Date: 1998-10-15 15:10:25+00:00
Keywords: cult adventure; Fiction; british writing; dub poetry; punk and new wave; General; alternative; music and culture
Description: In this astonishing novel Jeff Noon allows the complex rhythms of dance music to infect his language, creating a new kind of writing / liquid dub poetics / in the grooves he discovers a world where the scratches of the stylus cut the body / a dj's samples are melodies of blood / love is a ghost lost in the boom box / and the only remix that really matters is the remix of the heart After years of playing bass in lousy two-bit bands, elliot finally gets his big chance / he meets a singer, a dj and a drummer who seem to have everything / passion, talent, hypnotic songs, and a whole new way of fun
Publisher: Anchor

needle in the groove

jeff noon

Copyright 1999 Jeff Noon

Published at Smashwords

Copyright 1999 by Jeff Noon

First published in Great Britain 1999 by Anchor Books – A division of Transworld Publishers Ltd.

This edition published 2012 by Jeff Noon

Cover Art Copyright 2012 by Curtis Leon Fee
eBook design by Tim C. Taylor

All rights reserved

Dedicated to

C_6H_12O_6 → 2CH_3CH_2OH + 2CO_2
and

Bm(+9) / D / A / E9 / C#m(sus4) / E / F# / / /

Contents
glamography

1 scorched out for love
door code
sticky stuff
heavy on the download
the glamour
scorched out for love, original mix
a deeper high
scorched out for love, soft remix
the damage
scorched out for dub, elliot’s bad and busted remix
blues in a rented room

Bass Instruction Manual
a genuine punk love song, maybe
down the vein
this kid, made out of wire
the score
a deeper groove
freeze and scorch

E A D G
powdering
forbidden songs
the love scene

Bass Instruction Manual
plug me in, one time
drench and squeeze
check the technique
scorched out, club zuum remix
beneath the buttons
underground jam
bass addiction
making strange
smoked out for love, punk filter dissolve
kaleidopunks
a genuine punk love song, maybe maybe
comedown city
limbo time
lost boys, lost girls
from the pop music archives
beatbox display unit
plug me in, two time
bass player’s lament
the call
a note, a small envelope addressed simply

Bass Instruction Manual

2 vibegeist (spirit of the groove)

the new code
studio ghosts
downriver bass
a life in the samples
haunted by the rhythm
the punk in the rain
vocal serenade
rhythms of the city
rhythms of the blood
sometimes, she listens
groove cutter
fall down in secret places
the night caller
needle in the groove
plug me in, vibegeist overload
blood sample 57
blood sample 64
blood sample 68
blood sample 73
scorched out for love, dubgeist remix
blood sample 77
a genuine punk love song, vibegeist remix
slaughter dog hotel
the last sample
the dancer

Bass Instruction Manual

G D A E
connecting
glamourboys parade
scratches and samples
rhythms
mix process

glamography
the 4 glamorous men

1957 ready steady skiffle!

1959 live at the 2spot
the glamourboys

1963 postergirls

1965 embrace you

1968 swirl
the glamour

1970 damaged goods

1973 tainted vein

1977 unexploded blonde (unreleased)

the figs

1977 skull

1979 flesh

1981 vapour
glam damage

2002 scorched out for love

2003 vibegeist

1

scorched out for love

door code
the nightclub / a stonecold zombie with a look of shock on its face, the kind that happens when nocturnals get caught in the daylight / check that feeling / something about turned-off neon always does it for me, turns on the sadness, gets me thinking about where all the shine goes to / like it should’ve been raining, like it should’ve always been raining
what the hell
just this guy, you know, standing alone on ian curtis boulevard / sunday morning frozen, just gone nine / and even the moon has been left behind by the night, so careless, looking like a stain of bleach / like a close-up photo of how my head is feeling / oh please, I could do with some doghair right now / something wet to get the heart in tune, to keep my finger from shaking on the door buzzer / until this low-pitch squawk gets back to me

—who is it?

—I’m here to see donna

—who is it?

—it’s elliot, look...

—who is it?

oh shit, the door’s got nasty bouncer attitude / I only met this donna last night and I’m pretty sure she never mentioned a password

—who is it?

—shut the fuck up will yer, I’m thinking

—who is it?

I press my lips closer to the grille

—the bass player

sticky stuff
the door slides open, smooth as yer like / and I have maybe five seconds to get myself and the big case through before it closes again / closes like a bad-breath mouth around me / some kinda foyer, shuttered cloakroom to the left, ticket booth to the right / suddenly warm, like the building has a pulse beat / and no one around so I walk ahead, through into blank space
club zuum / the dance floor, shining away into the distance / heat-shivering
and dirty / with my shoes sticking to the spillage so much, feels like I can carry on walking, right up the walls, make out like a fly for the day / around the circle of the floor, where a couple of old ladies are cleaning up the plastic glasses, the cans, the swill, the vomit, the debris / I give the bomb squad a wave, and they look up and smile and wave back like a mirage / the club has that glazed ozone feel / molecules of evaporated sweat and perfume / the thousand-and-one come-ons still lingering, sticky ghosts of young desperate sex

—where’s the studio? I shout over
the women point me towards some steps / down / where a lone stiletto lies discarded, as though Cinderella has turned somewhat sluttish / a regular trash palace / along a corridor now / deserted / past offices all empty of life / maybe I got the wrong day or something
holy shit / what am I doing here? somebody tell me
just tracking down the traces / the sizzle and the traces of a stranger’s smile
when this big old domestic cat saunters out from one of the offices / a mangy, battle-scarred affair, all black and tattered fur / the flea magnet looks at me, like I’m a fool to even be here / and then waddles off down the corridor, flicking its tail like it owns the world
well what the hell / I follow / into another doorway
some fat guy standing near a kitchen counter, eating a breakfast burger

—what the fuck do you want?

—the studio?

—downstairs! down the fuckin’ stairs!

hey, nice people / I walk back into the corridor, thinking it’s maybe time to leave / no, really / when I see the cat again, sitting on its backside right next to a door / a wooden door this one, looks like a broom cupboard / open it / and there you go, more stairs, leading further downwards / into darkness / I look around for a light switch, find one / but it doesn’t work / of course it doesn’t / this is getting silly
the old cat’s looking at me / one eye is glued together with a clog of scum / the other’s giving me this real voodoo manic stare
ok, cat / let’s get to it
holding the case behind me, I follow the creature downwards / feeling for each step in turn / musty, cloying air / the damp on the walls meets the sweat on my skin / the drink being squeezed out of me / and down, and further down
some other kind of door at the bottom / no answer to my knocking / louder now, and still nothing / and then I swing the door open, letting the cat nip through my legs / I follow it through, into a recording suite / empty / a glass partition shows a room beyond / near darkness / but I can see people in there / at last / another door leads to them / I push it open
just standing there, holding the bass / looking through

heavy on the download
oh yeah, I play the bass / the bass plays me / the four-stringed, thick-bellied, electrified monster, you know, the one that eats all other noises alive
and I’ve gone walking down these four strings most every hour of every day, of every year and every busted heartbeat, just trying to get along to where the last riff kisses the dark / the subsonic groove, we call it
dub culture / midnight’s vibration / something to reach for
some throat, some bottom, some neck and some deep clutch of riverpulse / gets you hot just strapping yourself into the thing / and the more you play, the hotter it gets, the slicker the slide / and all for nothing much because none of the songs you discover, ever come anywhere near to what you hear in your dreams
and I guess all that follows is about me taking a chance on the journey of the bass / and finally getting to reach the end of it / the end of the last tune, and what I find down there, in the grooves of the soul / and how come the music is always that one step beyond all the love you play it with / and how the bass ain’t got four strings at all
just when you think you’re getting the grip of it
how it’s got these other strings, invisible like / below the low, and deepcore / you gotta dive down underload to get a finger on them / and watch yourself doing it, watch yourself
those strings can pull you under, believe me
ah shit / believe me please

the glamour
a room of smoke / with tiny lights glistening, red and green / instrument control patterns / figures in the gloom

—hey up
somebody speaks / turns on a lamp / the scene gets focused
three of them / two women, one man, seems like / and there I am, all eyes upon me

—you made it then?

it’s the voice / the smile / the one I’ve been following since last night / donna, that’s all I know / just this girl who came up to me after the gig, said she liked what I was doing with the beat and that she had a thing of her own going on, and maybe I could put some flavour to it

—just about, I answer
and who wouldn’t / who wouldn’t follow / round about nineteen, twenty at the most / check the style / the twisted nest of the hair-do / the tight capped tee-shirt / the tattoo on her arm, a playing card / and the dark dazzle of the skin / oh yeah, she’s black / kinda black / with the deep pool of the eyes / the big bold mouth, smeared with purple / all things about her filled to the brim / and so easy with the smile, it was there even when it wasn’t / but now it was, most definitely / and it’s aimed right at me

—what yer looking at? she asks

—you

—who the fuck’s this? says the other woman

—tommy, isn’t it? asks donna
ah shit, this girl is doing me down

—elliot

—come on then, elliot / don’t be shy
laughter

—yeah, fuck you as well
and then I step right into it / the studio, cramped to the walls with stuff / amps and mics and recording equipment / one entire wall, floor to ceiling, is vinyl records / the whole shebang wreathed in smoke / no outlet / ok, I’ve had a few thousand spliffs here and there, all down the line / but this is serious fog stew / gets me dizzy, just by breathing
now the woman who’s invited me, this donna, she’s leaning against an amp, smoking one of these rollmop constructions / smiles through the hit, and I smile right back when she holds out the joint to me

—no thanks

—what? she says / you don’t want any?

—not right now

—what’s wrong with yer?

—tell yer what / I wouldn’t mind a drink
now that gets her funny somehow / gets her looking around at the other two, with a feeling I can’t catch a hold of

—got this, she says
handing me a bottle of juice, like orange juice

—a drink I’m after

—it’s Sunday morning, she says

—yeah / and you’re at the dope already

—fuck me, says the other woman / we’ve got one here

—that you have / and what of it?

donna does the intros
herself/ the singer
the second woman, the one who just spoke up, she’s introduced as the dj, given the name jody / she’s sitting lonely behind a turntable deck, examining the grooves of a twelve-inch single / I get to see her frown one more time, that’s it / except / oh but the way she’s running her fingers over the vinyl surface, as though tracing / searching / feeling for buried treasure
now the guy / he’s lying on a small couch-bed affair, holding a pair of drumsticks / just tapping out some off-planet rhythm of his own / like, erm, the drummer I guess
donna nods towards him

—and this is 2spot, she says

2spot / well there yer go / neat black shirt, buttoned high to the neck / pale skin, drawn along the cheeks / high, dense sweep of blond hair greased back into a flattop quiff / sideburns sharpened, right down the groove of the bones / tough-nut style, but something a little bit fluffed about him, you know / a touch of the flowers / too sweet a smell, and a softness around him / like never a day’s work has been done / and maybe I’ve seen him around, maybe playing the drums somewhere, I don’t know / whatever, something coded passes between us / just in the brief nod he gives me / just that
and then donna points out the cat, curled atop an amplifier

—and this is gallagher, she says

—noel, or liam?

—paul, she says / and that’s the whole crew
meanwhile, the smoke’s really getting at me, bringing back stuff I don’t really need / so I take a swig of the juice offered / just to cool the throat of memories / and then donna says

—glam damage

—yer what?

—yeah, what do you think of that, as a name?

—well / I can see the glamour
looking at mad jody as I say this / and then at donna, adding

—and I can see the damage
the singer smiles deeply at the drummer / and then turns to jody

—there you go / he loves it / I told you so / I told you it was a good name
now this jody woman, she looks up at me, right at me / not a trace of expression

—you’re late, she says / supposed to be here at nine

—it’s what? I reply / twenty past?

—how would it be, if you turned up twenty minutes late / for a gig / how would that be?

—I got lost

—how would it be if you got lost?

—fuckin’ passwords and all that

—you get lost, on the way to a gig? would that be good?

—that wouldn’t happen / fuckin’ hell / what’s wrong with yer?

—yeah, come on jody, says donna / give him a chance

—you can fuck off as well

—oh, says jody / the guy’s got problems

—I’m getting pissed off, that’s all
so this jody stands up then / and for the first time I realise just what a specimen she is / a touch older than the other two, almost my age / but weird with it / I mean, there’s weird and weird, right / but jody was off the edge of normal and right along some / nothing to do with how she dressed, because that was scruff central, with a touch of couldn’t-give-a-monkey’s-tutu hippie shit / but her face, her whole manner, every last vein spoke of jitter, of flex, of what the fuck / body pinched shut, and so thin, the skin stretched taut over wire / black hair scraped to fit the skull, knife-edge whisper / and two of the coldest eyes that ever did view the world, I swear / they were eyes detuned, right through zero, and into the minus
reminds me of a bathroom mirror I once knew, the one I had to veil / turn to the wall / the peeling silver skin on the back of it / and that too, eventually, I could not dare approach

—you been here before? she asks

—what, down here?

—the zuum club?

—no

—you don’t like dance music?

—dance music, that’s what you do?

—kinda

—kinda?

—the next step, you know what I’m saying?

—fine / the next step / whatever

—how old are you?

—twenty-four

—twenty-four, and you don’t like dance music?

—ah, been off the scene a little / you know, out of it

—oh yeah, how far?

—what?

—how fuckin’ far have you been out?

—look / maybe I should go / eh?

—you backing out? says donna

—just wanna know what the score is, that’s all / I mean, you want a bass player / I am a bass player / I play the fuckin’ bass

—five or six bands, he’s in, says donna / right this moment

—five, six or seven bands, by the way

—nothing serious though, says donna / pub bands

—ooh, he’s played in bands before, says jody, with a darkside sneer / now us, you see, we ain’t played in any bands but this / this is a pure band

—no bands but this? how many gigs?

—no gigs

—together how long?

