Author Archives: karlhyde

Friday 9th August

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EVERY SONG’S A LOVE SONG TO SOMETHING:
 
Into the sky hole we go jumping, leaving the beautiful rain 
& green fields of Essex in search of a slice of something exotic. 
Stanislaw Lem & me riding in a metal tube still marvelling 
at the fabulous sculptural forms evolving beneath us as clouds
transform into solid structures we land & walk around on them.
Prague, many happy memories there, history between us, festivals, 
fields, carparks & clubs, streets where the detail & architecture
is just different enough to remind us how lucky we are to travel 
& experience the world first hand.
I feel run over again today – a return of travel fatigue?
Time to sleep on the back seats of cars, Time to sleep in the sky.
See you on the other side. 
 
(K)

Thursday 8th August

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ART & FOUND:
 
There’s a vague possibility the body is coming back on line.
For weeks I’ve watched the world through through skewed vision 
hard to sit still for long, fidgeting like a head-on collision.
Drinking water like it was going out of fashion, everything 
tasting of metal.
Last night, got sleep, real sleep & woke up feeling like I 
belonged in this skin, Sun shining, cool air, beautiful light, 
yep, this could work. Catch a train into the city to record 
with Brian & Fred – two new albums in the pipe with hours of 
material still un-released. A bag full of poetry, a camera, 
a capo, experience, imagination  & a pocket full of plectrums – 
that should do it. 
 
word in from Perou who’s out in Kenya working for Oxfam, putting
something back into the world with his camera. 
 
(k)

Wednesday 7th August

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DR. MAMBO’s COMBO:
 
…were the resident band at Bunkers on the night we piled into 
the white Ford Probe & dove to Downtown Minneapolis. Wikipedia 
says they’ve been resident there since ’87, but it was the first
& only time I ever saw them, re-enforcing a long held belief that
American bar bands are leagues ahead of pub bands in the UK.
 
Until we got there I never realised ‘Downtown’ was an actual place.
I thought it was just a cool line in a Prince song, but here it was,
wrapped around us, everything on show & beggin’ for it, vibrant, 
luminous & hungry. Along with my mate Flashman (yeah, he’s English!),
I believe the drummer Billy Ward & bass player Mark Leonard came
with us that night as we squeezed through a packed house to find 
a booth at the back from where it was impossible to see the band 
though we felt physically connected to their infectious groove – 
they were totally in the pocket. Michael Bland (whom Prince had
discovered drumming with the combo) was holding down a cool beat,
smiling & nodding as we walked in. We’d met up at Paisley Park
& watched him rehearsing with Prince for the latest band – 
‘The New Power Generation’ & it was a joy to see him here, live 
& direct from super league rehearsal, sitting in with his old
bar band buddies (you could tell these guys loved playing).
Dr. Mambo’s Combo were tight & funky, the presence of Prince’s 
groove was evident in this city, add to that the production & 
feel of local producers Jam & Lewis & the Minneapolis streets 
were laying down their marker as the home of funk.
 
We were talking fast, drinking loose, on a rare night off from 
the studio, getting deep into cross-fire stories, letting our 
guard down & becoming a unit (important on a session so far 
from home). Suddenly the vibe in the room changed, tilted, 
twisted on an invisible axis, stopped the conversation dead. 
The noise in the bar filtered, focused, everyone looked 
in one direction.
 
“What the Hell?! – What happened?”
Billy climbed up on top of the booth & yelled
“You gotta see this!”
 
Dutifully following, realising something fantastic was happening
on the other side of the crowd we stood up on our seats to glimpse,
an incongruous figure in white, almost hidden behind the kit, 
beautiful & laying down a scary groove. It filled to room with a 
vibe the like of which I’ve only heard one other time, watching 
Prince at Birmingham NEC arena. Without dropping a single beat, 
Michael had slipped out from behind his kit & handed over to 
Sheila E!
 
(K)

Tuesday 6th August

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WHOSE BODY IS THIS?:
 
Woke up in a weird body, mangled from time zones, late nights 
& weeks of flying. Someone snuck in & turned my brain sideways 
during the night, now I’m not sure I fully understand 
the English language – should make for an interesting day.
 
(K)

Monday 5th August

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LAST NIGHT IN IBIZA:

“You’re crazy!”
said the blonde with the razor fringe as I slipped away 
last night & grinned. I took it as a compliment in passing 
slipping in to the radiance of back stage faces. A beautiful 
way to pass the time with friends & body buzzing though two 
hours before it craved sleep as we hit the stage at 3:30am – 
the kick drum gets me in the end. Hands raised in the air, 
smiles & screams & whistles – all the girls & all the boys 
look beautiful.  
Drying off as we drove through empty streets, let the energy 
of the occasion percolate in silence as we sat on the hotel 
roof, waiting for the sun with cameras & chilled expressions. 
The moon was a thin slice of Lemon as we laughed, high on that 
after-groove that only a night in Space could induce. 
The party was still rockin’ as we reached breakfast.
No one had been to bed, you could see in their expressions. 
Luminous eyes, glasses clinked like wind chimes, the speed of 
conversation a clear indication that the kick drum had did it’s 
business dealing sweet preparations.

Now
back through the sky hole we go jumping
London
& the green fields of Essex calling

Thank you Ibiza!

(K)  

Sunday 4th August

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THE MAN THAT WALKS ON WATER:
 
Skinny girls in tiny sprayed on dresses serve us 
rich food late into the night down by the sea.
Some of them are tattooed moving fast between the 
tables, laughing always laughing, dancing, dancing,
choreography. Active, never passive, smiling,  
swift & fleet of foot untouchable like humming birds, 
they know the drill. The tables full of carefree couples, 
tables tucked away for lovers & the tables full of dazed 
& optimistic men. We all turn round to watch the sun
& smile our tired eyes see the world turn silhouette, 
a cut-out, then the floating man slips past us on the water, 
walking on the water we eventually relax & watch the sun slide 
soundlessly into the sea. Would you come here with me?
 
(K)

Saturday 3rd August

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SMILE YOU FISH HEAD TWIN:

Into the sky hole we go jumping, from the heat of London
to the boiler house of Ibiza. Air conditioned throats &
sun block chaperone us to the heart of the groove to the
home of the kick drum. Space, the final frontier where
a fat & beautiful Funktion One sound system waits for us,
installed by our very own John Newsham, a marriage made
in our wildest dreams been on the cards for years, now
realised. 3:00am Monday morning, hitting the stage, full
rhythm & groove. Drop the kick drum ricky, as dub-wise D
flips us into overload delays, we dance & let the sweat
run down our backs in rivers of celebration.

(K)

Thursday 1st August

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CONCRETE FOUND & WET THINGS RED:
 
The fog thins, the body shakes, aches, stumbles.
Something big, lumbering & clumsy fumbles around 
in a twilight room, the drag of heavy footfall 
on wooden boards, head bowed, confused & muttering.
 
(K)

Wednesday 31st July

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CANNOT THIS WATER BE DRINK:
 
To see Essex through jet-lag glass is to be one’s own ghost,
a shadow of the thing you forgot you left at the back of the 
wardrobe years ago. Time zones slip, sleep  fragments & breaks 
away from night, floating through the day in random pieces. 
This skin I’m in is someone else’s coat, disconnected from the 
soft stuff, the tissue inside & we observe the world through 
pin hole eyes wondering what these mouths are speaking. What 
this noise these languages are saying – are we damaged, are we 
awake, are we dancing or just dreaming?
 
(K)