A Brief Interlude

I hereby enclose an email conversation I had this morning with Katy.
I don't think she'd mind.
It started with a slideshow she sent me of snow on the drakensberg.
Her mails are in blue:


Wed 11:11am:
See the little log cabin? How awesome does that look? I want to go there...
I'd need the addition of a roaring fireplace, a bottle of whiskey, tonnes of chocolate, blankets, pillows and of course, Jezza.

hmmmm .... sounds perfect!


Wed 2:46pm:
WOW!!!
Jisses!, did you see in one of the pics they’re actually camping!?!


Thurs 8:57am:
I know! I can't see the attraction, somehow?!


Thurs 9:13am:
I think when they left they never had any idea it was gonna be so… white….
Are they mates of yours?


Thurs 9:29am:
no idea who they are! they are still really dumb in my eyes! They are outside in that weather, or worse - maybe inside that silly tent when there's a big strapping 4x4 sitting next to them. Probably equipped with sound and a heater.


Thurs 9:41am:
That’s only the part of the tent you can see man
Underneath he’s obviously tunneled an underground palace with tropical gardens and jacuzzi’s
he’s just about to present it to his fair lady, while she’s farting about with the car’s sound and heater


Thurs 9:46am:
She's a simple woman, with simple needs like STAYING ALIVE and not freezing to death! They aren't on speaking terms anyway because he was the one who dragged her out there when she wanted to stay in the log cabin with the fireplace! It will be an adventure, he said. HAH!


Thurs 9:54am:
LOL!!!!
“You know, one day we’ll laugh about this” he says, tapping on the car window…
“ha ha… he he… uhhh open the door honey, it’s a bit chilly out here…”


Thurs 10:00am:
She is laughing about it as she looks in her rearview mirror of her 4x4 at the shrinking image of her silly man. He knows where to find her if he needs her, (next to the fireplace in the log cabin) but being a man he'll pretend that he's actually having fun and he'll stick it out in his 'underground palace' with the hibernating snakes and tortoises. To the bitter, freezing end.
Meanwhile the red wine and the chocolates are TO DIE FOR! And the fireplace has erased any memory of the awful adventure.


Thurs 10:14am:
But alas! A simple woman she is, for as any adventuring man knows, you Never leave the fire on in a log cabin.
“I am such a fool!!” she cries, standing in the charred remains of the cabin that Chuck built with his own bare hands.
She tries putting the brand new 4X4 into reverse, but almost impossibly, she has managed to break the clutch and carburetor with only ten minutes of driving.
Meanwhile Chuck, having memorized his map of the local area by heart, picks up a faint scent of baby oil and waffles.
No!..
Could it be?...
Yes! It could only be the Swedish Womens Ski Team lodge, just behind the hill!
Taking a bite on his emergency shwarma, he starts the short stroll to the lodge and hopes Gertrudina is okay.


Thurs 10:29am:
No INTELLIGENT woman, such as Aphrodite (not Getrudina), would EVER drive the clutch that way till it breaks. That was, In fact, Chuck's doing whilst he was playing HERO and trying to see how far he could ramp the 4x4 over the snow capped mounds of earth. The clutch hadn't quite snapped, so Aphrodite put on her rubber gloves and with a makeshift cable made from a combination of her opague stockings and hairspray, she managed to get the clutch in working order again.

She merrily made her way past the Swedish Women's Ski Team lodge in her heated car with the sound blaring. She saw a small luxury mountain villa in the distance. Funnily enough it belongs to Ryk Neethling. He is alone as the bad weather has trapped his visitors on the road up the mountain. He is relieved to have at least ONE visitor - Aphodite - to dote on, wait on and pamper. Little does Chuck know that the Swedish Women's SKi Team is actually a cover up organisation for a group of trans sexuals who are hiding out whilst they wait to have their adam's applues surgically removed.


Thurs 12:08pm:



















The end.


Thurs 12:16pm:
LOL!!!I have no further comments....