—together three months

—oh fuck me, a buncha babies / this really isn’t what I’m after, my friends

—just listen to us play, says donna / that’s all we want

I mean, tell me please, what would you do / come on, just to get the thing over and done and outa there / get myself some air, some proper juice inside me / some lube / some breakfast at the very least / so I give the nod, and

—right, says jody / scorched out for love / let’s do it
the drummer gets up from the lounger / this is a guy who hasn’t said one word to me / not one single word the whole time, not even to the other two / he gets up and just kinda slides into position behind the drum kit, sticks at the ready
well then, here we are / down to the wire

—crack it open, says jody
and the drummer hits the skin / down hard

scorched out for love, original mix
down hard / creeping patterns / snares and rimshots, like a fall of rain / the held crackle of a cymbal / bass drum coming on the third beat / caught in a loop / rhythm dancer / drums, and nothing but, until donna dares to sing this downtime lament
waiting for the world to learn
the contours of your skin
I wonder what colours you’ll turn
when the world burns

I was expecting some impassioned outburst / but her voice has a calmness to it / degrees of control, almost on the edge of becoming something else / she sounds lost, uncaring / stretching out the words / bruised with hidden knowledge
drums and voice / a flat chant
jody comes in on the second verse / working a shimmer from the turntables / fingers dragging plastic, holding it / releasing / holding / releasing / building a noise / a caress of stolen notes surrounding the song, tightly bound / by the end of the verse she’s managed to twist the feel entirely / making it tremble, succumb
and then explode / she must’ve hit a switch somewhere / turned on some pre-recorded kaleidoscope / this sudden howl from stretched strings / vinyl pops and screeches / machines crying and scratching fire, right up the nerve scale / until the sheer blade of it gets stuck tight in the darkness, shoots right back at me / into the chorus, with donna allowing a slice of emotion to cut through
that’s the way of the world my friend
when a world comes to an end
we throw it all away
to start again
and down / further down
not slow, but like poison to the beat / jody juggles another disc onto the decks / incisions of bootleg guitar, choked off / real familiar, scraped from the grooves like magic / it’s the deep-down motherlode, it really is / a ton of work to be done, for sure / but donna’s singing, all that slow tragic honey dripping out, word by word, dropped between the beats / and the dj’s crazy tactics on the samples and scratches / I mean, if this is three months’ work, I’m amazed
but mostly, oh most of all, the drumming / this 2spot guy can play / you hear him now, splicing the third verse open with scattershot blasts / and down / down flat funky / holding / holding / making some splinter, making some blow
deep jesus in the groove / have I been waiting for this / like all my life, seems that way / through all the cul-de-sac affairs, the dead-end gigs / the slimeball singers and the junkyard songs / the lousy-arse contracts / all the drugs and the booze and the subhuman blues / all the thrash-happy merchants of the traps and the kit / all that shit / at last, at last / some proper goddamn loving on the skins, for me to drop the bass injection
listen to it / off-kilter cuts from the shine of a cymbal / alive with sparks / and a criminal tension that jody’s scratching caught, and threw back / down in the cellar, on the other side of town, just this tripwire of sound / twisted space / and all the flavours of noise / gliding away
and throughout the whole song / that stupid cat / gallagher his name / that scruffball just slept on / top of the amp, like soaking up the music, every ounce
one last funky fuck flow-down falling
and gone
crackle of silence

a deeper high

—what do you think? says donna

—we were slow, says jody

—I like it, I say
you know, playing it cool / but donna’s got this big smile for me, which was ok getting on the end of / 2spot meanwhile is combing his hair / doing the whole thing in three practised sweeps, one on each side, and then the top, setting the quiff back in place / not a touch of sweat upon him, like the guy just sauntered out of the fridge

—where did yer get those guitars from? I ask / the buzzcocks?

—yeah, says jody / sampled them / you know the tune?

—just about / yeah, what yer did, it’s good / it’s a good song
she looks at me for a second or two / the usual hard fire stare / and says

—you got something for us?

—let’s have a look
right then / here we go / let’s show these people some / except that all of a sudden I’m nervous / nervous / now there’s a first since way back / but the way they play together, both ragged and tight / I’m gonna have to ride this one fine / real fine

I open the big case, take out the creature / fender precision / old style / flip the strap around my neck, attach the end to the clip / feel it swinging / I mean, this bass just hangs wicked / like a bomb, like a cloud / sure, some weight to it / but distributed just so, around the centre of gravity / always feels like I’m floating / and plugging it in, is like plugging myself in / they have this old bruiser of a bass amp, valve-driven / the sweet, sweet buzz of the power surge as I jack the flex / the thing comes alive in my hands
christ, I’m getting all heavy metal on the words/ when all I’m saying is that I have a real love affair with that moment, the plugging in
gettin’ engaged to the sun, I call it

—I’m gonna record this, ok? says jody

—fine by me
she does the business in the control room / works some switches, whatever / comes straight back out and we get the thing moving
with me coming in on the second verse, just behind the first turntable scratch / making it deep, making it weird / all the roads I’ve been down / the usual bag of tricks / stretching it out, trying to keep the feeling alive / against the odds, because yer know this stuff ain’t my natural language / not at all / I play too solid, it kills it / play too loose, it’s a mess / and the sweat on the strings, making the fingers slide / and the smoke in the room, and the smoke in the heart
until something weird happens, almost by accident / with all the instruments and the singing falling into a bad shape, a loose hole / I’m trying to get out of it, back into rhythm / until I’m wondering, shit, what is this / it’s a tightening, a coil / with the whole song on the everywhere edge of falling to pieces / but just about glued
and jody was right / it is kinda pure / pure and cleansed, well almost, on the subsonic soul
angels in the rhythm
grab the feeling, my fingers / turn it into a riff and just go off floating
because something happens, just sometimes / and when it happens / just sometimes, just sometimes / you grab that flow, and go / come out the other side of the song, covered in sweat, shaking with it / let the strings go slack on the last note / and then breathe out, first time in minutes gone by, lost in the traces and the feedback buzz of the holy bass mother
even the cat is up and purring some / smiling like alice just walked in

2spot thumps the drum, says

—nice playing, bassman
the first words I ever heard him say

—I think so, says donna

—that do yer? I say to jody

—very clever, she says

—ah, what’s fuckin’ with this woman? I answer back

—yeah jody, says donna / we’ve tried too many already

—sure, says 2spot / he’s the best yet

—it ain’t funky enough, says jody

—yeah well, I answer / where I come from...

—what?

—we don’t have any funk

—no funk?

—damn right / small northern town, what do you think / last in the queue when god handed out the funk / hey look, I did what I could
now they’re all looking at me / straight down the line

—let’s make him funky, says donna
jody looks at her, shakes her head / and then walks through into the control room

—what’s going on? I ask
no really, I mean what is this / they’re gonna make me funky?

—you’ll see, says donna
jody comes back out in seconds / and I swear there’s almost a smile on her face / almost / and the 2spot guy, back on the couch, he’s got this trace of a grin / and gallagher the cat, smiling away / and donna of course, smiling for everyone
like I’m on the end of the biggest joke of all time
and then the music starts / top volume
drums in the playback / listen

scorched out for love, soft remix
back in the drum-play / listen to it / 2spot shots of a down-hard creeping pattern / snares in the rainfall, caught in a dancer’s downtime rhythm-loop lament / where all the cymbals sing
waiting for the bass to skin, the contours of the world
the voice-edge of donna, degrees of bruise-control / lost on the hidden sound chant of knowledge, now stretching passion burst / jody, working a plastic drag / kaleidoscopic shimmer from the fingers / holding, releasing / stolen noise caressing the song of tremble notes

I wonder what colours you’ll burn, when the bass returns
tightly twisted strings explode / scratching / succumb to the sudden switch howl, a hit from slow darkness / turntable nerve fire / blade the scale / stuck in the shoots
that’s the way of the bass my friend, when the bass flows to an end
and down / and down flat funky
tragic splice tactics, on the samples and the slices
the pops and vinyl screeches / along the decks of poison, scraped from the bootleg / choked off the disc / incisions of strange groove, made of mad magic / guitar heart crying out, rhythm’s injection / the motherloading bass honey, dripping deep, and word by word crazy
dissolve it all away, to float the song again
splinters / the off-kilter cuts from the bass / down in the amplifier, on the other side of town / tripwire noise-glide, release into chorus / all the patterns of flow / catching the flavours
deep jesus of music / and the drumfall of the groove, catching
the final
silence of crackle

the damage

—what the fuck was that?

—the remix, says donna

—the what / get the fuck out of here

—what’s wrong, says jody / you never done a remix before?

—no I have not / all that techzak shit

—this ain’t techzak

—right, and you were, what? fifteen seconds at the mixing desk / I mean, the whole song’s been messed with

—yeah, totally
well, almost / everything was there, more or less, but changed into something else, moved around, broken, made new / even the words of the song had been shifted around / and most of all, the bass / the hometown bass had been given some nasty, given some disco / it’s me playing, I’m sure it is / but sexy, somehow / shit, it was almost bootsy collins

—fuck! it’s not possible

—show him, jody, says 2spot from the couch

—come on then
she leads us all into the control room / the big desk there / loads of add-ons, just taped into position / a real sound lab / jody presses a button / and the music pops out / recorded material, handed right over into my hands

—what’s this?

—what’s it look like? says donna

—I don’t fuckin’ know / a globe?

—it doesn’t look like a globe, says jody / it is a globe / what’s inside it?

I’m holding this thing / no disc, no tape, no cassette, no cd-rom / just this fuckin’ sphere, the size of a golf ball / plastic, at least I think it’s plastic / made of a clear, slightly malleable material, and inside...

—it’s some kind of liquid, I answer

—sure it is / take a look
donna turns on a desk light, and I hold the thing up to the beam / the globe is filled with a sky-blue liquid, quite thick it seems, quite sluggish, with darker strands of colour here and there, caught suspended / the light burns through it / tropical / oh yeah, there’s some heat coming off it / and a nice weight to it, a certain heft belied by the contents, as though it contained some extra substance / a secret cargo

—this is what we just played? I ask

—that’s what we played, says donna

—but how?

—who the fuck cares, says jody / the club zuum label have exclusive rights to the first usage

—we’re testing it, says donna

—it’s called wave recording, says 2spot

—liquid music, says donna

—liquid music, jesus / so how does the remix work?

—all I did, says jody / is give it a little shake

—a shake?

—tiniest possible shake / just a soft mix, you know, nice and easy does it

—what happens, says donna / is that some of the elements have a stronger chemical bond

—a lock, says jody / against the flow

—so there’s always a reminder of the music, says donna

—but the more you shake it, says jody / the deeper the mix

—it’s the way out, says 2spot
so I’m looking at him, and then at jody, and then at donna / not knowing what to think, feeling dizzy with the thing / and then looking again at the globe in my palm

—shake it up, says donna / go on, see what happens
so yeah, I give it a shake
and slowly the darker strands swim gently around into new shapes, new patterns

—harder, says jody / all the way, all the fuckin’ way!

I give it a really good shake / and I’m watching through the beam as the liquid breaks down / becomes jelly / veined with new arrangements / new meanings / and I never stop shaking until all the veins are broken

—look at that now, says donna / you just done your first ever remix

—oh yeah, says jody / it’s dj fuck face, on the decks

—bad and busted, says donna

—scorched out for dub, says 2spot
the globe lies warm in my hands, settled at last / and when jody plays it back for me
ah shit...

scorched out for dub, elliot’s bad and busted remix
the creeping two-shot spots of a flow-down / drumfall and the rim of skin-beat, in a snare-dancer’s downtime rhythm-loop explode lament / where all the rain cymbals sing / the contours of the voice, waiting for the bass to steal, the sliced and crazy feel / shots of the lost / the hidden sound chant knowledge caught and twisted, now stretching guitar burst / a drag from the fingers / holding, releasing / noise caressing the blade-song / I wonder what colours you’ll burn, when the bass returns / bruise of crackle-pattern, vinyl screech-pop of string / the sudden switch howl scatter of rhythm / a hit from stretched plastic, down in the darkness / cellar blast of turntable nerve fire / singing, that’s the way of the bass my friend when the bass flows to an end / and down / and further down and down / and down flat, along the decks of slow noise poison, scraped from every last bootleg / on the other side of town / incisions of chorus, made of mad magic / amplifies the heart crying out, injection dance / cuts of motherloading bass honey, off-kilter dripping deep, and then word by funky word, passion splinters the tragic splice tactics / on the caught samples singing it all away / all the tripwire scratching kaleidoglide of a strange groove / deep jesus bass of music, catching the shimmer / the final crackle of silence / holding, releasing / dissolving

blues in a rented room

I have a little place on state 808 street / right beside some old abandoned industrial estate / from my window, when I get home later that day, I can see the sky darkening around the lonely factories / at last, I get some drink inside me / sit myself down on the tiny unmade bed / take out the globe
donna’s given me this / around the diameter, a band of white paper, indented / and scrawled upon it, scorched out for love – remix 24, and the date / mind you, I must’ve shaken it up some, just in the car / so, huh, remix 25 now, isn’t it / christ / what’s the point of numbering them / just a slip and the thing falls to the floor, the music changes already
ok, the globe is sliced barely flat, one end, so you can stand it up, like this, on a bedside table / there’s a tiny slide affair at the top / valve system / I can’t see a way to open it up, not easy / no doubt this is where they get the liquid inside / but if you hold it upside down, like this, nothing drips out / and just turning it over, like this, causes the liquid to move around, gently, softly
remix 26

I really don’t know what to do, whether to join the band or not / sure, the singer’s got the twilight charms, and the drummer plays a coming home rhythm / and they’re all being paid a decent wage by the club zuum label / sure, they’re a proper group, and that’s the problem / I’ve done the proper group thing, and look where that ended up / and that jody dj woman doesn’t even like me / and do I really need to be around all those drugs again / all those demons one more time?

I’ve reduced my life to the booze and the fags / that’s love enough / sure it is / ah, I’m ok with the bar bands / the five, six or seven nowhere for ever lousy pub rock bands
hours later, I wake up / alcohol all over me
that fuckin’ scorched out tune / playing around the skull

Bass Instruction Manual

To wake the strings so tightly bound, let slide

The finger’s nub along the neck from fret

To fret; from bridge to nut, the tones collide

To sound a joyous air! And yet, and yet...

a genuine punk love song, maybe
so yeah / hi there / the name’s elliot / elliot hill / no nicknames, nothing stupid / I’m yer man, the guy / wretched little soul, granted, and fulla shit, but it’s my shit, yer know what I’m saying, handcrafted / here’s a story
sunday oct 2,1977, the last night of the electric circus
the circus was the first great punk club in manchester / every Sunday for a year, in the sinking estates of collyhurst, all the bands came to play / the place was the focus / the out-of-town centre of the swirl / the coming together, the making space / cold and grimy and dark and caked with years of sweat and love / good love, bad love, all kinds of love / and now the council were closing it down / a fire hazard, or some such excuse / two nights would seal it, the last saturday and sunday of the city’s explosion / fused / the buzzcocks were top of the bill, sparkers of the flame / and most of the other manchester bands were playing over the weekend
magazine / the fall / warsaw / john cooper clarke / the drones / the worst / the figs / john the postman / the negatives / the prefects / and many more, never to be remembered
and the fans / place them up there with the players / the wall to wall mess of noise / move in close on just two of the people in that place, that night / nobody famous / a man and a woman / call them that, a boy and a girl really / teenagers / punks / with the uniform and the attitude / carefully collected / but the boy was on the scene, trying to be anyway / he knew some of the bands, just to talk to / and for this special occasion he’d invited the girl along / it was only their third date
and by the end of the gig, the circus was wrecked, and swimming
and the kids, the two in question, something got them going that night, something wicked / something got changed inside them, set loose / something to do with the time and the place / something more to do with the buzzcocks / just this super-fast whine of guitar and twine, dragging a tide in their blood
white hot sulphursonic
their names are dave and sue / just ordinary names / nothing special
except / that afterwards, around the back of the building, in the car park, in dave’s creaking, cold car / they did it / yer know, did the dirty / now that doesn’t sound romantic at all, but it was to them / it was, it was / mean down and dreadful, but lovely / but lovely like bending down to scrape some dog shit off your shoe and finding a diamond stuck there, right in the smelly, sticky lump of it
and that, as they say, was my mum and dad, doing it / dave and sue / and what they were doing, the dirty, that was me being made
so they say / and that the music made them do it
and if you believe that, believe anything, but you know, I’ve done the maths / yeah, born in 1978, the month of june / could be true, could be half true, could be a pile of arse / most definitely, knowing my dad, a pile of the most supreme arse currently available / like he wasn’t even there at all / I’ll bet
but you know / like who the fuck cares, really
a child of the buzzcocks?

