Author Archives: karlhyde

Sunday 31st March

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CHOCOLATE RABBITS:
 
Slipping out’ve the crowd I found you in a beautiful giant 
brush stroke. A liquid arc (substance unknown), bold & confident,
challenging me to respond in kind. I found myself sniffing through 
art shops, hunting heavyweight papers but everything is too delicate, 
to ‘domestic’, in this part of town. I see scratches on walls, perfect 
stains & scuffs, am continually attracted to the vibrant red dust of 
rust singing in the rain like succulent beach pebbles.  
In a backstreet favoured for it’s silence, two figures turned into 
musical notes, dancing like crows over the cracks of empty pavements. 
I stood in the middle of the road, grateful for the simplicity of 
information. A black top canvas rolled out beneath me, a message that 
the canvas I’ve disliked for so long doesn’t have to be stretched on 
delicate frames to bounce frustratingly beneath the dance of the brush.
(I knew it, but have to be embarrassed into action). 
On the walls around me I found marks exploding from the surface of 
stone & wood, everything looked good & in this quiet cul-de-sac I 
paused to listen with my eyes. 
‘It’s time & over-due’ say the marks you leave,
‘The paper & the rust are calling you to come out to play. 
Banging bottles dangled from their fingers like glass bells, grinning, 
goading you to dance again & talk in pictures. 
 
Happy Chocolate to you all, wherever you may be
 
(K)

Saturday 30th March

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LOVED BOX:
 
A glorious day in the sun at Southend-on-sea. A stroll along
the promenade, walking in rhythm with the beautiful melodies 
of Essex conversations. Dog wakers smile as we light up to 
see them cut along pavements like experienced arctic sledgers.
Families, the old with the young, conversations in cafe’s
about new casinos & online gambling. Fish-n-chips, pots of 
tea & doorsteps of crusty white buttered bread, it gets 
no better for me than this. On an ‘almost day off’ as we dropped 
our tired Fenders with master amp builder Dennis Cornell,
enjoying his stories & feasting on his decades of irreplaceable
knowledge about guitar amplifiers. I love the amps he builds
& tried out several of his 10 watt models, small & sparkling,
just the way I like ’em. It was hardly work, but needed to be 
done as my amps have started to sound harsh during rehearsal,
not the warm, round sound I’m used to them making & I can’t
understand what’s happened to them (if you have any clues).
These masters of ancient tech are so few & far between
we willingly travel miles to take our cherished toys to be
nurtured back to rude health by them. These wonderful people
are keepers of old knowledge, stuff you can’t download in seconds,
skills learned through years of trial & error & working as 
apprentices alongside master crafters. Where is this knowledge
being recorded? Will it become the indecipherable hieroglyphs 
of the 22nd Century or will someone begin the process of 
lovely documenting their stories & experience so that future
generations might dip into the deep wells & become enlightened?
 
Listening to Pond’s ‘Giant Tortoise‘ 
(I like downloading in seconds too)
 
(K)

Friday 29th March

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LAST NIGHT’S WOMAN:
 
Last night’s woman wore a giant bear, a fake fur barricade, 
enormous orb of fashion brown, a gargantuan hat. She blocking out 
the light as we tried to watch, stage right, Foals & Efterklang 
spread delight at Albert’s Hall. Was she there to watch the bands
or spend the night following instagrams? She stood up, turning 
round, leaving, returning, no recognisable rhythm, mildly distracted
by the music, clutching her cellphone like a life line.
 
(K)

Thursday 28th March

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SMILES AT THE AB:
 
Sunlight hit the rooftops of the city as we ate breakfast
remarking it was reminiscent of sunrise in San Francisco 
years ago where after watching T.O.W.I.E. all night we 
forgot where we were. Laughing amongst the breakfast suits 
we strolled to the AB for a day in one’ve my favourite
live venues in the world, a place I’m excited to be bringing
my band in a few weeks time. The staff & the facilities here
are second to none, there’s a tangible love of music in 
the air. I first played at the AB as a guitarist on a 
wonderful tour with Debbie Harry & have returned with 
U/W several times, each time instantly falling in love
with the place all over again. We spent the day enjoying
conversation with enthusiastic & supportive journalists 
who smiled & shook my hand, faces I recognise, people who’s 
conversation I’ve enjoyed for years. In a break we strolled 
across the road to visit a ‘new record store’ (!) CAROLINE 
(like the pirate radio ship I grew up listening to?). It was 
encouraging to see such a well stocked shop, bustling with 
eager hunters.
Back home in Essex, the sun promises the second coming
of Spring as a chill wind threatens the fourth coming
of Winter, but I’m grinning, remembering the AB & how 
soon we’ll be playing in Brussels. 
 
