I love the way that a record will suddenly make sense and have the hairs standing up on my arms. This often happens unexpectedly in the car on the way to work as words, melody and the outside mesh like something hand stitched and tight fitting. This occurred today as I listened to Brighton’s own (soon to be discovered) Stuart Warwick. I must confess to only buying his record ‘The Ordeal’ because he’s cute, gay and lives in Brighton but it’s actually rather good and no closet could contain its LGBT bravura. Let’s hope that Stuart’s second album brings him the accolades he so richly deserves. And if you’re renting a DVD in Brighton you might even meet him without knowing it. Just ask for a copy of the Ordeal and see what happens. Here’s a little bit of Stuart for your enjoyment and this is the track that got me today J

http://stuartwarwick.bandcamp.com/track/i-promise-u

On Sunday last I drove to Bexhill to see Stuart amongst others accompanied by my lovely chum Paul.  Unfortunately due to internet ‘opportunities’ and my own lax time keeping we missed Stuart but it was still a delightful day of sunshine, people watching and fine music. Abi Wade, another Brighton gem, made up for things admirably. I first saw her supporting the Low Anthem at the Brighton Ballroom earlier this year and her inventive percussive cello styling captivated me so much that I purchased her EP there and then. She performed this track called ‘Stability’ on both occasions and it’s become a favourite of mine.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=90oJPa0Pm8c

Yesterday I found out that my course is back on track which is great news. I’ve been transported into year two of Broadcast Media at the Hastings campus. To say I’m excited is an understatement. As my tutor Abigail described the modules I swelled with anticipation and my dream of a little radio show took one step forward. For a few minutes I dreamed a different future playing music all day long and unpicking the world.

Music has certainly woven its spell of late and that’s just the way I like things. In the early hours of Sunday morning, post Eitzel, the juxtaposition of shuffling iPod and the warmth of Ed and Marije led me to Bowie mistress, Scott Walker. A lost icon of the 60s, Scott has evolved into a slippery, eclectic, sonic maverick never compromising artistic sensibility for sales. Unlike the anodyne crowd pleasing Coldplay, asphyxia to the Paralympics fire, Scott’s a challenging listen these days especially when drifting and tilting. But once you enter his cocoon the intensity is intoxicating and the 30^th century man swoops, merging, bending and delivering.

Watch this murmuration over the West Pier with the sound down...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A1cKen4XGNU

And listen to this at the same time J

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LoskVqVsKCs

The girl across the hall makes love
Her thoughts lay cold like shattered stone
Her thighs are full of tales to tell
Of all the nights she's known

Your eyes ignite like cold blue fire
The scent of secrets everywhere
A fist filled with illusions
Clutches all our cares

These days Scott lives quietly in London, cycling from here to there unrecognised and that’s just the way he likes it. Sometimes Radiohead or Jarvis stop by and one day I hope to meet him in the pub. If you dare, close your eyes and listen to this. I hear it as an AIDS soliloquy but whatever it is, the discordant throbbing menace that lurks here reaches in and twists parts I didn’t think existed. Thank goodness Scott exists.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AuHfAqz3TFY

I will follow the aerosol patter

Immunity won't feed on the bodies
Bones closing
Too soon at the tips

Won't feed on the bodies

From the fat black crocodile on the sand bar

Can't swallow it then bury it

From the voice flooded semen clotting to paste

Can't swallow it then bury it

 

Until the next time.