Time trapped in the Forbidden Zone of our gilded capital affords plenty of opportunity to cultivate that particular blend of alienation that’s only curtailed by the mp3-playing-device welded to our pockets. It takes a special brand of familiar to keep the calluses from forming on our dark souls – something that sits on the wrong side of the bus window offering out its claw through the steamed-up glass. At least your Oyster still works.
Lord Boyd‘s tape warped Eastern strings looped and cut over a pounding dub beat takes us by the hand through the rapidly chilling commuter mornings. Brutal economic realities flooding through the streets, removing the life from the well preserved edifices. The gloriously named Space Jordan 96 providing a suitably epic swagger in its brief three minutes and ten seconds. Thumping in-ear soundsystem wars to sate the threat of the expensively maintained streets of zone 1.
If this had replaced the cloyingly ‘other’ Dylan cover that haunted the later part of BSG there may have been some hope for the fuck-we’ve-run-out-of-money-let’s-have-them-sit-around-drinking episodes that closed out the otherwise loveable series.
Nites return to these pages with a far more minimal approach to Dub than the frenetic Lord Boyd above. This is weekday, 3AM, financial sector music. Empty office buildings and no one around to look disdainfully as you gaze up and lose yourself amongst the shimmering forms of glass against the orange black sky. It’s as if someone created a space subtly repellent to people, only bearable when swarmed in large numbers and a citadel to social function when not in use. Amongst these towers you can snatch moments of being truly alone in an overcrowded metropolis and with 20JFG’s mp3-player-of-choice abstracting the experience further it can be glorious.
It is an Excuse to Get Hurt and to Hurt timestretches half remembered delirious Synthpop fodder and makes it lonely and ethereal; vaguely creepy and beautiful. A heavily distorted vocal stalks through the empty space between the crunching drum machines, reverberated instructions completely unintelligible and faintly tragic as a result. The determinedly upbeat shimmering melody undermined by its own glacial pace.