New day rising over the spires of 20JFG’s demesne, we awake stronger than yesterday. Why?
Because we have a new recruit, christened 20Jazzfunkgreats Dan. We have known Dan for a long time, he’s been feeding us recommendations and things with enviable gusto since the day we met, plus we have collaborated on a number of sweet projects, you know, The Do, 13 Monsters, Love Saves the Day, Hungry for Power or the Telepathe remix collabs- he’s one of the good guys, and an excellent friend. Like us, he dwells in the murky soundspaces where things get weird and exciting, is it punk, is it disco? Who cares, as long as it’s got a groove and an attitude. So, we thought that rather than imperfectly transmitting his tips via this Tesla antenna of the netherworld, we might as well get him on board behind the controls knowing rather well that you’ll love what he has to say, welcome him at the mail-box below please, it’s on.
Haunted music halls – their organs playing sad songs under the ravishing eastern seas. Cyclopean forms sashaying around each other in the freezing depths. Their blood rising and falling with the celestial arpeggios of one Jonas Reinhardt.
A young girl stands in the dark, feet clasped around the damp pebbles of the beach, out of reach of the claws of the sea. Stars above her penetrate the clouds, beams illuminating the turbulent water. Awesome shapes momentarily glimpsed in the troughs of the waves.
A flat sea lit by infinite jetties of Crocketian excess. Sleek yachts deathly still in their moorings. The conspiracy of their impossible symmetry visible only from above, hanging in the cloudless night, or below in the warm throbbing abyssal depths.
The purple night laid out before her older self, wooden platforms leading out across the sea offering up each boat’s bass heavy delights. A network of unobtainable ritual dances. Moving between the vessels, stars vibrate as a precursor to the bacchanalian delights on offer.
She pauses, the infinite possibilities of the night on water beneath her feet. Adrenaline bubbling to a peak, managed, subsiding, then surging once more. The anticipation paralysing her in ecstatic indecision…
Moments before dawn on the stony eastern shore. A casually brittle wind cracking the crests of the waves as they build up anew. High on the cliffs above, a tower stands at the edge of the world. Its lone window facing out towards the sea, its views permanently filled with water.
In the tower lives an inventor. Her hair greyed now, wiry, neat and straight. She moves in the gloom of the fading night, turning dials, plugging and unplugging a mass of ancient cables from the face of a vast machine – Its true size and nature buried within the cliffs below. On the ceiling of the tower is painted a map of the sky, its paint chipped and fading. The inventor looks up from time to time, momentarily considering the shape of the stars before redoubling her efforts among the snaking wires and dials.
Light breaks through the window behind her, bouncing off the stirring sea. She does not turn from her task, but instead, unleashes her work on the great machine, back out onto the waves.