Lomond Campbell, Every Florist in Every Town.
From the forthcoming album Black River Promise (on Heavenly Recordings).
Pre-order a copy here.
Black River Promise was originally released on Lomond Campbell’s own acclaimed Triassic Tusk label, which he runs DJ Stephen Marshall, at the end of 2016. Jeff Barrett (of this parish) was tipped of by a friend and fell in love with it on first listen. Heavenly Recordings (Jeff’s label) has subsequently re-mastered the record, updated the artwork and are set to give it a wider release.
Lomond says: I wrote this song in the middle of a particularly gnarly highland winter and deliberated a lot on whether it suited Black River Promise. After adding strings and drums it became one of my favourites from the album. Lyrically it follows the story of a tempestuous relationship; so much so that every florist in everytown the pair lived in know their names. (more…)
This one’s for the believers: A Brief History of the Lives of All Those in the Caught by the River Tent at The Good Life Experience, by John Andrews
I missed Joan Shelley and The Pictish Trail and all on Friday to my shame, coming north on an evening train after the fire, crossing the border as midnight struck on Gladstone’s clock. “This one’s for the believers”, shouted Mick Head, our favourite of saints, the next day, mid-song, and the tent was lit, we were fifty thousand each crying a silver tear, you can call it sheer joy, you can call it what you want, but it WAS the holy shiver, a sighting of the magic bird, a book stall in the corner of a gin parlour, a Kabbalah for the kids. Will read ‘A Song for Uncle Dee’ and Michael Chapman declared ‘I ain’t no folk singer’. Golems chanted in the secret rooms of each corner for Keenan, a blessing for the one-issue fanzine writers, a blessing for all the bands who might have been, a blessing for all the galleries that were dole queue rumours and a blessing for all believers. ‘Who are the believers?’ asked Emma with a smile, as if she and we didn’t know. Can a tent be a chapel, a Cocteau-painted cocoon in what on Thursday last Cerys Matthews called a world of chaos? Yes, it can, it can, it can. (more…)
At the edge of England the land ends suddenly in high chalk cliffs. From the beach at Cuckmere Haven, they stand like frozen air, silent above the waves that are gradually undermining them. Here the landscape seems timeless, reduced to its basic elements: rock, water, air and sunlight. But the cliffs have a remarkable history and an uncertain future. They continue to inspire painters and composers, photographers and filmmakers, poets and nature writers. In his book Frozen Air, a sequence of short linked texts and photographs, Andrew Ray explores the Seven Sisters to consider the meaning of this extraordinary landscape.
Haven Brow dominates the view when you stand on the beach at Cuckmere Haven. It takes longer than you would think to reach it as your pace is slowed by the grey drifts of stones. Approaching this huge weight of rock, a natural sense of physical insignificance is heightened by the intimidating blankness of its dead white surface. (more…)
Review by Frances Castle
Hannah Peel first came to public attention in 2010 with her EP Rebox — songs created with loops of paper punched with holes, and fed through tiny hand-turned mechanical music boxes which produced twinkling and mesmerizing versions of songs by The Cocteau Twins, Soft Cell and New Order. In the following years she has swapped the music boxes for analogue synthesizers, and has taken an unpredictable and idiosyncratic path through music making — in both her solo work, and with the band The Magnetic North.
Mary Casio: Journey To Cassiopeia is the Northern Irish-born artist’s third album. Her last, Awake But Always Dreaming, dealt with dementia, and explored its relationship to music and memory. Continuing with the theme of the mind, and initially inspired by images of brain neurons and how closely they resembled pictures of the stars, on Mary Casio Peel compares the mind to the universe – both so huge and unmapped. (more…)
By Peter Papathanasiou
Having walked up the mountain’s fire trail with my toddler son, we finally reach the turnoff for our destination. It takes some convincing to coax him to follow me along the single track veering off to our left. He’s now fascinated by a termite mound; the larger trees in the Australian bush are almost all hollow thanks to termites. He can’t yet see where I’m taking him, but it’s somewhere new and special. It’s a place I remember fondly from my youth and which has stood the test of time despite years of severe erosion and variable rainfall.
‘This way,’ I tell him, ‘nearly there.’ He giggles, showing his precious new teeth, and tries to run but is eventually undone by an unseen tree root. I rush to his aid, pick him up, hold him close and apply medicinal kisses. His grizzling soon subsides as I carry him the rest of the way and finally show him my surprise. (more…)