oh sure / it’s as good a way to be got, if you’ve gotta be got at all

down the vein
picture: this old and crooked structure on the stranger side of town / right there on ludus drive / the house has a name, tainted vein, quaintly poker-burnt into wood / and there they live, all together / jody, donna and 2spot
glam damage house
turns out it belongs to the drummer / likewise this van we ride around in, and all the equipment / because his mum, now get this / 2spot’s mum lives in london, from where she owns and runs the entire club zuum network / oh yeah, the guy’s being kept
mind you, there’s nothing too fancy about the place / rehearsal room down in the cellar / as dark and as damp as you could want / and nothing flash, no liquid music machines / just the amps, the instruments, the cheapo decks and samplers, a reconditioned portastudio
we make music down there, all the week / and I have to say, away from the club, the band is even better / we make a noise like I’ve never known, just this one great stripped-raw channel of searching / for the first time in years, I’m actually playing something / all the small-town dregs of flair get magnified and yer know what, I can’t help falling in love with the whole idea of being brilliant / to be myself at last, lost in the rhythm / oh yeah, severe romantic arse shit, like yer just don’t see any more
and then, some nights after a rehearsal, I’ll stay over / sleeping downstairs on the settee / upstairs, the three rooms / a pile of household junk in one / jody alone in another / 2spot and donna in the last
oh yeah, 2spot and donna / a thing going on
it’s got me disappointed, that’s a fact / got me surprised as well, because you don’t see much evidence / passion, I mean / even in that first week for instance, 2spot just took off one day, just rode the van out of there

—hang on, I say / I thought we were rehearsing

—he’ll be back, says donna / he always comes back
and she shrugs, like that’s it / and that is it, I suppose / because the next morning back he comes, 2spot, his face all clouded / and they kiss / it’s an ok kiss / there’s nothing wrong with that kiss / except that / ah, maybe they keep it all for the bedroom
don’t even think about it
but you know, great times / really / getting up late for breakfast, jody making it / a pretty good cook, at the old bacon and eggs level / the mangy black cat will sit there patiently, waiting for the rind / oh yeah, gallagher’s in there, home in the van like another piece of equipment / bloody weird / a stray, just turned up one day, became the group mascot / actually, the thing isn’t black at all, but the dirtiest, darkest grey you can imagine, striped with soot / looking like a prowl of smoke
and then donna will come down, hair all over the place and sometimes just dressed in a wraparound affair, or even just a shirt, one of 2spot’s fancy numbers
ah / now then / the tingle / like a tune being played / oh yeah, desire / hot blood desire / like a crazy bad tune I haven’t dared put my fingers on / not for a long time
with donna catching me glancing / and is that smile really for me?

whatever
great days / great mornings / and then, usually about an hour after everybody else, 2spot will come down / always dressed up to the nines, no matter what / with the suit, and the pressed shirt / all that hair in perfect position / and giving off this smell, this air of flowers he has about him / no tie, nothing like that, just all the buttons done up to the neck, and right down to the cuffs / looking good, so good / and there’s me in the semi-casual sportswear
jesus / what a bunch
as soon as 2spot appears, that’s when the day really begins / jody drags us all down to the cellar / even the cat’s invited, always just sitting there on top of the amp, watching us play
ok, how it happens
we always start off with some background that jody prepares / vast, dense landscapes, made out of samples / all the stolen moments of stolen songs, broken open / jammed up solid into new shapes / then she gives us the title, hands the lyrics to donna / donna starts to sing, just sliding the words into the mix, any old how / searching for the melody / then I’ll come in on the bass, counterpoint and wraparound / somehow or other, we find a groove
and when 2spot hits the skinkit / only then does the track get funky, really funky
only then
he has this style all of his own, and one time he explains it to me / he puts this record on / some obscure dance number, forcing me to listen to the rhythm track alone

—you see now, he says / how all the percussion parts are kept separate / just that cymbal there, now the bass drum, now the snare?

—well that’s easy, I say / it’s a drum machine / hot-wired

—yeah, and that’s what I am
this is how he works it out, telling me that in dance music it’s like they take a drum kit to pieces / and then they just use the pieces one at a time and that’s how he plays, for real / like a precision machine / piece by piece by piece by scattered piece / coming together
like a goddamn funky as fuck precision percussion machine

—how long yer been playing? I ask him
and then he tells me to back off

—back off, bassman / no more questions
he was like that, about himself
always: no more questions
and the days all fly away / every last note of every last jam recorded and played back, and the tracks dissected for treasure / and no matter how great they sound, always jody will say

—not yet, not yet

—let’s get something out, jody, I say / do some gigs / make some proper money out of this

—not yet, not yet / not till we’re ready

—I’m living off the savings, jody / down to the dust

—come and move in with us, says donna / we get more work done

—there’s no room

—sure there is, she says / spare room, we can clear it

—no

I’m there near every day anyway / and every Sunday down the club zuum studio / transferring what we’ve got onto the liquid system / hearing it float away different every time
aquamatics / hydrophonics / wave-sonic technology
donna explains it, halfway explains it / knowledge caught in particles, suspended in a charged medium / analogue heaven
and all the best mixes saved onto master tape as well and I know we have to do it, capture the evidence / but really, I just want all my bass-lines to be liquefied / turned to mush / changed to bass-lines I would never play / bass-lines nobody would ever play, could ever play / and there’s the love of it / the unheard beauty of the tunes, dissolved anew / and drop by drop, the liquid is teaching me / fluid techniques / learning to lose the finger’s grip on the beloved riff / getting a hold of that funky stuff feeling / because how does the song go?

throwing it all away, to start again
yeah, that’s the one
because music was never meant to be captured anyway / music is a wind-borne expression, like love / it’s here and then it’s gone
here and gone and here and gone and here and gone
we capture it, that’s just a chance meeting
and I guess this newfangled gizmo is the best method yet to map that vanishing / a liquid map, to chart the notes as they pop and sizzle from the fingers or the throat, and then fade like smiles, away
ah yeah / they should have such a device for love / they really should

this kid, made out of wire
thinking back now / to where it really starts
for my ninth birthday, I receive a package through the post / mystery present, no return address / flat cardboard box, twelve centimetres square / inside, no note, no nothing, just some metal / that’s right, metal, check it out / a bound circle of metal / a curled, sleeping snake
unloose it gently
and let it spring open / quivering life / silver vibrations dazzling the eye / it can’t be caught, the metal can’t be caught, once loosed / living thing, metal thing / silver thing and snake thing / shaking thing / a tiny bolt affair on one end, and the other end just disappearing, into sharp-cut air

—what is it? I ask my dad

—bloody hell, he says / somebody’s sent you a guitar string, let’s see that

—who sent it? says mam

—some mysterious person, says dad / look, it’s a G string

—don’t be dirty, says mam

—don’t be daft, sue / I mean a G string for a bass guitar
now my dad, he ain’t got a fleck of music inside him, not even the smell of a tune, so I don’t know how he knows that / and anyway, what a lousy present to send a kid / so I throw it away, and there’s the end of the story / except
for my tenth birthday I receive another parcel, the same thing inside

—the D string, says dad

I don’t know where he’s getting all these letters from / I really don’t

—you see, he says / it’s slightly thicker than the first
he’d got the first wire out of hiding, just to compare / and here’s me thinking I’d thrown away

—who’s sending them? asks mam

—how would I know, says dad
for my eleventh birthday, more metal / quivering

—the A string, says dad
each string fatter than the last

—means they’re getting deeper, says dad / never forget that, son / the fatter the string, the deeper the sound

—who’s sending them? asks mam

—you’re sending them, I say to my dad / anybody knows that

—no, dad says / look at the package, a london postmark

—who do we know in london? asks mam

—next birthday, says dad / I just bet the lad gets the E string, and that’ll be the set
and what do you know, for the twelfth birthday, nothing / no parcel, no metal, no quivering thing to catch a hold of / can’t say I was arsed really, just bits of wire / but you know, a sense of something not quite done / not quite finished
now my dad rolls in from the pub that night, and says

—nothing yet, lad?

—nothing yet, I answer

—ah well, then / maybe next year, eh?

for the thirteenth birthday, zero / no metal / we all pretend not to notice / and by this time, the dad has turned a bit cold on me / and me on him / getting older, yer know / the both of us
for the fourteenth birthday / listen now / two days before the event, I go to the only shop in town that sells musical instruments / a lousy little shop, all dark and musty / where I ask the guy for an E string for the bass guitar

—an E string, you want? he says / but we only sell them in sets

—I don’t want the set, I say / I’ve got the other three already
he looks at me, the old codger, like I’ve crawled out of the hole in one of them old dusty spanish guitars he’s got strung up behind him

—well now, he says / let’s see what we can do and he rummages through this drawer, pulls out a plastic bag / inside is a full set of bass strings / he takes one out, separates it from the rest / lays it on the counter

—I shouldn’t be doing this, he says / ruined a set, haven’t I / well go on then, take it

—how much? I ask

—how much yer got? he asks

I’ve brought the savings along for this / the paper-round money

—that’ll do it, he says

—all this, for just for one string?

—that’s the price
and what do you know / for my fourteenth birthday I receive a package / just the one package, mind / just the one / I sent it to myself, didn’t I?

trouble is, my dad’s not even home to see it arrive / he’s lost his job this year, and spends most of his time down the boozer / and then most of the morning recovering / and most of the day getting ready to get himself lost again

—who’s sending them? says mam / and oh look, it’s got a different postmark / right from this town / how strange

—they could’ve moved, I say / hiding the game

—yeah, there’s that / they could’ve moved
so we get all four of the strings out / lay them all out, side by side at full stretch / the G, the D, the A, and the E / such a weird little word, spells out nothing

—it’s a shame, says mam / that you haven’t got an instrument to put them on

—I’ll get one, I say

—oh elliot / wherever from?

—I’ll get one

the score

—and did you? asks donna

—what?

—get one?

—a bass guitar / sure I did

—what, they sent you one? this person?

we’re all gathered around the kitchen table, eating takeaway food

—no / no, they didn’t send me one / no they didn’t / bought one myself, didn’t I / left school early, nothing to show for it / just to get a job, just to make the money / drop by drop of the money, just to get this cheapo thing down the shops / with a little practice amp and everything / and the first thing I did, yer know what?

—take the strings off? says 2spot

—take the crappy shop-bought strings off the bass / and put the other ones on / the good ones

—the birthday strings? asks donna

—yeah, the birthday strings

—so who taught you to play? asks jody

—me / in the small lonely back-bedroom of the heart

—and why not the fourth string, I wonder?

—the fourth?

—just three strings they sent you / strange

—just to get me started, I suppose

—and who sent them anyway? asks 2spot

—it was my dad, wasn’t it / the stupid bastard / of course it was

—from london?

—sure / ordering them special / before he got too pissed to care
and to celebrate the fact, I take another slug of wine / watching as the usual gear comes out / donna rolling up, and jody supplying, and 2spot combing his hair / and I’m right in the middle of my usual excuses, when jody says

—come on, man / relax a little

—I am relaxed

—you’re all fucked up, she says / go on, take a drag

—I’m ok

—ah, what a downer

—I just don’t, that’s all

—well then, I just do

—yeah, I can see that

—what’s that mean?

—nothing much

—he’s gettin’ to me / he’s really gettin’ to me

—jody, says donna / he doesn’t, right / just leave it at that

—well he needs to

—maybe he’s done enough already, says 2spot
that gets them quiet, even jody / and I’m thinking, ok, let’s get this out of the way

—yeah / yeah I did / and now I don’t

—what was it, asks donna / like serious?

—oh yeah, serious / detox city

—I knew it, says 2spot / I just knew it

—two years now, clean

—fuckin’ hell, says jody / and here he is, boozing more than all of us

—that’s clean for me / believe me, that is clean

—ah, he’s really pissing me off now / he’s making out that nobody should

—I’m not saying that

—well go on then

—what?

—say it then

—say what?

—go on / say to me now, loud and clear / that anybody can do anything
and all I can do is look at her

—ah fuck / you’re a cold-hearted bugger, no contest
yeah / no contest, jody / absolutely
ok, here’s the drug score / the house score
bottom of the pile there’s me, holding it down with the liquor and nicotine / and then donna and 2spot, both of them safe and easy / strictly leisure-time enjoyment and no big deal / and then jody / ah shit, I don’t even like thinking about it / the stuff it brings back / taking drugs because what else is there, except for life’s frictions / and I don’t know what she’s taking, and I wouldn’t mind so much, but she’s hiding it away somewhere / oh yeah, she’s a bedroom specialist / strictly private, and all we get is the outcome / the good mood, bad mood / good mood, bad mood / all that / top of the roller-coaster, bottom of the dive / and then some
the vein’s bad-arse outlaw song / the one that never stops asking for more
and of course, it’s a danger to me, being anywhere near that song again / but here I am, falling in love after ages of not daring to, who would have thought it / with the house, with the band, with the music

—yer know, I say to them / this is a big thing for me, joining the band

—you betcha, mr clean arse, says jody
but the singer and the drummer give me the nod / like they get the picture
funnily enough, out of all of them it’s the drummer I feel most drawn towards / intrigued by / just the secrets around the guy / the dark penumbra / the way he gets that faraway look in his eye, and then just takes off in search of whatever
and the only thing that gets us anywhere near to close is / the music, the music
and maybe if I’d been anywhere capable, I would’ve seen the trouble / right there / right there in the music that dragged us together
and oh, by the way / I got all those drug scores completely wrong
so badly fucking wrong

a deeper groove
the only time 2spot will really open up, is talking about records / you should see the collection he’s got, vinyl, cassettes, cds, the works, all the styles, all the periods / the man’s into things I’ve never even heard before / from the latest, most twisted and strange, right back to the raw and primitive / mind you, he’s real tight about anyone playing them, touching them even, without him being there / but when the rare mood takes over, just sometimes he’ll invite me up to the bedroom / he keeps all the best ones up there / and the best sound system in the house
for myself, I’ve never had much interest in going out too far, nor back too far / so I’m always after hearing the old favourites, just at top volume yer know, and with the special bass that 2spot’s amp can render / he’ll go along with this, right enough / pointing hidden details out, telling me stories about the musicians involved and who they were influenced by, things like that / expert knowledge / he knew more than someone his age should know / where was he getting it from / what was missing from his life, he had to fill it with all these records?

come clean / I like being up in the bedroom, just because, well, it’s donna’s bedroom as well, you know what I’m saying / there’s stuff in here / female stuff / all over the dresser and the floor, and strewn all over the crumpled bed sheets / oh yeah, female stuff / things / fancies / you know, stuff / like concentrated essence / way beyond
the music, the music...

sometimes 2spot will take me on a journey / a way back, through tune after tune, track after track, seeking the source / usually we’d start with a dance record / like a techzak monstrosity / these are best because they use samples / he’ll play me this one item, highlight the sample for me, and then play the record it originally came from / from there, he’ll show the history of that one particular beat, that one particular feel, usually all the way back to the blues

—that’s where it all comes from, he says / from out of the blues
there are so many journeys to go on, from so many starting points, towards so many goals / all the world of music is opening up for me / all the ways to make a noise, a tune / all the secrets, locked in the grooves / and it’s during one of these explorations that 2spot finally reveals a little of himself to me, a little of his life
this is how
one time we happen back to this weird-sounding music, all rattle and clatter and bang

—what the fuck is that? I ask

—that’s skiffle, 2spot says back / you’ve never heard of skiffle music?

