suffer from this problem. On record they pass themselves off as a fairly dull and trite affair, but stick the guys on a stage and suddenly a whole new beast is created. The wall of noise sound, intercepted by bongo rhythms and wailing vocals perfectly suit the fairly diminutive surroundings, giving the impression of a primal explosion of noise. Crystal Antlers are complimented perfectly by the visceral delights of White Denim who seem intent on allowing their fans to expel their entire bodily fluids through their foreheads with an unstoppable half hour jam of Workout Holiday favourites and newies, cutting and pasting sections of different songs together to create a patchwork setlist that makes them simply irresistible and sends a jolt of electricity through the packed out crowd. It would be easy to dismiss White Denim as the sum of their parts, southern rock MC5 wannabes perhaps, but their performances certainly are unique.

The Mae Shi step up to the plate next, with the solid groundwork of a band renowned for their chaotic and charismatic live shows. It’s a shame then that something may have been lost somewhere over the Atlantic, because for the majority of their set, try as they mae (sorry) they can’t seem to find the magic today. Perhaps it could be attributed to the loss of a member or to several overzealous superfans jumping into a fairly sparse crowd but the first several songs fall rather flat. Despite these early jitters the band manage to pull out few tricks from their sleeves, covering the crowd in a giant tent and a sit-down singalong pull in the strays from the bar and the added numbers create an atmosphere sorely missing for the first half of the set. The Shi respond in kind, hugging stage invaders and throwing themselves into the throng at every opportunity before launching into a superb rendition of ‘Run to Your Grave’. The pinnacle of the night comes as security pull the plug, the band grab their mics and serenade the audience to cries of ‘Fuck the Police’ goading fans onto the stage for one final dance before they’re on their merry way.

A quick jog over town leads to the Brudenell brings the band with easily the biggest buzz surrounding them, Cursive. Dinosaurs of the alt-rock world their devoted fanbase is out in force to scream every lyric from the bottom of their lungs into the ears of anyone who cares to listen. On record their writhing anthems can create a sense of real emotion and raw feeling but on stage all they cause is numb feet and the urge to squeeze out for a cigarette. A below-par setlist consisting mostly of songs from new album Mama I’m Swollen, falls distinctly flat each song merging into a grey pulp of sound, nothing distinct or particularly impressive. Perhaps it would be unfair to compare the performance with those seen earlier. Cursive certainly would not feel the need to resort to gimmicks or trickery to win over an audience, but the standalone properties of many of the songs on show wasn’t enough to warrant watching a miserable old man ranting at screaming fanboys.

Just an opinion.

God Help The Girl

(for www.musosguide.com)

God Help The Girl
Come Monday Night

In the three years since The Life Persuit it would be totally unfair to say Belle & Sebastian’s fan-base has diminished, as any cardigan-cocooned fop will testify, but perhaps it is fair to say that anticipation of new output from Stuart Murdoch isn’t quite at the giddy peaks it reached around the time of the classy If You’re Feeling Sinister.
Interestingly Murdock’s has chosen to stake a step away from his band of merry Scots with new project God Help The Girl. ‘Come Monday Night’ is set to be pieced into a concept album of sorts, involving grandiose strings and a vague idea of storytelling, sound-tracking a musical film of Murdock’s own creation.
This may all sound like the makings of an insane, Prince-esque vanity project but the track itself is a slice of ‘60s indebted sweet and soulful balladry, swooning over a sunny London day. From the outset the track conjures to mind very prominent reference points of Bryter Later era Nick Drake, with bittersweet vocals that could easily be mistaken for those of Nico. Lyrically, the song is very similar to Murdock’s previous output, revelling in the quirky reference points and clever puns that made Belle and Sebastian so popular to the romantically minded, opting for a simplistic approach to daily monotony.
“Come Monday night/the day of work is done/Tuesday morning looms/the grey of ordinariness”
Rather than a ham fisted attempt at retro-chic this naivety creates a charming and loveable atmosphere.
'Come Monday Night' is hindered by its insistence at aping its relative influences, but still manages to conjure up a slice of enjoyable sweeping pop nostalgia – despite never straying far from safe territory.