SLEEPERS:

Couldn’t sleep, so got up & worked on the 6music broadcast
at the kitchen table, that was, until I was interrupted. I was fine
on my own, honest, typing to myself, making track lists. Sometimes
it’s best to be alone-not-alone with no one questions to answer &
no one to bore with the rattle in my head. It’s good to let all that
noise between the ears subside without letting it out of the mouth,
especially at 5:00am. If you happen to hear me tapping keys at
before sunrise, give me a wide berth. You’ll sleep better.

(K)

BACK INTO WHAT I JUST CAME OUT OF:

On the back step with lap-top & black tea, underscored by the
song of a wood pigeon. I could stay here all day, dipping in
& out of work. Chilling then getting back in the studio, surfing
on the quite out here in Essex. Weekends are for relaxing for some,
but for me they’re for catching up & reconnecting with family,
friends & the space between my ears. The sky is clear & blue above
the fields. The corn is whispering & I’d like to stay to listen,
but we have to drive back into the Emerald City, take the Black top
into town. Chance that carpark we call the M25 & give ourselves over
to whatever it delivers. No sweat. I got a few hours here on the
back step, listening to the corn before the world woke up.
Kettle’s on, get your best shirt. Everything is alright.

(K)

MEANWHILE ESSEX:

It’s one of those beautiful Essex mornings when I just want to
switch of the head off & drift. When life is busy-busy I have to
build a place for the hobby-head to rebel & play. Somewhere to
recharge & be open to random possibilities. Theres a whispering
in the calm of the fields under an infinite sky loaded with stories
that I want to hear. People read books & don’t get me wrong, I love
a book, the way it smells & looks & feels, but it’s not often I can
stand to go into the spaces they invite me into & drift around in
someone else’s clothes like wearing a uniform. I pick up most books
& within the first chapter I’m desperate to write. Agitated to
escape with my pen, look around, listen, get it down, explore,
follow the signs. Haven’t got the time most days to give to a book
unless I’m in the mood, which isn’t often. Don’t follow my example,
books are good, especially the paper versions, the ones that have
no internet connections. My thing is reading signs, yeah, even
‘literally’, but today I’d rather drift around Essex listening to
the light. As it happens, life has other plans, so I’m sitting with
the corn & this lap top, watching the clock as I talk to you.
There’s a vase of camomile & fennel on the kitchen table,
underscored by the sound of a big old fridge humming to it’s self
in the corner. I’ve burned my tongue, m shovelling mouthfuls of
porridge down between thoughts, waiting for the first cup of black
stuff to cool before catching a train into the Emerald City.
I’ll be honest, I’m going off the place, never did like cities much
in Summer at the best of times, always preferred them in the rain.
It’s probably something to do with the charm of melancholia, or just
about keeping down the dust & the smell.

(K)

ANOTHER ONE FOR THE BBC:

Prepping another radio show with Steve for 6Music. I’d like
to get him on the mic with me,he tells a great story, know’s
the background to everything we play, hours of entertainment
talking together on tour about music history & it’s my
ambition to present broadcasts together in the near future when
we start broadcasting our own shows from Lemonworld.

So, when 6Music asked if I’d put together another show for them
I was reminded how journalists always ask,

“What are you listening to?”

This show will be about exactly that & Steve was on a similar
sonic page. This is what rattles my in-ears when I crawl into
the bus bunk after a gig, when we’re 40,000 feet above the earth
on long-hauls & when I’m zoned out on another drive to another
airport (particularly when we’re stuck in the car park we
affectionately call the M25.

It’s been a good day.Now I’m out on the back step now with a
fat black mug of tea, grateful to be resident in Essex, one of
the most beautiful places on Earth, listening to the corn.

(K)

PRE-STUDIO DAY MUSCLE SPASMS:

The head is a tight muscle filled with nothing but ‘wants’.
Well, if it’s going to be that kind’ve a start I’d better
get the kettle, sit out on the back step & listen
to the corn. Load the car with bags of pedals & guitars &
little black notebooks full of words I forgot. Switch off the
head behind the wheel & feel the road vibrate between my fingers.
When the muscle between the ear is tight theirs a storm on the
way. It’s time to open up the box of tools I’ve been given
for days like this, look in the mirror, smile & laugh.
Let go of all wants & preconceptions, all needs & cravings.
Let go of all frustrations & ‘no one understands me’s’.
Everything turns around, sitting on the back step with black tea,
handing the whole lot over – I don’t ‘need’ anything.

(K)

THE THRILL OF WAITING:

The sky comes low to the ground, raining. A bright, yellow fevered
light squints at us from the horizon. It’s quiet between
installations of software out’ve sync as tech support shuttles
between studios just so we can do the simplest of things. Recording
vocal overdubs, preparing to be back together somewhere else in
Essex tomorrow. Not the most vibrant of diary entrees I’ll grant you.