SparkleHorse

Close your eyes.
Sit down.
If you are quiet, and your mind is quiet, you can hear the wooden rocking chair beneath you comfort your weight. It does not creak, yellow-press stairs do that.
No, it gives you an oaky groan like an old dog stretching after a good sleep. You lightly and ever so slowly rock yourself on the wooden porch. Further out there is a gentle, omnipotent buzzing, a low chorus of crickets, and river frogs, and junebugs, staking their claim in the rows and rows of cornfield. The hour before dusk is a powerful time. Do not dismiss the last warm breeze. It tells a tale of sun baked crops and soil the colour of good bourbon, a wind that can put old friends' smiles on the faces of strangers. It is a powerful time, for soon the coolness of sundown will wake the cat on your lap, and with her weight and warmth gone, the spell will be broken.
But imagine you could hold that moment forever. Being in love, and alone, your heart forever at peace, and sad, at the same time.

I first heard Sparklehorse lying on a grey carpet in a tiny apartment, five years ago, in Iidabashi, Tokyo.
Its one of the rare moments in my life I can say I found something so essential, that my insides had been so thirsty for, and that I hadn't even known that I was looking for.
Here was an album called "It's a Wonderful Life", with 13 songs telling me that i wasn't alone. That some pain lasts, and the weight you feel on your heart is there to remind you that you're alive and that you've lived. Its good. Very very good. I spent three weeks travelling Japan and only listened to one album. When I hitched to this little spot called Tono, where they had never seen a westerner in the flesh, I was listening to "Gold Day". And when we crashed that bike we stole after a bottle of Jose cos the trains had stopped, I had "More Yellow Birds" playing in my head.
Its mainly one guy, Mark Linkous, who writes all the tunes and used to play most of the instruments, although now he has a rotating line up of musicians. He's a very interesting character, very humble and incredibly talented, and not a little depressed. In 1994 he packed up and moved into an old cabin in the woods, somewehere in north america. It was winter so he'd wake up at five each morning to feed logs to his boiler, to try heat up the house for the day. He says he wrote all the stuff for their first album that year, in those early hours watching the day get born. Isn't that a nice story? Pretty gutsy too I think, since he's forthright about the heavy depression that has always plagued him, and you'd think going to live on your own in a cabin might not be the healthiest thing for a manic depressive?

But bygones, he wrote the VivaDixieSubmarineTransmissionPlot album and luckily for us hasn't stopped since then. It came close though. One night while touring the album in London, he chucked back some valium and anti-depressants and passed out. The position he lay in cut off his circulation and he woke up the next day crippled. There is a grim irony in getting crippled by anti-depressants I think, and I like to think thats the way he saw it too cos he went on to record such a fine album, "Good Morning Spider".
Sparklehorse is slow, be warned. They have some super-cool rocking indie tracks, like "Some Day I Will Treat You Good", "Happy Man" and "Ghost of his Smile". But mostly its like listening to a bunch of cowboys who got their hands on some synthesisers, through your grandpa's gramophone. They mix their simple slide guitar rythms with mellow moog melodies to put your soul at ease, but leave the radio static buzzing in the background to remind you that the world can indeed be a hard and unforgiving place.
Mark has since recovered the use of his legs (good man!), and I got to see them play in London in '03 at the university of londons rec hall. Now look, straight up, that was the best concert I've ever been to. No smoke or crazy light effects, no kids moshing, no 'extreme' sports going on.
Just, Music.
I remember at one stage turning around, and facing the 300 or so audience, and watching every lip mouthing the words as Mark sang them, and getting this really nice snug feeling. Actually, come to think of it, I still have 2 shots of that gig at home. If I could just figure out how to put a frikkin picture on this blog, then i'll upload them.

So yeah, by now it should be painfully clear that I am totally and unashamedly Sparklehorse-bevok. And if you can listen to "Most Beautiful Widow in Town" while watching the sun go down, with a glass of Jack in one hand, and not feel anything, then on your bike. You'd better find the wizard cos you got no heart.
But if you do, and you like the cat on your lap and are happy to do nothing but sit on your wooden porch and watch the sun go down, then good for you. And that song you hear, coming from the old kitchen radio, all tinny and faint?,.. yeah thats Sparklehorse.

They are, and will always remain, one of the greatest bands ever.