Trellick Tower held between overhead wires, bright brittle chords, symbols crashing, accelerated greens, parkland amongst the scrubs, weeds amongst the rubble. Industrial skeletons, structures exposed, and a fiddle bows in a rupture, this is the urgency I lack, the intensity the world needs
A breath rasped in brass, delicate guitar, whispered vocals, a small plane flies above, it looks like a toy, I imagine a child pilot and cheer them on – do it while you’re young, when death is ungraspable
Harmonies, acoustic guitars, fields now, bronze spread on heat-baked grasses, the layering, the build, the swell, a sense of becoming bigger and I hear a trumpet and see a crow – it always will be, this always happens – futility refrain flanked by seams of rust
When I get home and I am going home, one of them at least – blue roofed tower blocks, frozen waves entering Reading, scratch and fretless frenzy then a vocoder recalls Claire Rousay – their Sentiment is here and there, blooming amongst the post-rock cycle of layers and disintegration
Cows and caravans, empty football pitches, more vocoder and heavier chords, fiddle and we overtake another train, exhilarating and the concrete circles of the waterworks are a new Stonehenge and Caroline are druidic, gnostic
Horses in white coats, houses with chimneys the colour of chinos, the hills are blisters, a river snakes the green and a single note rasps again and again, the trees are islands in algae ponds of green, there are no houses for a moment, no four walls
Vocals shouted across a room, there are houses with walls once again, domestic expanses, the fiddles slow country dance, drums are brushed, rusted cylinders in concrete smudge
Didcot chimneys puncture the sky, grow up from the wasteland, and another processed voice joins the fray, these layers are stretching taught, the tension held, and the sound gets heavier and heavier and heavier and a sight of a ghost white tree backing into living green and I don’t know who to feel sorry for
Black glitch birds falter inches from the ground, verdant verges and buttercup blushes, sheep bleached on the banks of a river and “We are now approaching Swindon” and a beautiful ending, a beautiful ending