—kinda

—kinda?

—tell me
and that starts him off

—skiffle / the 1950s / it’s the beginning of british pop music / the first real teenage music, came out of american folk and trad jazz / the white-trash version of black music / played at speed with a rocking beat / kinda like a british rockabilly / check it out
yeah, check it
thick guitar chords, blocked out simple / the spick and span of high, tinny riffs / hypnotic bass throb / the monster teeth rasp of something weird being scratched at

—what the hell’s that noise?

—a washboard

—a what?

—keep listening
the vocals that sing, loud and harsh, of a night on the town gone bad
johnny o johnny o
johnny o’ palaver
down at the piccadilly square
pulled out a blade on a roughneck shade
sliced him good and fair
ohh
he sliced him good and fair

2spot shows me the sleeve / it’s a long-playing record, vinyl / sealed tightly in cellophane

—I never play this, he says, not the original / I record the music onto cd / it’s just too valuable / it’s too valuable to play
johnny o johnny o
johnny o’ palaver
now they’re shaving his hair
long time a singing, soon come a swinging
high in the hangman’s snare
ohh
high in the hangman’s snare

—how much is it worth?

—it’s nothing to do with money / but to me / valuable to me
the cover / a black-and-white photograph / just these young guys, on a stretch of wasteland / playing their instruments / the 4 glamorous men perform ready steady skiffle!

—you see the bass there? says 2spot, pointing to the cover

—is that the bass? just a box?

—tea-chest bass / they made them themselves / it’s like a punk thing / do-it-yourself music / a tea-chest, a broom handle, some string

—jesus / really?

—yer can’t really get a tune out of it, just a rhythm / anyone could play it, that’s the point / but good sound, huh / what do you think?

—I’m not sure

—listen to that! you hear that guitar?

—I hear it

—imagine, eh, getting down to that / down to that level

I’m looking at the cover again

—they don’t look much like men, I say

—what’s that?

—the 4 glamorous men / I’m saying, they don’t look like men / too young / too young to be men / and not that glamorous, come to that

—that’s my granddad
he’s pointing to one of the musicians

—you’re kidding / this here?

—that’s him

—he played the guitar? you never said

—I’m saying it now / twenty years old, he was / this is where it starts

—bloody hell

—listen to him / go on, just listen

I look over at 2spot / l’m thinking he must be kidding, really, but the way he’s listening to the music, so intently, so passionately / and then look back at the sleeve, studying the figure pointed out / just a bloke, a young bloke that’s all, could be anyone / turn the sleeve over / the album was released in 1957 / there’s a track-listing, and a line-up / the guitar is being played by somebody called danny axle / I look back at 2spot / he’s still distant into the music, and it suddenly comes to me that I don’t even know this kid’s name / he’s my drummer, sharer of the rhythm, and I don’t know his real name / he’s just 2spot, the 2spot guy
turn the sleeve back over / front cover/ this young man standing on a pile of rocks, holding the big semi-acoustic guitar so proudly / I’m searching for resemblances / looking so closely, I almost miss the most obvious one / the hair / the bloody haircuts / they all have them, all four of them, and here’s 2spot right next to me, the very same / the quiff, the sideburns, the grease, everything

—what you laughing at? he asks

—nothing / well, the hair

—he gave me this cut, when I was a kid / taught me all the techniques / see?

he’s handing me a jar of something from the bedside table / dixie blossom, it’s called / inside, this goo, smells of lavender / lavender and something else / oh yeah / petroleum / lavender and petrol

—you put this on your hair?

—same stuff elvis used
he combs it into place, just to show me / and the smell, the flowery smell he carries around / this is where it comes from / real strong, this close up

—you got any more records like this one?

—more skiffle?

—more with your grandad playing?

he turns to look at me / it’s a strange look, almost fearful / I’m thinking maybe I’ve asked for too much, gone too far / he’s on the edge of putting the records away, turning off the system / it’s happened so many times before, cut by his moods / and then he suddenly relaxes, as though catching hold of something, at last

—sure / got loads / he made seven albums altogether

—seven?

—official releases
he’s searching through the collection, pulling albums out, one by one

—there’s a couple of bootlegs as well / and some unreleased stuff / I’ve got everything

—they have bootlegs, of skiffle?

—he wasn’t just into skiffle / he moved on / here you go
he hands me another six albums, added to the one I’m already holding / seven, altogether / the first two are by the 4 glamorous men / and the second of these really hits me / it’s called live at the 2spot

—your name? I say

—the 2spot was a club in manchester / long gone now
the cover shows the group standing outside a dingy-looking building / the club sign is a painted two of hearts

—so why call yourself that?

—I didn’t / grandad gave me the name / keep going
the next three albums are by the glamourboys, all from the sixties

—it’s the same basic group, says 2spot / a couple of changes, but very much his band / he would never stand still, didn’t know how to
and the last two albums by the glamour, from the early seventies / and I’m hit by the connections / the glamour names, and our name

—he was always on the far edge of making it big, says 2spot / the glamour was his best shot / like to hear some?

that question / I don’t know, it seems that all my life in some strange way has been hanging around for this moment / it’s nothing really, just two young men, and a smelly cat by the way, sitting on a floor-level unmade bed, surrounded by women’s underwear and the stench of hair gel, and listening to records together

—I’ll play you some glamourboys first, he says / they were his pop band / 1965
he finds a homemade cd from the collection, slips it into the machine, presses play / and the jittery strands of a guitar comes along, a web for the vocals

I was too young to know
how to fall in love with love
but I cried my heart out over you
and all the lonely tears
fall down in secret places
when I cry my heart out over you

—this is him singing? I ask

—that’s him

—sounds like the beatles

—yeah, well / you really didn’t have much choice back then, about how to sound / check the sleeve
ok/ further clues / the album’s called embrace you
the glamourboys embrace you
a moody, shadowed portrait, and there he is / danny axle, the quiff brushed forward and down into a fringe / no more grease, and strangely, he now looks a lot more like his grandson

—anyway, that’s the beat stuff, says 2spot
he presses a button to eject the music, suddenly impatient / picks out another cd

—now this is from 1968 / swirl, it’s called
the title track / all coloured beats and reverb up the arse and back / psychedelic mind-warp / with the requisite special effects, and words I can barely hear, from a million miles away
the clocks go blind
the days unwind
in the town of swirl
and all the jokes
are told in smoke
in the funny little town of swirl
it’s a nursery rhyme sung by a fool / a gentle fool, locked in a small room down the corridor from where all the other musicians are going crazy
and just as I’m getting into it, 2spot clicks it to a standstill / replaces it

—now this is the glamour / final album / the real thing / the best
it’s like he can’t keep up with the feelings
but such a change this time / like a half-remembered dance / I don’t know where I am anymore / songs of wanting and loss / songs of crazy

—bloody hell, 2spot / he went through some changes

—that’s what people did, before punk / all the music, yer know / all the music was there for the taking
all the music, so dark and ravishing / so sweetly taken
what the light considers
the dark of moon delivers
the sun that burns on midnight’s turn
devours and spits and shivers
oh, whatever the words can mean, the man can sing them / there’s a slow-motion soul to the voice, like the heart being squeezed, reluctantly, out of the mouth / and the lyrics made out of fragments, tangled images, episodes from a dream / and through the craziness, a fall of sadness / a fall of pop sadness, played on a cheap saxophone / also, there are certain elements in there, certain ideas that our band have picked up on / in a sense, 2spot is taking me on another journey / he’s showing me the roots of our own music / the source

—it’s a concept album, says 2spot

—about drugs, is it / sounds like

—don’t make fun of him / please

—I’m not / so what’s the story?

he shrugs / nothing doing / except to hand me the sleeve / the album’s called tainted vein, and there yer go, I was right / drugs / released in 1973 / and years later, giving us the house name / so much coming from so long ago
the glamour, down to a solo / drums, bass, guitar, vocals, keyboards, even the plastic saxophone, all played by the one guy / and here he is, getting older with every release / floppy hair now, a slight wave to it, a slightly dirtier blond / strangest of all, he’s wearing eye-shadow / imagine that, a grandad with painted eyes / but it’s 1973, isn’t it / glam rock / how old would he be / mid thirties, looks like / a bit too old for the game, maybe / and I keep calling him grandad, taking the cue from 2spot / his name is never mentioned
danny / danny axle

I look at 2spot / he’s looking back at me / intent stone-blue eyes, desperate, I think, for me to like the album

—he’s playing the drums on this?

—oh yeah / he taught me how to play / taught me everything / but you like it, right?

—he’s very talented / playing all these instruments, I mean
this seems to satisfy / 2spot relaxes a little

—what happened to him?

—he...

—what?

—he gave up / he tried once more, recording some stuff / but by then the whole punk thing had started / I don’t know / he didn’t like it

—what / he felt left behind?

—no / more than that / betrayed, I suppose / yeah, betrayed / you know, in manchester in the late sixties, a lot of the clubs were closed down by the police / fear of drugs, and all that / there weren’t many groups around after that, and no real places to hear music / and my grandad, he always felt he’d kept the spirit alive during that dark period / the spirit of the city’s music / and then the punk kids turned against him

—so this is the last recording?

—yeah / the glamour / the last real thing / and now it’s all mine

—what do you mean, all yours?

—the music, he left it for me / everything

—you mean, he’s...

you mean he’s dead / but I can’t complete the thought / and so we listen in silence for a while / as this broken voice sings faraway songs

—he made this music, says 2spot / it’ll be here for ever
for some reason, it feels like a secret being shared

—well, now I know where glam damage come from

—oh yeah, the name / all the way from there

—not just the name / but maybe why you’re such a good player

—what’s that supposed to mean?

and right there, just like that / all the closeness draining from his eyes

—you know / it must run in the family / I mean, does your father play as well...

—what?

—music / the music...

—fuck off

—jesus, 2spot, I’m just asking
thinking at first, maybe he’s upset I made out his talent came down to him / like a gift, rather than hard graft / but then he says

—you little fuck / what do you know?

realising / I’ve never heard him swear before / and it’s more than that, much more

—2spot...

—get out of here / get out of my fuckin’ room
degrees of pain, burning the face / the nerves set loose

—what’s wrong / tell me...

—get out!

—ok, I’m out / I’m gone
christ, what was all that about / like I’d snapped a string, middle of a riff / the guy was stretched tight / way too tight
and he never played me any more records / not ever, after that
not ever

freeze and scorch
but yer know / great days, great days
fuck it / I just gotta believe that, no matter what / no matter how cruel it all turned out in the end
not long after this incident with 2spot’s record collection, we’re down the club zuum studio one time, getting mad at ourselves / playing the scorched out for love tune, over and over / this is gonna be the first single, we all know that, and we’ve played it a thousand times already, recorded it every which way / stretched it, wrecked it, kicked it up the butt, twin-decked it / shoved the whole thing in the blender, to let the liquid mix do its thing
and I’m really feeling the bass these days / these few weeks with glam damage, getting myself connected / jacked into something sweet, at long last / makes me really want to get out there, show the world how these four strings can get to mean so much
but still / jody won’t give the word
november of the year, we’re shivering through the song / donna’s voice freezes as it comes out of her mouth, each note sparkling / and the rattle of her tambourine, like a ringing of crystals / the club’s heater has packed up, real bad / so we have a little two-bar electric fire / might as well be a photograph of heat stuck on the wall / none of us wants to be here except for jody of course, and she’s in a real crazy mood / fuelled up and shouting at us all the time / the mad fucker process
it’s all about changing how you play, to let the wave take you / you know that moment, that moment...

when the brittle edge of donna’s singing
we throw it all away
collapses into panic / just this schizoid swamp-fest of cracked samples, wildcat deck-scratches, crazy bass pulsations and 2spot’s mutant beats / the rhythm turns into jelly, disintegrating completely / pure noise, and you’re left thinking, how the fuck can people dance to this / the moment stretches, and then, and then, and then, out of the nowhere of it all, I start this bass lick / this really fine melodic fragment, deep in the chaos / gradually the other instruments pick it up, finding themselves again, building it, just waiting for that moment when
bang
jody hits a new sample, scratched live from the vinyl / a real buzzcocking splinter of a thing / hits the eardrums like shrapnel
donna does one line / pure black in the soul
and then start again
and we all hit the sharpness / head on and hardcore / with the drum, bass, word and groove / scorched out / all the way
and the drummer, the singer and the bass player, all turn to stare at the dj girl / as she takes the globe from the machine, gives it the remix shake / ah, you should see her these days, it’s like she knows the precise movements to make
plays it back
so loud / like a sunburst from the speaker cabs, almost sets fire to the studio / as the dj closes her eyes for a second or two / listens close / nods her head once or twice / opens up, and says something / says it softly

—what was that? we ask
and the dj says

—fine / we’re ready

E A D G
you hear that?

and now, we’re ready
a week later, I pack my few things together / stick them in my car / move in the house

I don’t even think about it

It’s so easy, there’s even no rent to pay / 2spot gives it free, like he gives it to donna and jody / all courtesy of his mum and the club zuum account / jesus, the kid’s being pampered
and mostly, it’s a pile of nothing that I bring around / only the smallest package really counts, and I’m not sure why
just these four antique bass strings, all tangled up together / the knotted loop of metal / all the teenage lustre gone from them / all the quiver and the spark / and the playfulness, played right out of them
but so what / so what the lustre, the quiver, the spark and the play?

been carrying them with me, haven’t I
oh yeah / I’ve been carrying them

powdering
my first night in the tainted vein coincides with one of 2spot’s mystery excursions / we never play without the drummer, which means that jody disappears down into the cellar, working alone on textures / and you know what that leaves, right?

all evening long, it leaves the singer and the bassist, getting well out of it at the big old curry-stained kitchen table / we have one bottle of wine, two bottles of wine, enough fags to last all week, the same amount of prime grass for donna / fat cat gallagher’s perched on the table top / I swear, this is the most stoned feline in the known universe, what with all this passive smoking it keeps on doing / so no wonder it wobbles and slinks and keeps on falling off things / and donna laughs at me for saying such things / which is strange, and good, and mixed with the wine and all, well / yer know
we talk and we talk
about music, of course, other people’s and our own / and our plans for the band / and the house and my doubts about moving in / and about how donna first joined the band, meeting jody at a record fair / oh, loads of stuff

—you always sang, donna? I ask

—no / well / only a little / I was at college before

—doing what?