(K) 

Wednesday 27th March

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IN BRUSSELS:
 
Up on the roof like Batman, singing to the music 
of car horns, harmonising with howling drunks – the 
football boys celebrate a win, making tunnels for cars 
with their national flag like wedding arches, blessing
every timid face behind the wheel with raised bottles, 
“Yaayy!”
The driver that collects us from the station celebrates
the names of all the people he’s driven, he used to be a
DJ, has 800 records, New Wave is his favourite, 
but he knows me. He collects photographs, posing with 
passengers, attaching them to their records,
asks me if I’d mind. Brain Ferry, Jim Ker, Duran Duran,
Too Many DJ’s, even Springsteen.
“I’ve got Madness next week” he beams.
“I know them” I reply, flinching at syneasthetic images of 
the darkest night in Athens, blood & burning vans, black 
full face helmets & machetes. We pose at curb side grinning 
with his arm around me ’till the flash turns our eyes red, 
“One more for luck?” 
& as he slips my bag out the boot of his black Mercedes I wonder 
when he slept last.
 
(K)

Tuesday 26th March

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LIGHTS ON IN THE HOUSEFUL:
 
I’ve been sat here all morning trying to write how I feel
about last night. Body trashed like a hang-over, but there’s
this massive smile in the mirror reminds me something
extraordinary happened last night. We drove to Brighton 
with no idea if anyone would come to see us, just focusing 
on giving our best. Happy that the new live venue at the 
Komedia felt more like Ronnie Scotts than the old Marquee Club
& all day these markers kept showing up, reminding us we were
on the right road. The beautiful sound of our support ‘Farao’,
friends who travelled a long way to be with us, the place where
a lot’ve this began & meeting the former barkeep from the cafe
downstairs (now the manger of the venue) whose compilation 
CDs & sign that said ‘Tipping Makes You Sexy’ I wrote about.
We hoped for at least a few faces to play to, but when we walked
out to a full house, felt the warmth of your reception, 
the way you listed, the humour in your voices & laughter & smiles,
the lights in your eyes & the way we all connected just as I’d 
dreamed we could as I stood on the stage at Sydney Opera House
all those years ago – THIS was the real marker that told me 
we were on the right road. From everyone in the band & crew 
& all who worked so hard to get us this far – THANK YOU.
May we meet again very soon & build on this extraordinary 
beginning.
 
(K)

Monday 25th March

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MONDAY MONDAY:
 
The thing that began in a back bedroom in East London
goes live tonight, in an upstairs club where I first 
met Tinariwen & where I sat in the cafe below on a 
rainy day break before an U/W show writing poetry 
to a waitress who wore a badge which read,
‘Tipping Makes You Sexy’.
That poem was improvised at the first Pure Scenius 
concerts at the Sydney Opera House where I met & 
instantly liked Leo Abrahams. That lead to us recording
this album in an East End back bedroom, the one we’re 
playing here tonight. And, to my right, Peter Chilvers, 
A dear friend whom I first jammed with on that stage in 
Australia.
How it’s all come together, like somebody planned it.
See you tonight – (I’ll be the one looking dazed)
 
(K)

Sunday 24th March

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THIS TIME LAST SUNDAY:
 
I was still buzzing around a hotel room in the comedown 
from the Big Show. In the morning, after two hours in 
glorious buffet breakfast, we walked in the park, talked, 
enjoying the summer heat on our skin.
Today, we prepare for a Tiny Show, pack bags, check lists,
& clear heads. Strange to take to the stage without my two 
brothers, no safety net built on years together, no familiar 
glances, dances or cycles of beats. Strange to greet you 
without them & yet, the thrill of a high wire without a net 
& the smiles exchanged between these new companions who’ll
be on stage with me Monday, makes getting up every day an
adventure, one I’m buzzing again to share with you.
 
Walking in the snow with Grand General in my ears.
 
(K)

 

Saturday 23rd March

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STRANGELY WINTER RETURNED WAS ENJOYED:
 
Yesterday’s production rehearsal, what a joy! I’m lucky to be 
working with these lovely people. Lights, Sound, Staging,
Band, the whole crew converge on Monday night in Brighton. 
Smiles as we head home, step out into back street rain feeling 
lighter than arriving. Even the bite of bitter cold lost it’s 
sting. Our secret gathering ignites an electricity I remember 
from being in bands as a kid. The generosity of good people, 
generates an energy you could run small cities on. I found 
outsider art for free in the foyer of Caledonian Road Tube Station, 
a sign I was on the right road, ‘Edgeland’ is a state of mind. 
Taking pictures in a black & white, listening to new sounds bought 
in the last record shops on earth.In the weeks ahead I’ll send you 
links (sorry I’ve been so shabby), for now, here’s Farao – happy 
to have opening for us Monday. Now for the first time off in weeks, 
maybe that’s why this Winter Wonderland finally looks good. 
 
(K)

Friday 22nd March

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1ST PRODUCTION REHEARSAL:
 
Leaving the Green fields for the black cracked back streets of 
old London, returning to the scene of many a 1980’s rehearsal.
A row of old warehouses long carved & converted, compartmentalised 
into windowless boxes, carpeted walls. Fry-up pool table culture,
art prints of lipstick girls grin with plastic seduction, lazy boy 
sofas to languish in waiting & waiting & waiting. Not much 
has changed since back in the day, the luxury filtered down
& thinned out by the time it reached the bottom – the smell remains
the same. The real rehearsal is learning to kill time creatively 
& live with the curve ball, make it part of the show. In today’s 
example, the ball curves with a lack of sufficient plug sockets & 
the mixer blows up before we’ve even made a sound- nothing too 
extreme. 
 
(K)