(K)

CORN MUSIC:

First day back in the studio, somewhere different for a change.
Load the car with weirdness, remember to pack an open mind.
The cornfields of Essex are radiant, like those gold reflectors
photographers assistants stick under your chin to make you look
healthy when you’ve just crawled in from a late night, but you’re
on a deadline for those oh so important press shots when you feel
& look like shite. Everything looks better when the corn’s around.
There’s a quiet ‘waiting’ sound at the back of the day, a hissing
that calms me down, clears a space in the head I didn’t know I had
for random magic to slip in unnoticed.

(K)

MESSANGER:

As we walk from the stage to the bus in the dark between
stacks of scaff & staging a security guard comes up to us
with this enormous grin,

“There isn’t any job as good, where you get paid for making people
happy” he says.

His energy is spilling out all over the place, between the trucks
& buses. He’s broken ranks to run round & catch us, give us this
message that’s clear as a bell in his head. We smile, say,

“Thank you”

rapping towels around my neck & head to soak up the sweat & keep
warm I wave to him & head for the sanctuary of the bus.
I’m happy, tired, body relaxing, it’s been a long day of
waiting, focusing everything on the moment we hit the stage.
There’s just enough energy left to towel off & change into dry
clothes, alone between the bus bunks. I head down to the kitchen,
slip a meal in the oven, pop the ring on a can of Ginger Beer.
craving something sweet straight after the show. I sit quiet in a
corner of the bus, let the body take whatever shape it wants,
family & friends return smiling. Conversations about the operation
of the oven ensue. Life returns to taking care of business & the
business we’re in now is ‘food’! But later, as I settle back
in my bunk, slip the in-ears in & press ‘play’ on Joni Mitchell,
just as I’m drifting off in the dark of that cocoon, the aftershock
of the security guard’s energy hits me. He didn’t have to come back
to see us, didn’t need to pass on the message. He had a job to do,
a long cold, sun baked job & he would be expected to do that &
no more. And yet… he comes running back to find us to remind us
that through everything bad we’ve ever experienced there is no other
job on earth I would rather do & I’m lucky beyond luck to be still
doing it…with this extraordinary team of people & my mate rick.

Yeah, it’s cheesy, but I just fell off the bus, took my first shower
in two days & haven’t eaten. It’s the best I got, but it’s honest.

(K)

EVERYTHING IN A BAP U LIKE:

Burger dinner-bap, sausage dinner-bap, egg & bacon breakfast-bap.
The crazed faces of parents pulling tiny trolleys full of mashed
kiddies, festooned in tiny lights. Sparkle-faced moms & 1,000 yard
stare dads allowed out for the weekend.

(K)

STRANGELY LOW:

Last night was good. The Band, The Bar, the tattooed arms with
two-fisted pint-pots, an invisible corner for me & the note book.
The streets were their usual electric selves, happy faces, buzzing,
liquid colours, but something…I felt something slip in under the
door. This morning, dry throat, but nothing bad, easy to sort
with throat-coat. The weather in Essex is beautiful, bright, an
uplifting light that chills everything out, lays-back all the
colours until they’re misty. Showered, listening to the radio,
& then it hit me. All the chemicals have lined up wrong.
I’m going down without a reason. Nothing to hang it on, no face
or name, or circumstance. Nothing overloading me, no pressure,
no troubles & I can’t put it into words – it’s not on the map.
I’m going down, not even drowning, it’s like the plug’s been
pulled out of my reservoir & I’m draining away. The chemical
tumblers have all lined up & I get why people throw the towel in
when everything from the outside is looking great. If I didn’t
have a program to make me move my feet I’d lie down in a field now
& just let it end. But…I’ve trained these muscles to kick in
whenever this happens, when the isolation gene takes over & makes
me withdraw. There’s a phone in my hand & I didn’t put it there,
the fingers that know how to play guitar have phoned a number &
there’s a voice,

“How’re you doing?”

My thoughts are broken, take me to places I don’t want to go.
I don’t expect them to mend or can ever trust them again.
In & of myself I haven’t a clue, but…I’ve trained these feet
to take me out into clean air, get me into the car &
drive to be amongst people who get it & laugh about it – oh
the healing power of laughter!

“I’m coming over now, get the kettle on” says the voice on the phone.

The chemicals are beginning to disperse, mingling with the good stuff,
watering down, thinning out. I feel something like ‘light’ here inside
again. Not going to give it a name I don’t want to anchor it, spoil it,
stop it growing. I need to be amongst people who have the other pieces
of the puzzle & not all of them feel like this. Some of them are
regular, get-on-with-it people, some of them are family.

Really, really, really looking forward to seeing my buddy again.
The joy of still being on stage together blows me away.

(K)