—computers / yeah / programming, all that / ambitious, still am / I even had a job lined up, for when I left / but then / I got waylaid, I guess

—go on

—that record fair I mentioned / I found this copy of marvin’s here my dear, you know that one?

—marvin gaye / no, never heard it

—it’s his divorce album / amazing stuff / not really songs, just these incredible atmospheres that he sings on top of / anyway, so I’m standing there, looking at the sleeve, when I hear a voice beside me / you like that one? it says / and I say, yeah, never seen it on vinyl before / and the voice says, here, let me buy it for you / and she did, and it wasn’t cheap / collector’s edition

—and this was jody?

—this was jody / I ended up back at her flat / just this scruffy dump round the corner / and we got drunk together, listening to marvin sing / and then I started singing along, or trying to / jody picks up on this / said she had a song of her own

—which one?

—oh, one we don’t do any more / she said she was looking for a singer, just to test the melody out / just to see if it works / and well...

—it worked?

—never heard anything like it / never / except for marvin of course

—so that’s when the band started?

—no / I was still at college then / we swapped numbers / didn’t hear from her for a year, nearly / then a call, just from nowhere, saying she was ready to go now / ready to launch, and did I want in / ok, by that time I’d just started my first job, so I don’t know why I went round to see her, I really don’t / and by then she’d moved into this house

—oh, right

—oh right what?

—that’s when you met 2spot?

donna nods, looks away / takes another drag of cigarette / another slug of wine / it was the first mention all evening, of the drummer’s name
and all the time, from the cellar, the sound of twin-deck acrobatics making the floor shake
another song, being stretched from nowhere

—you all set for tomorrow? asks donna, bringing herself back to me

Tomorrow being saturday / down the zuum / when jody plays scorched out, first time ever

—what if it clears the floor? I ask

—jody will explode, I suppose / and we’ll have to duck
donna pours me another wine / and another / and another / so many, I’m getting the melt on, the good thing that booze does to the soul / and all the things that donna’s been saying / opening up / it’s making a tune in my head / making me want to reach out, to touch her arm / it’s been a while, such a long while, since I...

the tattoo there, the two of hearts, pulsing on her skin
it’s been so long, since I...

2spot’s mark
stop / stop it / stop it now

—do you have a girlfriend?

—what?

what’s she asking me?

—easy question / do you have a girlfriend?

—no

—no?

—I had a wife

—a what?

—you know, a wife

—you’re married?

—like / for two seconds / well, we still are / not divorced / not yet

—what happened, the drugs was it?

—the drugs / oh / just a part of it

—bloody hell, you’ve done a lot / for twenty-four, I mean

—whatever / I was only nineteen, when it happened / too young

—my age

—what / oh / yeah / anyway I was in this band / you know the tulips?

—you were in the tulips?

—yeah

—but / like they’ve had albums out and everything / in the charts and all that

—sure they have / but that was after I’d left

—so what happened / musical differences?

—not quite / you know the singer?

—with the tulips? yeah, gabriella, right / I’ve seen her on the tele

—well...

—what / oh come on / you were married to gabriella?

—still am / mad, isn’t it?

—but / but she’s / she’s...

—oh yeah / beautiful / absolutely / and I never did work out what she saw in me / but yer know, we were in love / madly in love / met and married just like that / just a crazy thing

—this is what, before the band started?

—yeah / we more or less started the tulips off / and they were good / a great band / sure, just your usual rock bollocks, but yer know / bloody good at it / and gabbs was a great presence / star quality / I really thought I was gonna make it / the big leap

—but it’s difficult, right, going out with someone in the band?

—you think so?

—I think so

—ok / I’d been into the drugs since whenever / just falling into it / falling in love with what they did to me, and where they took me / and gabby was having problems with that, fair enough / and the band was getting courted by the labels, big time

—what, they dumped you?

—ah / there was an incident

—an incident?

—you know, an incident / never mind what / I made a fool of them one night / right at a gig / I was seriously adrift / and there were maybe four or five, half-a-dozen label scouts in the audience / special gig, yer know

—fuck / but that’s no reason to get rid of you, is it?

—by that time...

—what?

—it was obvious to all concerned, what was happening / with gabbs and the guitarist / you know the lead guitarist?

—oh yeah / good-looking guy

—and they were writing songs together / all these fucking love songs

—jesus

—anyway, I wasn’t sticking around / and I haven’t done anything since, with music / well, nothing good

—till now?

—till now / and I wouldn’t mind, but the tulips / they’re still using my bass-lines
and I down a glass in one / feeling good, all that out of the way / with donna looking straight at me, a deep sadness playing in her eyes

—what’s wrong? I ask

—it’s jody I’m thinking about / yer know, she’s hooked up badly

—I guessed that

—well sometimes / sometimes I wanna leave / because it’s gonna get worse, right?

—unless she stops

—how? I mean, how did you?

—you get nasty on yerself, don’t you / one day

—just like that?

—that’s the start

—and now, you never would / the needle, I mean / that’s what you did, isn’t it?

—that’s what I did

—and now you never would?

—I can’t / I can’t answer that / anyway, why do yer want to know?

—about the needle?

—about the girlfriend

—curious / why you’re so lonely

—lonely / yeah well / I’m getting over it, I guess

—and anyway / I’ve been thinking about us

—us?

—2spot and me

—ah / you got a problem?

—you know something, elliot?

—tell me

—you remind me of him

—of 2spot?

—you not noticed that / that lonely thing / that’s why I picked you out

—you picked me?

—yeah, at the gig that time / that first night, playing the bass / I thought you could, yer know, get on with him / because he doesn’t have friends, not really / male friends / not at all

—and that’s it / that’s all yer want?

oh god / the way / the way she’s looking at me / and looking away

—so / where does he go then? I ask / when he takes off like today?

—I don’t know

—he doesn’t tell you?

donna shrugs / she’s knifing out two lines of coke / and it makes me shake, just seeing it

—isn’t that strange, donna / I mean, with 2spot / why not / why not tell you / I mean, for instance, what’s his real name?

—2spot’s name? axle, isn’t it?

—his first name

—I don’t know

—you don’t know his first name?

another shrug / as she rolls up a five pound note / and then she says

—sometimes...

—yeah?

—I think he’s got somebody else / you know, another love

—another woman?

hanging onto this now / hanging on

—a woman / no / another group, silly / now that would be the end of us / because without 2spot, what would we be?

she sniffs up one line of powder

—you don’t mind me doing this?

—no / yeah / well, yer know... whatever

—oh sorry / shit / I’m being stupid / sorry

—no / it’s ok / actually...

—what?

—I will

—shit / you will / I mean / you will?

—why the fuck not?

—but...

—give it here
oh let’s not think about this / let’s just grab the note out of her hand / stick it up the nostril, pinch shut the other / and then I’m sucking / sucking me that cloud of dust

—you ok?

—what?

—you ok?

—shit, yeah / oh yeah

—I don’t know...

—ah no / it’s fine / donna, it’s fine / ok / ah...

ah yeah / it’s got me hearing noises, whispers / a skullbuzz of static / and a tune that keeps circling / kinda fits in with the way that jody’s shaking the floor from down below

—he played me some records, I say / 2spot did / by his grandad

—what / danny? you know about danny?

—yeah, danny axle, that’s it

—he played you that glamour album / good, isn’t it?

—yeah / all that / all that music, yer know / like that...

—what / elliot, what is it?

—I don’t know

—what’s that look about?

—what look?

—that look

—don’t know, don’t know / oh yeah / the music / about his family / 2spot’s family / and the music, and all that / anyway, I said something to him

—ah / tricky subject

—I know, I know / he bit my head off

—he does the same to me

—he does?

—elliot / he’s mad

—what / 2spot / what do yer mean?

—oh / not mad / just / well / there’s something wrong with him, isn’t there / I mean, I love him stupid and all that / the rhythm thing / but still...

—what is it?

she’s looking at me / looking right at me / whispering...

—come on
and now, and now / she’s standing up / how did she manage that?

—where to?

—bedroom

—oh / right / yeah
jesus...

forbidden songs
she’s out of the room before I even know it / and when I get to the foot of the stairs, it looks like a million steps away, whatever’s happening / shit / that coke has done me in, on top of the wine / too much / and with every step climbed, it seems I focus more and more on myself, on what I’ve done and how stupid I’m being / until, by the top, I feel quite cold / almost in control / but then I’m looking around the landing, thinking, which bedroom did she mean / mine / or hers?

well / mine’s still piled high with rubbish / a little part of my mind saying, I’ll have to get that cleared, before I sleep tonight / and another little part saying / wherever I sleep tonight...

donna’s room / she’s there, sitting on the bed / bathed in red light

—close the door, she says

—why are we whispering?

—you know, we shouldn’t be doing this

—no

—because we’re cheating on him

—right / erm...

—well sit down then
and then I’m beside her / donna’s bed / 2spot’s bed / their shared bed / and the cat’s bed as well / bloody cat, following me everywhere / even to the edge of love / and donna says

—because I shouldn’t be playing you this

—playing me?

and I see now / she’s holding a record sleeve

—I got this from jody’s room
she gives me the thing

—oh

—what’s wrong?

—nothing / I thought...

oh stupid / so stupid
looking down / a garish cover / I try to focus/ the photo floats an inch above the sleeve, and then falls into place / street scene, some ugly-looking teen punks / dressed like anorexic crows, with low-slung guitars / rabid scissor-shock of hair / the album’s called skull, oh yeah, by the figs / on the back, four portraits, four names
mondo, fluxus, deezil, mule

—it’s 1977, says donna

—I’ve heard of these / they played the last night of the circus / october 77

—that’s right, says donna / I’m impressed / they never get mentioned

—near everybody was playing that night / the end of the line

—there’s a buzzcocks bootleg, from the gig

—yeah

—jody sampled it / nicked a guitar line, for scorched out

—jesus / that’s obscure

—oh yeah / that’s jody for yer / you want to hear some?

—buzzcocks?

—the figs?

donna hands me a set of headphones

—what’s this for?

—I can’t listen to it, she says

—why not?

—against the law

—against the what?

—never mind / just listen

I look at the sleeve / the first song / good times, bad times

—are you ready? I’m turning it up

—what?

oh / shit / the noise / the shock-blast noise of it / right around the brain, captured there / blistering / bursting fire from ear to ear / and the vocals, screaming / speed fire / like a knife fire, scraping flesh / clean off the bone
good times, bad times! good times, bad times!

—Christ!

even the good times turn out bad!

ripping the headphones off

—what’s wrong? says donna, grinning / I thought you liked punk

—not this, not this

—what’s it like?

—believe me / this is bad / really bad punk

—only, you mustn’t tell 2spot / that I let you hear it

—why not?

—it’s his dad

—what?

it takes a while / everything slowed down, suddenly
until I’m looking at the sleeve again / the figs album / these four guys / mondo, fluxus, deezil, mule / all the players, slowed down / until every detail stands out

—which one is he? I ask

—I’m not sure

—fuck / what is it with 2spot / why’s he so tight?

—he hates his father / really hates him

—why?

—you mustn’t tell him I played this, you absolutely mustn’t / he doesn’t even know that jody’s got the album / they’re banned from the house

—donna, this is stupid

—I know, I know / it’s just that / oh / something happened

—what happened?

—something nasty / he won’t talk about it / he never talks

—tell me
there’s a sound of movement from jody’s room / she must’ve come up from the cellar / and before I can say a word, donna puts her finger to my lips, to keep me quiet / and all my body seems to be concentrated in that one spot, where her fingers touch my mouth / my eyes are drawn to hers / magnetic to the moment

—he’s in prison

—who is?

said around the finger / the touching finger

—the dad, 2spot’s dad

—what for?

—I don’t know

—donna...

—don’t say anything

—donna? what’s happening? our eyes lock / so dark, with midnight-blue tears / I’m suddenly, intensely, aware of the colour of her skin / the difference we make, against each other / she takes her hand off my lips, touches her own with the wet fingers / jody is banging about next door, but I swear / we aren’t making any noise, none at all
silence
donna leans over, closer
closer...

the love scene
and then I’m waking up, trying to anyway / I can’t find the doorway, the exit sign / sometime and somewhere / it’s the last night at the electric circus, I’m trapped there / with this band called the figs playing in my head, real loud / but they’re playing our tune for some reason / scorched out for love / and playing it so loud and so badly that the song’s heavy black presence has entered my sleep, pressing a shadow onto me, strangling / the music, the music / I’m caught in the middle of pushing the song away, caught forever, when I manage to climb upwards somehow / swimming upwards, through the shadows and the fur of the music
the fur of the music?

gallagher the cat is sitting on my chest / that single eye staring mad / the whole black moon of his enveloping pupil

I’m in my own bed, my own room / all the rubbish lies around, just dumped to one side / it’s dark, but with a pale translucent shine from the window / a diseased streetlamp / l grope for my watch / ah, it’s on my wrist, still / green figures bleeding at the edges / I pull the thing close, closer still

3.17
oh / get the fuck off me, mangy fucker!

what happened?

everything’s quiet in the house, except for a strange, distant, unearthly noise / takes me a while to realise it’s coming from inside my head / the dull fuzz of wine and drugs, a paste clinging to the skull / shit / I took some coke tonight / why the fuck did I do that / why the fuck?

that mustn’t happen again / that mustn’t
that really mustn’t happen again
and now / I’m lying on top of the sheets, fully clothed / trouble is, I can’t remember when I came to bed, fell into bed / fell onto the bed / something like that
that mustn’t happen again / that mustn’t
and then I get this sudden, urgent desire to piss
the bathroom’s along the corridor, past 2spot and donna’s room / and then past jody’s / no noise from either of them / I turn on the light / screeching, the little room lurches white-hot into me / jesus, like I’ve sucked the porcelain into my eyes / dirty, scummed up / a fat black spider darts like a blindness / and I take off in the opposite direction, hitting the wall / a picture falls to the floor, exploding
fuck / christ, that was loud / ok, ok / I’m keeping still, collecting the air in my lungs / waiting, waiting / and then finally, breathing
no noise / only the spider’s tiny legs sliding on the porcelain, and the sound of my head, swimming through itself / so I do the business, and it takes an age and it makes a terrifying sound / but all the time I’m completely and utterly focused on a small, pink stain on the wall in front of me / remnants of the dream, still revolving / and I’m being watched, of course / gallagher’s sitting on the bare floorboards, gazing intently at my willy and the piss that flows from it, never-ending
on the way back, I put my ear against donna’s door / I’m sure I can hear something now, quiet noises from within / music, the saddest music / I’m trying to remember what happened between us, earlier on / was it good, was it bad / was it nothing whatsoever / was I even there when it happened?

something happened / nothing happened

I knock gently on the bedroom door
there’s no answer / the noises continue / I knock again, slightly louder, and now surely that’s a woman’s voice, calling / softly, invitingly
under gallagher’s baleful eye I open the door
oh

2spot’s back / he’s come back / I didn’t hear him come back
the scene arouses itself from the darkness, takes shape / 2spot’s lying on his back, wearing a tee-shirt / it’s the least I’ve ever seen him wearing / donna’s leaning over him, administering a caress / gently murmuring / and I shouldn’t be here / I really should just walk away / slowly, quietly, forgetting with every step / yeah, do that
but 2spot’s body is different from how I expected / somewhat leaner, more stretched / and I’m drawn to the sight, as though to a film, a slow-moving dirty video / it’s the city’s filtered moonlight that dirties them, not the act itself, which seems muted, almost surreal / translating 2spot’s blond hair into a gleam of blackness ah
it’s not 2spot
he didn’t come back
it’s jody

I see it now / a flattened landscape ridged only with bone / a shadowed hermaphrodite, prone to receive / so peaceful in the waiting, she looks to be asleep / donna hovers tenderly, to give the love needed / and I notice almost accidentally that donna, like myself, is still fully clothed / she turns now, slowly around, her head moving as though through clouded air / I’m not even sure if she knows I’m here, not really / a shadow in the room
gallagher pads silently towards the bed / and leaps
uh
it’s not love
it’s not love that’s being given
unless a syringe be love
and pulsed flesh
donna pushes the message home, into jody’s arm / so gently I can hardly believe that anything will be squeezed out / and then I feel a swirling, as though inside my own sweet, dissolving veins

H
the magic letter
the needle digs deep, makes feed / and something gets tempered
donna looks at me once again, this time seeing me for sure / and for the second time that night she puts a finger to her lips
as though to keep me quiet
or else replace a kiss

Bass Instruction Manual

To wake the strings so tightly bound, let slide
The finger’s nub along the neck from fret
To fret; from bridge to nut, the tones collide
To sound a joyous air! And yet, and yet...

