Wednesday, September 22, 2010

long time no jeer



Fiends; roamings; scribblings.

Let me begin, before apologising for my protracted absence, by stalling just long enough to ease a splinter from my eye. Gingerly now. A sliver of pine; an inch of sixty year old plaster.

There has been no motorcycle accident. I am not in traction. Nor have I succumbed to a bout of leather veined blackness. 

Neither have I jumped ship in the dead of night to throw in my lot with the ghost of Tubby. A bullet riddled bulwark floating just off the coast of a sinking isle.

The waters are a little choppy, but the sailing is fair. Or promises to turn so once we negiotiate the dog leg. Her majesty's cannon.

There is a smell of tar and feather in the air. The ship's cat whipped and tethered to the mast.

Nine tales untold, or merely rudely stuttered.

The inky twin tower paired with ours is resigned to demolition, hobbled and bandaged and its windows gouged out. It will be blown to its foundations the first week into October; more trouble and rust.

Enough is enough.

My wife is seven months gone already - pregnant, I mean - and the case for celebration has been tempered with anxiety. We are moving. We are in the process of moving. West of the Gorbals, north of the river. We are leaving behind a blueprint of regeneration before the dust settles. Before late autumn winds gather their breath through the fall.

I am somewhat old to be starting out as a father again. I have had some practice.

The overture to a new tenancy came quite out of the blue.

It would have been churlish to refuse. Unhinged. We are trading two up in a tenement for a 22nd storey shuttle diplomacy accessible only in a steel cage. There are few seagulls where we are going, though we are close to a still functioning shipyard or two. The tenements are too squat to easily confuse with a crumbling sheer face to nest.

Where there are rats, I have glimpsed only brazen squirrels.

Of course, there remain tiny piercing doubts; at the best of times, I can scarcely put one foot in front of the other. I have invested eleven years in this grim place. Close to a life sentence, under British law.

And. I am a Taurean. My neck bristles with territorial huff.

My son took his first steps here. I will miss the uninterrupted view, even though the windows leak.

Our soon to be home needs a lot of work.

Every sheet of paper peeled away reveals an old disaster. Twice I have nearly crashed through the floorboards. I dragged 10 litres of paint through the door only to discover I had misread the label. I live in constant fear that we will not be able to meet removal costs.

Like James Brown speeding out of blacktop, I wake up at 3 AM in a cold sweat. If you have survived the horror and suspense of awaing a decision on a DWP funded Budgeting Loan you will doubtless know the script.

Some things never change.

Still, I am reeling at our good fortune. This is as close to humble as I can bear to err. I am nothing if not not a cautious motherf@cker.

So. Finally. Apologies to all those good people whose e-mails I have conscientiously avoided if not quite ignored. Audio submissions and manual labour. The deaf log is hallucinatory. Nothing is lost, I trust; no trust has been irretrievably fractured.

Let us repair. Without a surly Van.

I may lose my connection for a period, I almost certainly shall.

In the meantime, I leave you temporarily in the capable hands of sibling, Alexis Blondel. Of Year Zero. He stubbed his toe on the bleachers quite by accident.

"Sound Iration in Dub" - the digital brainchild of Nick "Manasseh" Raphael and Scruff, aka Steve Gilder - was originally released in 1989 through WAU! Mr. Modo Records; a fledgling collaboration between Youth - of Killing Joke - and The Orb's Dr. Alex Paterson.

Little Youth, if you catch my drift.

In 2010 it was reissued on a double CD, compiling 14 previously unreleased demos. Alexis informs me it is slated to make its second appearance on (180 gram) vinyl later this month. For audio purists.

You can eavesdrop on more samples via Sound Cloud, here.

Stay tuned for further - wholly erratic - transmissions. 

An occasional table in transit.




SOUND IRATION: MELODY ROOTS (PART 1) from "Sound Iration in Dub" LP / 2 x CD (WAU! Mr. Modo Records / Year Zero) 1989 / 2010 (UK)

11 comments:

Brushback said...

I was just thinking to myself this morning, "gee, it's been a while since IB has posted something"...

Good luck with your new digs.

said...

Welcome back my friend to the show that never ends. I resisted the urge to start bombarding you with e-mail. I decided all in good time...all in good time. Please keep in touch.
your ib sib.

Anonymous said...

Ah, so that's what kept you. Not dubbed out. Behind every mystery, there is a plausible explanation. New house and bringing on a new citizen to the world. Both tasks need plenty work. One issue needs to be deconstructed, the other clean and pure and ready for imprints. In a house, down on the ground, you can do as James Brown: toofunky in here! gimme some AAAAAAAAIR!! Open up the WINDOW, MAN! Sort of risky upon the 22, eh?
Good luck! Still Anonymous

jonderneathica said...

A wee bairn in the cairn! Congratulations to you and the missus. I can sympathize with your tempered excitement. A new baby will keep you young and make you feel much older -- both at the same time, somehow. When a child is born unplanned and somewhat late in the game, some folks where I live call that an "oops baby".

ib said...

Thank you, brothers.

As you say, "the air in here is pretty thick..."

It has been gathering its calling card for too long. It has laboured.

I will miss it, though. This flat. This location. We have imprinted on each other, we have compromised. I stripped off all the impurities of decrepitude, so far I was able, and let it walk tall... windy and abrupt. Slightly deranged.

We have always had an agreement.

In return, it has sheltered me and mine. Within its jurisdiction.

Let it be loved.

Mr. Beer N. Hockey said...

You British cunts do not not move move around enough. No wonder the Germans are always looking for an excuse to bomb you. Like hitting the Earth from an outhouse perch.

ib said...

You are probably right, you cheeky fucker. All the more for pissing over my shameless lapse into sentimentalism; this immediately evaporating when the phone rang and our removal plans were thrown into disarray.

Consider the imminent demolition a kind of bombing.

Eleven years is a long time to remain at the same address. Some of those GHA people I have had conversations with in that time might have excelled as servants of the SS. I exaggerate, of course, but you can smell the contempt seeping out their pores.

Anonymous said...

All the best with the move, ib
I wish you well.

Andy

LöstJimmy said...

All the best for the move brother and congratulations on the impending addition to the family!
It's all happening down Glasgow way!!!

Emmett said...

Any chance of a slight return?

ib said...

Andy, Löst Jimmy and brother Emmett.

Apologies for the delayed response. I am still mooching to find a way back in to hyperspace. My online time is erratic and subject to various drying times.

Thank you.