When Vampire Weekend first arrived on the scene with their synonymous debut with such a polished sound, most of us wondered how they would eventually transcend that album. They reeked of exoticism in the form of preppy Oxford shirts, Ivy League educations and a knowledge of politics and architecture Continue reading Album Review: Vampire Weekend – Modern Vampires of the City
Listen to Ezra Furman and you quickly get the idea that the gate between his mouth and the witty utterances swirling around his mind was forced violently from its hinges a long time ago. Perpetual Motion People, on the whole, is a tale of self-destruction and insecurity. Continue reading Album Review: Ezra Furman – Perpetual Motion People
Father John Misty, the alter-ego and re-invention of singer-songwriter Josh Tillman, has a persona caught in the Venn diagram of Charles Bukowski’s cynicism and The Big Lebowski’s timeless hipster. Musically, Misty resembles a post-watershed Glen Campbell, with Tillman adopting a smoother vocal to play the role of Misty.
Continue reading If Fight Club was a Folk Masterpiece…
The elevator music was killing me. They installed a small speaker five years ago without any warning. It would pump out noise. Not music, just noise. I preferred the classics but more than that I preferred the silence. I’d managed to cope with it over time.
I enjoyed the control. I’d twisted that golden limb a thousand times for the best part of three decades and even when they told me where we were going, I’d always have the final say on where and when we stopped. Continue reading Co-operator
“The time is twelve ‘o’ clock in the am! That’s right folks, time to lock your doors, board up your windows, sharpen those swords and lock and load. Strap yourself in tightly, it’s going to be one hell of a night!”
The upbeat radio broadcast did little to calm my nerves, on this the most dangerous day of the year. In my vast experience of past October onslaughts, I had over a period of years devised a system that worked for me. First and foremost, I don’t go outside for anyone. If you’re unfortunate enough to be outside when the clock strikes twelve, you need to learn to be more time conscious. Continue reading Samhain
A vignette that will hopefully become part of a larger project I’m working on. I decided to focus on an enigmatic character who will be a central connection to a much larger mystery as well as being linked to other central characters.
Another police car roared past, ablaze with red and blue. A startling reminder that you’re still alive and still awake. I looked through a misty window, stained with greasy fingerprints.Tall buildings of all ages, shapes and sizes disturbed the purple skyline. Young, glass structures, naked to the cold, unveiled ticking organs. Little matchstick men climbing up and down. A thin, yellow crane swayed gently in the night’s breeze, its steel twisted like a helter skelter. A large wrecking ball hung delicately on a string like a dark uvula. Continue reading Enigma
Chocolate bourbons were my favourite. I dug my buck teeth underneath the biscuit and revealed the layer of chocolate cream. The texture reminded me of wet cement. For a couple of seconds I inspected the biscuit before consuming it in two bites and I remembered the expression of odd curiosity my Dad would give me when he witnessed this habit of mine.
Then she giggled. I’d forgotten I was at the beach and not in the comfort of my own living room. Continue reading Two Chocolate Bourbons
After reading Thomas Pynchon’s ‘Inherent Vice’ and watching its film adaptation by acclaimed director Paul Thomas Anderson, I felt inspired to write something in homage to this wonderful piece of art. The use of an epic poetry form seemed appropriate as it allowed me to parallel the disjointed nature of ‘Inherent Vice’.
The hopeless saunter along sprawling beaches
Vice fogs the memory of this crippled town
As you dip in and out of consciousness. Continue reading The California Reverie
She switches off the lights and enters the bedroom. She closes the curtains as the dark begins to seep in. The hum of an engine in the distance makes me cautious; I duck behind a couple of bushes and I pull my hood up. The police car drives past slowly and I glance over at the house. The living room light is on. I wait with baited breath, knowing she’ll re-emerge from the house to go for her evening run. Just like she always does. Continue reading The Stalker
Carasso. The name on his badge read Carasso. He was a man of average height, scratching at the six foot ceiling. His skin was discoloured like a greying piece of meat, almost decaying.
I wandered around the dimly lit petrol station, delaying the inevitable. Continue reading The Youth