If root of base desire the song deny
In tempting play of lover’s serenade,
No matter then how crafted skill apply:
Inside the heart remains a note, mislaid.

plug me in, one time
did yer ever get danced / get skinned / did yer?

did you get some dance inside / ail the way inside
and did yer blood start moving with it / singing with it / did yer sweat some?

I did / I got some, got me some / got me some dance, oh serious
loaded up on floor-thrill
like a bootleg rhythm-kill
and did yer ever get so danced, like yer couldn’t feel any more where you ended and the floor began / and the crowd / did yer get some crowd / did yer get some serious bootleg-type crowd right up inside your skull?

I did / got me some crowd like I couldn’t feel any more
where the ending of the skin began
and where the crowd dissolved

drench and squeeze
and dissolve, into each other / the one great beast of love that dancers make / when the music grabs their hearts, spins them around, makes something new of them / even with the cheap-core slabs of noise, pounding from the speakers / no mercy / some deep-down concrete kiss of rhythm, to get the arse in gear
techzak / operation obliterate, down the club zuum

Saturday night packed / enough to get the walls sweating / some kinda tingle skin-crawl / the noise and the lights and the lager and the shots and the one too many lung-drags on cheapo ciggies / all doing the business / also, I’m still suffering from last night’s mishap / and I really do need another drink / right now / oh yeah, but where’s the bar, who moved the bar / and how come all nightclubs dissolve like this, around about this time of an evening / like I need a beacon-guide or a map or something.

radar sonics / jody’s on the decks / dj fever / and I know she hates playing this fleshcore stuff, except for the money it pulls / and what the fuck / nasty plastic beat mechanics / I let them drag me along / right out, onto the floor
dancers dancing, dance around me / and dancing around me, dancers dance
but wet through already, you know, and going under / swirl of hot / skulldrill in four time / I can’t get the rhythm / don’t even want to, but the club’s banging down hard / oh yeah / jody’s really shaking up the floor / transmitting black song up the ankles, thighs, dick, stomach and lungs / to the neck, the mouth, the networks of the head / where the tune gathers, explodes, becomes pure thought / floats free, top of the skull / gets caught in the lights, becomes a swarm of noise / starts to hammer back down
when someone pushes against me / falls against me
some dancer thrown by the music / all twisted sweated doubt like he can’t believe what’s happening to him / and then gone / caught by new rhythms / ok, jody’s on the mix, working the transition so good between the heavy, heavy pounding
and this creeping new arrival
two records, playing at the same time, each fighting for breath / chaos twisters / tendrils of beat reach out, discordant, grab the sound, transform it / pulling apart, dragging bits of each tune between them
the dancers lose step momentarily, filling the rhythm void with shouts and cries / arms rising upwards, fingers stretching to pierce the laser beams, to grab at smoke / as the records gel, become one, you can actually hear the first tune being eaten alive by the second / great clusters of sound enveloping, and the crowd loves every moment / a massive cheer goes up / new beat / acceptance / let’s dance!

but the new tune won’t keep still enough for them / just flecks of noise, here and there / a wild scattering / no glue / but clouds and clouds and clouds and clouds and clouds / and twisting / turning / twisting turning away, away, away
jody’s voice / chanting over the system, goading the crowd / telling them about the new sound / the glam damage sound / crying out

—bring it on, come on / bring on the damage / glam it up / come on / glam it up high!

it’s the song / the liquid song / the glam damage song / our song / our fuckin’ song / scorched out on the floor / and we’re losing it / losing the crowd / because where’s the beat / where’s the stickiness / hands fall, arms drop down, whistles grow blunt / dancers move in slow circles, searching / some of them are leaving the crush / making space around me
what the fuck is jody doing / like, where’s the fuel?

until / suddenly / I hear myself come in / from nowhere, the bass painted so loud, so deep / it smothers the room / BOOM! one more time, come on / sonic BOOM! the floor cries with the feeling / blood pulse in fluid time / now 2spot, drum-distorted, enters the mix / like a panic attack, a mad battery, electric pulses / cracking the air, wide wide open / and it gets them somehow, just a few of them / just a few brave, foolish dancers who dare to find something within all this noise / because it has a beat all its own, and a subterfuge / the hidden rhythm / beneath, beneath, beneath the beneath / where the lone dancers dance, finding each other in the crowd’s hard stare / passing a virus / it becomes a show, an exhibition, a parade of strange
something that only a few can do / therefore, a code
a rough circle forms / sad laughing strangers, who can only watch the process / this sudden popping of the limbs any which way / this surprise collapsing of the hips and knees, jellified / and the slow pattern of the feet, like a wash of mathematics on the dance floor / flow diagrams, moving not to the beats but the frequencies / jody’s chanting again, the words through a lowdown pitchfilter

—scorched out for love / coming home to yer / I said coming home to yer / damage style!

I count the dancers / six, seven / now eight, nine / and while waiting for the tenth, across the circle I see donna’s face staring at me / staring straight at me, that flash of symmetry, the never-ending smile / all the way across the nightclub / light bulb to light bulb, filter to filter / speaker to speaker / and heart to heart / and right on cue, jody brings the singing in
waiting for the world to learn
the contours of your skin
it’s so tender / that somehow the dj’s fingers have raised the words up from the original mix / or else the liquid flows around to meet itself / and not just the sound, but the fact that donna, the singer, is here to catch the song / just the fact that she’s here, listening / and that I’m here, watching her / and so tender, that jody’s up in the box, playing this song of mad love
that’s the way of the world my friend
when a world comes to an end
and then 2spot is here as well / back from wherever / putting his arms around donna / the loving arms / curling round, to find out the secret rhythms / the skin’s rhythms / and I wonder how much / I wonder how much he knows, really / about donna / about jody / about himself / and what they all get up to in the dark
we throw it all away
to start again
as another person gets the beat / and another, and another / filling up the floor with a love that’s never pure
ah shit, when all the broken children learn to dance

check the technique
and now / and now with jody in the booth, working the groove / down below the people move / I’m standing beside her, watching the skill / her two hands, in circles of magic that skim over the turntables / crossfading between them, working the records / two different vinyl mixes of scorched out
strictly private edition / direct from the globe / white label dreams
dragging beats from the deep / at the same time, a random globemix of the song is playing from the wave playback equipment / this is newly installed, still secret, and the crowd just don’t know what’s happening / it’s wild / three mixes: two stilled, the other fluid / and jody playing havoc with the patterns between them
she turns down the booth system / quiet enough to speak over

—you see now / we get them on vinyl / mix them around / add in the globe / juicy, eh?

kids are banging on the door, demanding to know what the sound is / jody ignores the calls, all of them

—make them wonder, elliot / make them fuckin’ wonder
oh yeah / the hidden currents

I step towards the glass, gazing down into the club pit / swallowing the sight of it, the flood down there, the one huge flood of dance / magnetic attractions / because the liquid can’t stop flowing / the music won’t stop being played / the dj can’t stop the mixing / and the people can’t do anything but move their butts around

—now watch this, says jody
she takes a second globe from the dj box / shakes it up, good and proper / now a knife appears / a thin blade / she’s twisting the blade into the globe, the top of it, where the sealed valve is / what’s she messing with?

move closer / move closer to find out
she’s opened it somehow / jesus / some trick of the dj’s wrist / squeezing something / oh yeah, a plastic eye-dropper / filling it with the stuff / a small vial / and then / and then / and then / oh listen, and then...

she squeezes the drops of liquid onto one of the records / and more drops, onto the other / and then does the expert scratching thing / the needle sliding through the grooves so smoothly now
makes the music slip away and slither / become a river
of fuck / jody turns up the monitors, right off the scale / and it’s like the whole club is moving through space, taking off, going into orbit
just floating away

33 and a third rpm / bpm infinity
more demands from the booth door

—what the fuck is that / what the fuck is that you’re playing / what is it!

I look down once more, through the glass, to the floor / where all the people now crowd, lost to the melting / even donna, donna and 2spot / down there, lost together
in the melting of the plastic
zoom fever
the whole place caught tight and released, in the wave of knowledge passing from the dj’s fingers / lost and found, to the dancers’ hearts / and the only thing I can’t quite trace
is where the hell do I fit into the mix?

scorched out, club zuum remix
broken crazy dance noise of the samples
down in the stretch-out with bass overloading
the black vinyl splice of liquid tactics
lost
in the hidden BOOM knowledge chant
loop-dancer dripping a deep lament
of mad magic scatter honey
found
exploding bootleg skin splinters
nerve poison scraped from the shimmer
working a pop-drag screech from the heart
lost
and taking a hit from blade strings
injection’s dance fires up the groove glide
along the decks of tripwire
found
in the snare-time rain of cymbals drumfalling
through scratches of rhythm stolen and kissed
kaleidofunk dissolving
lost
in the tangle and crackle

beneath the buttons
somewhere later / I find donna lost in the dance / all on her own, out on the edge of the floor, making a trapped pattern / all her body, caught in motion / the drink in her hand, spilling

—donna?

—uh

—donna, come here

—what?

her eyes / fixed on some wingbeat, invisible / some place in the song, where the feelings float away easy / scorched out for ever / new versions, new rhythms to catch the crowd with / the floor’s packed / I have to shout in donna’s ear, full blast

—donna, what’s wrong with you?

—nothing

—what happened last night?

—last night?

—did you take some, with jody / did you?

—I love you

—what?

—I love you, elliot / l fuckin’ love you, I do
ok / she’s out of it / well out

—and I love you too, donna
the beer spills down her dress

—here
she’s holding the glass out towards me

—take it
shit

I take the glass / swallow the beer in one / and then donna’s holding me by the arm / quite softly

—what’s wrong? I ask

—it’s 2spot

—what about 2spot?

she looks away from me / out into the crowd / right to where the dancing finds its centre / and I follow her eyes, all the way through / and then I push through myself, forcing a way
the people are not dancing
they’re just watching, circling around
watching some lonely lone dancer, dancing alone / caught in his own space

2spot
immaculately in time / with all the liquid groove that jody pours down
and I can’t believe what I’m seeing / 2spot, with his jacket off / his shirt off / his sweat-covered chest, stomach and arms, all on view / and crisscrossing all the flesh...

marks of the knife
cuts and splices / grooves and slices / scabbed and fresh / opened / and closed / and reopened / in a map of pain / all scratched out / in blood recorded / remixed
and then
broken

underground jam
and now, and now, and now / beneath the dancing
studio bound
the wall clock, at one glance it tells me two o’clock / and five minutes later, ten past midnight

I can’t remember how I got this stretched out / full-length on the floor, a cushion against the wall to support my shoulders / with this head full of singing, like I’ve swallowed a voice, a stranger’s voice / 2spot’s moving around the instruments, the drum kit and the decks, searching for something / he’s making a strange chirping sound

—what have yer lost? I ask him
nobody hears me / nobody’s paying any attention to me / jody’s putting on a record, just for us / scorched out, one more version / liquid ambient style / donna’s chattering away to herself, so happy with the way the song went down tonight / wasn’t she all upset, only a while ago / was that tonight, I wonder / seems like another planet / and 2spot / still doing the strange noise routine / fully clothed, wasn’t he half naked earlier / and covered with stars / stars?

scars, I mean / covered with scars
when was that?

I raise a hand to my face / damp with sweat, and barely there beneath the fingers
look at the clock / quarter past three already / jesus, but somebody really should get that thing fixed

2spot is still making that funny noise and looking behind the amplifier cabs / now he’s rubbing his fingers together, like some kind of secret rhythm

—you want some of this? asks jody

I look over / the dj’s pouring out the drinks / she’s really messing with the preparation / doing what? and with what? and what’s that in her hand?

—we can’t start unless we’re all here, says 2spot
and I’m wondering just what it is we can’t start, and who else needs to be here to start it / but then the drinks get handed around / bourbon / and the first sip, the burn so sweet, so scorching
so scorched out, all the way down
gets another tune going / counterpoint to the one already lodged within me
so I lie back and let the music happen / we are the glam damage, I think to myself / we are the damagers of glamour and here we live our lives, like glamorous damage
from the way my head is angled, I can see behind one of the amps / right into the shadows where the music lives / and I fix on that point, right there where the shadow starts to move / where the music starts to move in the shadows, prowling out from the amp like a cat / and then it is a cat, a black and sooty cat

—gallagher!

—at last, there you are, says 2spot

—what’s the cat doing here? I ask

—he came with us, says donna

—did he?

2spot is letting the cat lick at the drink in his glass

—what’s he doing to that cat?

—feeding it, says jody

—leave that cat alone

—ah, the guy’s floating, says 2spot
is he talking about me?

—I thought he could take his drink
is he talking to me, or the cat?

—I can drink you under the / under the / under the...

—go on then, he says / drink yer drink
so yeah, whatever

—you like that? says the cat

—oh yeah / it’s got a kick
and then 2spot’s laughing at me / and donna, laughing also / and the cat, laughing / and even jody laughing / who’s never been seen to laugh before, so I really must’ve taken one too many one too many

I really must / somehow / get myself / on / my / feet

—you want some more? says jody

I roll over / 2spot’s pouring more whisky into my glass / and jody’s kneeling beside him, holding something over the drink
a tube of glass, it looks like / bulbous and soft at one end / sharpened / sharpened down to a blue vanishing
squeeze
jody makes a slow squeeze of the bulb
ah / it’s a...

and a tiny blue droplet appears / on the vanishing
and drops / slowly
slowly
splosh!

into my drink
ah
what’s this?

