Sunday, 8 February 2015

the return of.

Something like sunshine was seeking to stream through the slithers left undefended by the black out blind in the spare room as I awoke from slumber in the spare room, driven to the second-hand ikea sofa-bed again by my fiancé's nocturnal wheezings and mumblings as a cold got the better of her and my desire to sleep undisturbed had got the better of me.

Yesterday was something special.  It really was going to take something to top that.

Oh, how about some international airplay?

The second-hand ikea sofa-bed was unwilling to relinquish me just yet, so I instead reach for my ageing gizmo and fire up the emails... A missive from half the world away causes seismic smiles to ripple through my body and across my face.  Those guys that had been good enough to seemingly pick my remix of The Enemy from thin air a number of years ago had pulled it out of the bag yet again.

Fraserhead and The Herbalist, fantastically named audio adventurers and known Anglo-philes had responded to a fleeting email I had dropped their way (their way being over 11 thousand miles away in Queensland, New Zealand) and said yes.

Yes. They would play my latest track. My miserable slice of realism. My dark downturned beat and it's message of ever promising negativity. In the land of sunshine and mystical sea monsters.

In some strange parallel universe that exists at least one sunrise away is a sunny Saturday afternoon that is soundtracked by 80s legend John Carpenter, pioneering proto-dubstepper Burial and myself, with my near-undanceable budget-tronica...

Stranger things have happened, but they don't always happen to me.

Sunday, 1 February 2015


and so.  Just like the hunter becomes the hunted, the reviewer has become the reviewed.

Safely on silent in my pocket, my sinister phone was making noise on a friday afternoon.  Even with the quivering capabilities of a stone, it sent good vibrations into the world, alert after alert, favourite after favourite, retweet after retweet.

I reflected upon this briefly,  Shot Of Hornets: nice review, cheers!

strange, I don't remember reviewing those guys...

with meagre downtime I backtracked to that original tweet

January reviews.  featuring Me.

on Misfit City?  I was confused and concerned, I'd not written for this blog?  Had they half-inched a recent review and reproduced it without permission?

Far from it.

Sat at the peak of the page was an earth-shatteringly glorious justification of why I create art.  Digitally documenting my place in the world in words that astounded me.  Such kind and uplifting words.

'anxious water-tank electronica'

'perpetually uncomfortable budget-tronica'


I feel I shall be using these as straplines for my music for a long time to come... superseding Akira The Don's beautifyingly bestowed 'Super-Ugly Beat-Stuffs' as my go-to quote of choice....  

Yet could this also be a career peaking?!  I brace myself for the Hunchbakk-lash to begin.

Sunday, 18 January 2015



It haunts me.

Hangs in the air beside me, an apparition that seldom leaves me.

Holds me, holds me back.

I hesitate.

Saturday, 10 January 2015


Last night I couldn't sleep.

I sat up til about midnight listening to Malcolm Middleton, and then reading Batman Incorporated and then just before turning in for the night I decided I'd treat myself to some art that had caught my eye that then wouldn't allow me to choose to ship it to the UK from America.

This made me a little sad.

I clicked around the artist's website for a little while, and then clicked on to his blog.

Which is probably why I couldn't sleep.

I felt alive just sat around spending an hour or so just doing something I enjoyed doing, and then I felt inspired by the honest words of one man.

I lay in bed, just thinking.  I wasn't tired.

I lay for quite a while, never quite losing myself to sleep.

Life seemed too rich to waste it just drifting away into the ether before another daily grind begins.

So I did something I'd thought about for a long time.  It had been an idea that had bubbled around, resurfacing on occasions, yet I'd never fully committed myself to it.  I'd grasp at fizzing thoughts but let them pass me by once again, but not this night.

I sat up and I wrote my honest CV.  Not the CV that has been tailored to fit that role you have seen advertised and will tailor again for the next role.  Not the CV that condenses and crams all that stuff you've done into a handful of measly bullet points.  No, it's nothing like those CVs that everyone tells you to write because they are what everyone is looking for.  In fact it is barely a CV at all.

There aren't any jobs I'm looking for right now.  But life can change, and it probably should change, we all know that... Why am I not being myself when I am 'selling' myself.  Why am I not looking for something out there that makes me even more of the me that I really want to be.

Who knows where it'll go.  Hopefully somewhere.  And who knows what I'd honestly want to say about myself in a months time, or maybe even just a week or two.

But at somewhere around 2 o’clock in the morning I felt content that those 2 sides of A4 say more about me than any CV ever has before.

Thursday, 8 January 2015

Sunday, 4 January 2015


It's hard to remember a time when anything was possible.

It seems so long ago.

Tuesday, 30 December 2014

Happy. New.

I find my tiny slithers of passion tend to frolic in snatched hidden moments.

And so this is the genesis for my first new music in some time.

The intention is almost always present, but the opportunity is often a little more elusive.

Something new for the new year, I thought.

And then I thought 'when?'.

A few moments messing around in an ipad app and I had created a rudimentary beat impulsively, in between downtime spent reading graphic novels and half watching 80s movies on the TV.

It wasn't perfect, but within minutes my idea had a fair chance of existing, heck, it actually did exist in some form, when ten minutes previously it had wallowed in the washing up bowl of my mind.

An empty house later, a lasagne composed of leftovers in the oven and the king of procrastination was purveying the world from his favourite thinking throne when the words began to flow...

Spoken aloud, uploaded, downloaded, hacked up, chewed up, spat out.  Happy New Year.