—go on then, says donna, coming close / drink yer drink

—give him more, says 2spot
and squeeze

I see now / the eye-dropper in her hand / and I’m trying to remember where I saw such a thing / why, not that long ago...

slowly, slowly / squeezing the bulb, for another drop of burning blue liquid
and for some reason my eyes won’t let go of the sparkle of it
falling now
and
splosh!

into my drink

—more for everyone, says 2spot
and then jody’s moving around, doing the magic drop routine into all the glasses
and the realisation comes to me then
oh shit / she’s putting the music / the tune / the wave / into my drink, into all our drinks / and all of them / jody, 2spot and donna / they’re drinking the drinks
now they turn as one to look at me

—what’s wrong? asks 2spot / don’t you like it?

—he loves it, says donna

—he fuckin’ loves it, says jody

—fuckin’ well loves it rotten, says the cat
until all the voices mingle
mingle / falling / tingle / singing
like a song in my
like a song
like a

bass addiction
alone / alone / alone now
studio bed / waking from / waking up from / coming to / coming round from / with no knowledge of / no knowledge / having moved, from the floor / the room is empty / only the cat to tell me I’m still the same person, in the same place / at the same time
the clock / it reads half past one / which can’t be right, can it / it must be later than that / because scorched out is still playing / and nothing lasts for ever
not even music

I don’t know where donna, jody and 2spot have got to / and to be honest I don’t care / only one thing matters / adding some noise to all the noise that was ever made
to stop the tune from ever ending / ever ending
the fender’s at home, but the studio’s got a house model / nothing fancy, just four strings and a body and an amp to plug it into / the world / and I play / along with the track, new lines / spirals and showers / pulses and kicks / and all the flames and the licks of the wrist / no tricks, not slick / just the flick of a switch and a hit from the tips of the fingers / a riff that lingers / over samples and singers / and the twin-deck ninjas
and 2spot’s drumming, forever becoming
ah listen / it’s the best goddamn bass I’ve ever played, all my life
and it gets me thinking about how my playing has just got better and better, since joining glam damage / putting it down to a good band at last, and a girl to impress
but now
recalling all the drinks I’ve been downing, and what the hell was being put in them...

oh fuck
they really took me, didn’t they?

they really fucking took me

making strange

I find the band upstairs in the little kitchen / all gathered around the electric stove

— turn it up, says donna

—yeah, says 2spot / more heat, more heat

—I’m doing it, says jody / I’m doing it
push through
there’s a pan on the stove, quite small / a circle of cooking foil crimped over the top of it / aluminium soft / the foil bulges / pulses / as though something is trapped inside

—what the fuck?

on the work surface beside the stove / four globes / all empty / all with the seals broken

—ah, the bassman, says 2spot

—how yer feeling? says donna

—fucked over

—yeah / well...

—well nothing / what the hell / since when, since when / doping my drinks, all the time / since when / since the first rehearsal / the juice / you can’t do that to a person / you can’t do that!

donna shrugs

—got yer funky

—jesus!

—and that’s just by drinking it

I’m almost / almost, almost...

—elliot, says 2spot / if you gonna hit her, you’ll have to hit all of us

—we all did it, says jody / you up for that?

—ah!

I hit out at the first thing / the first innocent thing / gallagher / just send that cat flying
shrieks and hisses / and then silence in the room / donna, jody and 2spot, all looking at me / these three faces / I’ve known them, what / five, six weeks / not long, and not much / but jesus, I have some love for them / I do, believe me

—do they know about this?

I’m pointing at the contraption on the stove

—who?

—the makers?

it just gets them laughing, and why not

—fine, you’re all mad

—come on, says 2spot / who’s first?

—me, me! says donna

—donna...

—elliot, let me do this

I can hardly think straight about what’s going on / just watching from the sidelines as 2spot sticks a drinking straw through the foil / blue smoke rises up it, reaching the end where his thumb traps the outlet
the singer bends down / and one more time I say

—donna, please / you don’t know what it’ll do
and then 2spot removes his thumb, letting donna get her lips in there, clamped around the straw / the smoke swirls up the tube, into her mouth / immediately she pulls back

—don’t cough, says 2spot / just don’t start coughing
he’s got his finger over the straw again, watching all the time as donna takes the smoke down into her lungs
finally

—ah
she breathes out / through the nostrils / clouded

—shit / that’s hot
and then we’re all just looking at her / waiting
until she smiles

—well / I’m alive

—what’s it like? asks jody

—nothing yet / a bit dizzy

—jody? says 2spot / your turn
and have you noticed / how 2spot’s in charge tonight / this music thing, it’s changing him / the cold passion, the crazy control / all the things we love his drumming for, now made real / and the smoke he holds in his hands / within his hands / in his beautiful playful hands
jody comes forward / takes her hit / no trouble

—there you go, says 2spot / easy does it
then he turns to me

—bassman?

I shake my head / no

—you shouldn’t have done it, I say

—what, make you brilliant?

—you should’ve said

—and have you refuse?

donna wanders past me, out the door / her eyes are already far away

—oh yeah, says jody / let’s make some music / come on you two
and she follows donna / leaving 2spot and me, in the tiny kitchen

—I might not have refused, I say to him

—yeah, there’s that / come on, sit down

2spot searches in a drawer one-handed / finds a wooden clothes peg / with this he crimps the straw shut / then he sits at the dirty table, and I slide in opposite

—you know, he says / I absolutely loved tonight / didn’t you?

—it’s good

—all them people / dancing like that

—2spot, it’s the liquid

—I know

—it’s the liquid doing the work, making us good

—so?

—it’s...

—it’s what? cheating? oh come on, bassman / it’s what you put in / it’s different now / bands won’t be the same, once this takes off / it’s not about finished product anymore / it’s the process / we’re making the process happen, that’s all we’re doing

—but smoking it?

—might not do anything

—drinking it...

—drinking it makes you play the bass like you never did / so then / maybe smoking turns you into the best player of all time / just on the off chance, what do you say?

again, I shake my head

2spot looks away and then back, and then turns cold / he gets a grip on my arm, a drummer’s grip / down hard

—do you believe, he asks / that every human being has the right to damage themselves?

—jesus, what a question

—you spent some years doing it

—yeah, but / and get off my arm

—well, do you? do you believe in the right?

—you know the answer, 2spot

—of course I do / as long as no one else is damaged along with them

—aye, that’s the excuse / but damage reaches out, into the world / it reaches out anyway / family, friends...

—your wife?

—donna told you?

—she tells me everything

—does she?

—I know you like her, elliot

—do you?

—and you know I’ve had trouble / in my life?

—some / donna wouldn’t say

—she doesn’t know / not really

—you don’t treat her right, 2spot / yer just don’t

—nobody knows / nobody
finally, he releases me from his grip

—elliot / this is all that matters to me

—what / drugs?

—no, the music / it’s the only thing I’ve got

I see all the pain in his eyes, trapped there

—2spot...

—the only thing

—what is it / what’s happened?

—the music, the music...

he’s shaking his head / gently, side to side / some frozen rhythm he can’t escape / his eyes, wet / and his shirt / open at the neck, so unusual / and just about seen there / the scars / what makes that / what makes somebody do that to themselves?

ah / if I could only reach out to him / touch him

—the music...

but nobody can

I look over at the stove / the thin plastic straw / the smoke inside it, gathered ready / stand up, go over / unclamp the peg / the smoke starts to escape

I let it drift for a second or two
and then I stop the end of the straw with my thumb

—2spot...

—uh

—come on then
slowly, he stands up / turns to face me

—just the once, mind

—oh definitely, just the once
he comes to the stove / and the strangest thing / he holds my hand / he holds my hand as he bends to the straw / I let go the smoke, and he sucks
and then / quickly now / I do the same
hot / the bitter taste / and yet sweet / like all the dreams I’ve been having lately
and out / release / engaged to the sun / one time, two time / hands still holding / and 2spot’s face, turned on

—what now? I say

—we go and play, what else
so, down the stairs to the studio / gentle and slow / I can’t feel anything, beyond the very slow and gentle world we all live in / down to where the dj and the singer are sitting on the bed together / gallagher curled up between them

—ah, we didn’t give the cat any, says the drummer

—the cat’s had enough, says the bass player
the drummer sits down on the floor near the bed / drums forgotten / and the bass player sees the bass standing against the wall / and he leaves it there / because now he’s on the floor as well / with music playing / somewhere, a globe spinning / spinning, as the bass player crawls over to the bed, to join the singer, the dj and drummer there / a taste of flowers, petrol, as the bass player’s face presses against the drummer’s hair / and the cat, purring like crazy
all the air that gathers, seems blue like the smoke / like the smoke in the lungs, in the veins / and blue / like the music
only the cat seems deeply black / the bass player reaches out / to stroke the fur
the world is a blue sunrise and he can’t think why, especially when his hand goes right through the cat’s fur / like smoke
right through the cat’s skin
right through into the cat
the burning hot-flesh insides of the cat
and the bass player follows his hand all the way through

smoked out for love, punk filter dissolve
all the way through
lost in the drumfall
dripping caught and twisted splinters
scratching tactics mad magic
rhythm skin explosion
kaleidosonic scatter of bass fire
turntable BOOM honey funk
deep in the bootleg

taking a drag from the loop dancer vinyl
amplifying samples
down along the decks of tripwire heart glide
smoking the grooves
scraped from the shimmer of BOOM song
waiting for the world to
bruise crackle pop dissolve

the noise the noise

kaleidopunks
oh / shit / the noise / the shock-blast noise of it / right around the skull, captured there / blistering / bursting fire from ear to ear / and the vocals, screaming / speed fire / like a knife fire, scraping flesh / clean off the bone
shit / what is this song?

burst guitar / hammer clang / breaking, falling / all the cries of madness / so bitter / choked, spat rapid, crippled, thrown aside
good times, bad times!
good times, bad times!

oh yeah, that’s the one / so now I’m pushing through the crowd / to the edge of a creaking balcony / looking down on a four-piece band, like a blow of raging / and a singer who spits out garble / spike of the tongue, plunging, blurred to the brain
even the good times turn out bad!
even the good times turn out bad!

rhythm cut / pulled along / feeling the music skip like a vinyl jag / like someone spins my clock around / all around the turntable, just a few seconds / blackness, folding / and then jerked apart
oh yeah / hi there / the name’s elliot / elliot hill
down / down tight / and tighter now / down on the floor / caught in the pack, the jumping flesh machine, with the jagged spikes / and there on the stage, glimpsed at the top of every leap / it’s the figs / the fuckin’ crappy figs band / and I can’t stop moving, despite how crap it all is / ah yeah, now I’m a dancer / a gunshot dancer / a crazy tight-spot jumper / king of the pogo / I’m a bonecore junkie reverber / hit by the bass / the snare, the skin and wire / the sonic boom bullets / oh please, come on / screaming out / the cheap and nasty three times / cheap and nasty three times / say it loud now / cheap and nasty three times
good times, bad times!
bad, bad, bad!

as the music starts to really lose it / as the people start to jeer, and the bass player just takes off / just throws himself from the stage, into the crowd / sailing
and then I’m smoke / liquid smoke, caught in the edit
and sucked away / dissolving / and down / along / down and along / catching sparks, in the grooves of the night / band after band after band / moments of the fall / warsaw / cooper clarke / the drones / the worst / the negatives / the prefects / many more / seen in glimpses / and the fans / place them up there with the players / the wall to wall mess of people, gathered / night of the closedown
upon this day / october 2,1977
the electric circus club / a final parade / of the loud, the fast, the dirty and the strange
landing cold, back on the balcony, clinging / and now, it’s magazine down there, playing / suddenly / out of nowhere / and who the fuck is this kid, that he can fly like that / through the grooves?

oh yeah / hi there / the name’s elliot / elliot hill
they call me kid bruise, with the pins in the heart, and the clothes that cling with sweat and metal / kid crackle, with the hair that climbs the rafters / goaded by sweat and wax and talcum powder / as the place uncurls around the strangeness / gets a new dress to wear / all torn and tattered, and yet studded with safety pin pearls
look down
see the people breathing the wave / dancing, as one / tasting the battery’s kiss / and one of them, a drifting girl, torn from the pack

I know that girl / I know that girl / her name, what’s her name now?

jody...

ah / she made it as well
and then smoke / ghosting around me / the body pulled open / away / into a cut jump / like somebody dragged a stylus right across my soul
and down / further along the balcony
watching the buzzcocks / the powder fuse / pumping sizzle through the veins electric / with the singer’s voice, a plastic charm of camp and dark / careless passion, so fast and lazy / ecstatic chaos shakers / a scratch of spiral, enfolding
oh yeah / it’s here now, the feeling / captured / all the fog grabbed and gathered, into the skull / the heart, beating up love / unpinned, at last / and these clothes I’m buckled and dressed and skin-pressed in, and crowd-caressed in / made sticky by the rhythm that grabs me / oh yeah / like the strings of the cheapest guitars

—I was born to be / I was born to be here, something...

something like that anyway
as the girl beside me says

—come on, we have to find him
squeezing around to meet the stranger / and knowing already, from somewhere strange, her name is donna / donna, donna, donna / a stranger, come to whisper

—elliot, come on!

—what?

—we have to find 2spot

—who?

—2spot, 2spot!

—oh yeah, find 2spot / who?

—his dad / he’s after his dad!

she’s pulling on my arm / out of the crowd-push

—what’s happening?

—I don’t know, I really don’t know / come on
and pulled
and cut / like a blade of mist / scissored
landed / floor of the gig, caught in the surge / pogo my flesh alive now / and the bones and muscle, powered by riffs and kisses / lost riffs and lost kisses / the music / powered by the rain, saliva, giros, bruises, crackles of feedback, chord patterns, bad love and the flowers of pop, dug from the bargain basement of the heart / and I’m thinking

—I was born to be here
to hear the music some more, and more deeply / and then to think

—no / not born to be here, but...

I was born here
that’s it / I was born here, right at this gig / in these moments / with the girl called jody / right there beside me, catching the rhythm / set loose / and set aflame

—we did it, elliot / we fuckin’ did it!

fingers pass through each other’s grasp / and then slide away / along the music in slices / with the singer’s words, chanted out now

—time’s up
the last ever song / and then
twisting / I’m gone
shit

I can’t get fixed / I can’t get a fix on it
away / out on the edge of the noise / where somebody pushes against me / one face into another / with mists of lavender, caressing the air / and a smell of petrol, as though the night were about to catch fire / something touched upon, long ago / half remembered / tingling

—2spot!

—get out of the way
he throws me aside / right into the girl / the other girl / yeah, donna / that’s her name / I’m catching it now

—elliot, stop him!

and this time I can actually hear the song speeding up / buzzed and blurred / sucked from the grooves / spinning
down / down hard this time
outside

a genuine punk love song, maybe maybe
outside / feeling now the sudden cold frizzle of air
a bunch of punks hang around the doorway / one of them spray-painting the slogan TIME’S UP on the wall / with the song still playing from inside / a biscuit-tin rattle, as befits the night / the frozen punk moon / the punk clouds that mask the high-rise flats opposite / the bottle that falls from there
to smash beside a young punk couple / the two of them, wrapped together / all pins and studs / punk kissing / the guy looks at me and says

—what you staring at?

—I’m not...

—well fuck off, ok

—dave, the girl says / come on, let’s do it

—yeah, sue / oh yeah
break-off / and hand in hand, they’re walking away around the corner of the building / towards the back, where the punk cars are parked / and as I follow behind, I can’t help feeling I’m trapped in some kind of story here / a punk fairy tale / one that only I know the ending of
their car is parked on the far side of the ground / some kids are guarding it / the guy pays them something extra, tells them to clear off / the kids go running past me

—fuckin’ bastard punk rocker, one of them shouts
and then gone
dave and sue
those names...

dave is opening the back door of the car, not the driver’s door / what’s going on / and now / and now they’re both climbing inside, into the back / the door shuts after them / the punk moon caught in the windows, right there
right there where...

jesus / what is this the urge I have, to just walk over there and watch?

something brushes against my feet / I look down, it’s a cat / a filthy black punk cat / I nudge it away, and for the first time that night I feel in charge of myself / I mean, just look at these clothes I’m wearing / the white baseball boots / the tight black jeans / the leather jacket, just a few pins here and there / some badges / a ripped-open tee-shirt
and this is my night, I just know it is
so / I set off, slowly, towards the car / the creaking, cold punk car / they’re doing it in there, aren’t they / doing the dirty / and where’s the love in all that / but yer know, maybe it is, to them / maybe it’s a punk love, to them / doing the mean down and dirty
something squelches under my foot / ah now look / dog shit, all over the new baseball boot / would you credit it / and what’s that, something glittering, stuck to the sole / like a diamond / but look more closely / it’s a 10-pence piece, right in the smelly, sticky lump of it
mean down and dirty, but lovely / so lovely
at the car now / seeing the moon enraptured in the dark of the glass / and when I put my face against the window and look inside...

oh shit
what’s happening to me?

not born to be here
not born here
but conceived here
made here

I was fuckin’ well made here!

I stumble back, away from the window / into something / falling / it’s that cat / that filthy cat, getting in the way / the cat of smoke / the what? the cat of what?

falling / smoked out for / smoked out for / smoked out for...

and the cat brushes against me

—oh fuck

comedown city

—oh fuck...

—elliot...

—no / fuck / jesus!

—elliot, calm down

—what’s wrong with him?

—hold him / hold him!

—fuck off!

I’m standing, barely standing now, like the world is a tilt-play dance floor / and I can’t tell who’s pressing the buttons, who’s speaking, and I don’t really care, except that at last I’m back / in the studio, once more / down to earth, back in the land of the living / wherever, whatever

—it’s ok / it’s ok, I just need to / shit / fuck off will yer!

—elliot...

it’s donna, talking to me / trying to hold me, touch me / console me

—you had a bad time?

—yeah / bad / it was...

I shake my head a couple of times, trying to rattle something loose

—2spot’s still under
it’s jody speaking now / and pointing over to where the drummer sleeps tight in a corner / we’ve all moved around the space a little, since we went under / moved apart / jody’s trying to rouse 2spot out of his trip / I turn to donna

—jesus / that was some strange...

—I know

—you’ll never guess what I just saw / christ, that’s powerful stuff

—yeah / isn’t it / where did you go?

—go? I went to the / yeah, fuck / the electric circus, final night / oh / it was real / so real

—no / I mean, where did you go, when we went after 2spot?

—what?

—you left us there

—shit / what / you mean, you were there / you were fuckin’ well there?

and it’s all I can do to stop myself from running a million miles

—donna...

—we were there, elliot / it took us there!

her eyes / filled with wonder / desire / the pupils huge with gathered sight

—but / but how?

—I don’t know / an hallucination

—but we all went there / jody...

the dj looks up

—we did it, elliot / we fuckin’ did it!

and those words / the same words she said to me in the trip

I go over to her, looking down at 2spot / curled up tight, bedazzled, as though he’s still down there, in there, out there, wherever, whenever / floating through the rhythms

—jody, says donna

—what?

—I don’t think you should wake him...

—what?

—jody, he’s not going to like it / he was arguing in there / with his dad / I saw them

—what’s wrong with you / come on, help me here

—jody, he’s coming round / watch out

—what?

—arghhh!

it’s like a feedback scream / just 2spot’s voice, coming up, scratching fire / and his eyes, clicking straight into burn-mode / and his arms, jerking straight out to grab at jody’s neck

—ugh!

—fucker!

—2spot!

donna and I move in / and it takes everything we’ve got, to break the grip / until, finally, 2spot lets go, and jody falls back / and then I’m on 2spot, just getting my arms around him somehow, pulling him close
and jody’s crying, pleading...

—2spot, I swear / I swear, I never knew

—you fuckin’ well did know / you sampled him / you sampled the bastard, my father

—elliot, no / just the buzzcocks / the circus / and somehow...

—and somehow you fucked with me / one too many times

—the rest got caught in it / he got caught, in the samples / elliot / I don’t know how

—let me up!

—you sure? I ask

—let me up
so, I let him go / it’s a stretched-out moment, as he gets jody in his sights / and then he turns away, shaking his head

—it’s not real, elliot, says donna / it’s a trip, that’s all / come on, eh / let’s talk calmly now
but no / he’s still shaking his head / he pushing his hands through this hair / the careful hair, all messed up / all sweaty / the grease on it, all sticky

—2spot...

donna’s reaching out / out / out / daring to

—no!

all that rhythm, lost in a moment

—2spot!

—that’s it, jody / that is it / I’m gone / do you hear / the job is done!

the last words
we can hear him clattering up the stairs / away from us / away / leaving us / a terrible silence, falling all around
broken finally, by donna

—jody...

jody’s got nothing to say / nothing left to give / she’s just sitting there, still on the floor / stroking the cat / she’s stroking the fuckin’ cat

—jody / do something, please, go after him

—and then what?

—I don’t know / I don’t know
donna collapses / right into screaming

—I don’t fuckin’ know!

limbo time
stranded, rhythmless / with no beats to our lives, just living them / living them like ghosts, moving through the days / the first day, and the second / and then the third, the fourth, the fifth / a week passes, slowly, so slowly

—he’ll be back, I say to donna / he always comes back
but he doesn’t / he can’t / he won’t
first single ready to be released / with a promotional tour set up by the zuum label / we were gonna play it out, live / with jody spinning the wheels, and donna singing, and me on the bass / and 2 spot
and 2spot on the drums
and beautiful, handsome 2spot on the drums
ah shit
so, the counting of the seconds, the minutes, the days / the long hours of waiting / minus the living blue soul of the band, it’s all just counting
two weeks, no 2spot / no music, no plug-in
and it’s strange / because if 2spot hadn’t run off like this / I think it would’ve been me / running off / just getting away from there / away from all the madness / all the cheating they’ve done on me
ah / what does it matter / they’re just kids really, messing about
but this 2spot thing / I don’t know, it’s got me worried / and the way donna’s taking it / not talking to anyone / staying in her room a lot / barely eating / losing the smile / well, I can’t just take off easy / not yet, not yet / something’s holding me
and I know she blames jody, that’s another problem / for the use of the circus sample / but how was jody supposed to know / it’s the fault of the liquid
the fault of the liquid
and what happens now, with the liquid?

do we tell the makers / do we keep it secret / do we pour it all away, down the sink, down the toilet bowl / or do we carry on, as best we can / making the music
and the house / 2spot’s house / all the equipment / the night he left, 2spot took the van, left everything else / what to do about all that / should we move out / move on / get new stuff / or just carry on, as best we can / making the music, the music
and then the zuum label release a choice version of scorched out for love, strictly vinyl / if this works out, they’ll move in on the whole wave music production and playback system / one time I hear the song being played on the radio / just a late-night job, yer know / but so good to hear / and so bad / knowing what it represents
three weeks, no 2spot / no sign or sound / no clue
and we actually dare to start talking about the future / the possibilities / but where do you find a new drummer / one as good as 2spot?

you find them nowhere, nowhere at all

—he’ll be back, I say to donna / he always comes back
but he doesn’t / he can’t / he won’t
and then, one day / jody turns up with a drum machine
zuum records shelled out / a real state-of-the-art rhythm maker / the dj’s in charge of the beats, of course / with me helping out here and there / learning the basics / because what’s the alternative / only donna stays away from it / and I know that jody and I will have a job with her / getting her to sing again
ah shit
where the fuck is he?

one time / I catch jody alone in the kitchen, brewing up something / a little foil-covered pan of something sweet, and smoky / and I don’t even talk to her / no shouting, no screaming / I just grab that pan off the stove / pour the whole lot, the smoking shit / right down the sink / and jody lets me, she just lets me do it
maybe she’s doing this all the time now / forever journeying / becoming the rhythm
anything / to escape the minutes
the minutes, the hours, the days / all counted, away
all the waiting made so much worse, when scorched out goes into the charts at number 26 / and really, we should be singing, and laughing / and we do, jody and I, we try a little of that / but donna won’t have it / she just won’t admit what’s happening
and then / weird thing / one morning I finally persuade donna to come out with me / just out of the house, yer know / the first time / shopping / whatever
and as we go through the door, suddenly, donna says

—2spot!

and there’s the van / 2spot’s van parked in the usual spot
donna runs to it
but
no / it’s just the van / empty
left in the night like an offering

lost boys, lost girls

—didn’t it worry you?

—what?

—all those scars on his body / what was he doing, cutting himself?

—he never did

—well, somebody did

—no / I mean he never did it, not in front of me
we’re sitting in the coffee bar of the library / and given what we’re about to do, there’s little point in hiding anything away / and donna’s eyes tell the tale

—it killed me / every time / every time he came back from one of his trips / there would be new cuts / oh, maybe this is stupid, but

—but what?

—I think maybe if / yer know / if 2spot did what jody did / well then...

—heroin?

—well then / he wouldn’t have to hurt himself

—he’d hurt himself

—yeah, but not in that way

—not in that way, no
her coffee’s going cold / and she’s stirring useless sugar into it

—is that what you do / with jody / stop her hurting herself?

—me?

—that night / in the bedroom / I saw you

—did you?

—donna, you know I did

—that night / that night was just me and jody...

—yeah?

—helping each other

—oh yeah? and what do you get out of it?

—love

—love?

—just love / just yer know, friendly love / with 2spot running off all the time / I mean, what am I supposed to do?

—I see / and you’re not taking yourself?

—elliot, don’t you know me?

—I’m not sure / do I?

—you’ve got to understand / jody, 2spot and me / all three of us / we’re very close

—yeah, I get that

—we look after each other / and that’s why...

—I know

—2spot doing this to me...

—yeah, I know

—he’s never been away this long before / what’s he gonna come back like / can you tell me, please / what’s he gonna be like?

I can’t answer / I just can’t / and the way donna looks at me then / letting me know, that all the love she feels / will never slip away

—we can help him, can’t we, elliot / when he comes back this time / we can say, no more secrets, 2spot / we can say that to him, can’t we?

—yeah / we can / no more secrets
then we walk through into the reference library / starting the search / looking through microfiches / databases / old copies of the music mags / local newspapers / plugging names into search engines / turning them loose, dragging them back
until / finally / we find what we’re looking for

from the pop music archives
late in the year of 1981, just after the release of their third album, a band called the figs split up / in payment for some unspecified remark, the vocalist with the band had physically attacked a member of the audience at one of their concerts / it was not the first such incident / the vocalist, commonly known by the name deezil, was sent to prison for a year

—that’s him, says donna / deezil / that’s 2spot’s dad
in the autumn of 1995, with promises from the singer that he had changed his ways, the group embarked on a short tour of the north-west / it was called a comeback tour / but really, they were coming back from nowhere
the motivation for the reunion is difficult to imagine / it can’t have been money / but just enough old punks still yearned for angrier, spikier days, to make it worth the while / also, there was a slight wave of nostalgia for more passionate times / the band decided to record two new songs as a single / they booked a day in a back-street recording studio / a twenty-four hour block booking, plenty of time for the two songs, and for anything else that might evolve from a pressurized jam
basic tracks were laid down, and then the group started to improvise, searching for ideas / nothing much came of these sessions / at 10.15 that night they decided to abandon the work, leaving the single in its original, rough-hewn form / they sent the engineer home, and retired to the nearest pub
just as last orders were being called, deezil announced that he had found an idea for a new vocal line / the other musicians wanted only to drink their beers, maybe go on to a club / deezil however was keen to carry on working / he would go back to the studio alone, and then meet them in the club later on / at the last moment, the bass player decided he would join the singer / the bass player was known as mule
the rest of the band left the club at 1.30am / having seen no sign of deezil or the bassist, they walked over to the studio / the recording light was on, and the tape machine rolling / however, no music could be heard through the monitors / they looked through the glass partition
at first, they report, they could see nothing at all / the studio looked quite empty / then they saw somebody lying on the floor / it was the prone figure of mule / next, they noticed the blood, splashed on the soundproofing / and then...

they saw deezil / the singer was slumped against a wall, smiling / smiling...

the facts, such as they are / deezil’s real name was george axle / he was thirty-eight years old / in a most vicious attack he had set about mule, using the bassist’s own instrument as a weapon / mule suffered terrible injuries to the head and the hands / the hands, especially the hands...

the trial took place in early 96 / george axle pleaded not guilty to the crime / the jury listened in silence to the tapes of the incident, faithfully recorded in painful detail by the studio’s equipment / the argument had started over a simple musical error the bass player had made / they heard deezil shouting his threats to cripple his fellow musician

—you’ll never play again, you bastard / you’ll never play again!

and then the thuds of the guitar, swung by the neck / against flesh, against bone / and the screams...

the threat proved true
the jury found the singer guilty / grievous bodily harm, with intent / taking into account the previous incidents of violence, and the particular viciousness of this latest attack, the judge locked George axle away for a period of six years
the reports stated simply that the singer had been under severe emotional pressure recently, following lengthy divorce proceedings / and a forced separation from his only child, william, a boy of thirteen

—oh, 2spot, says donna

—william / that’s his name

—that’s his name
here were two photographs of the guilty man / one taken at the trial, his face set in fierce denial beneath the gelled-back hair / another from the sleeve of the third album / it was the same face / dirty blond hair crafted into spikes, and the same emotion on view / exact same / the eyes set tight in a punk glaze

—jesus, says donna

—I know, I know

—six years / he must be coming out soon

—most probably out already

—now we know why 2spot was so ashamed of his father / oh, I wish I’d known this earlier
and then a comment in one of the papers about a troubled family history and genetic traits, led us to another, even more disturbing report
that in 1977, george axle’s father had killed himself / the well-respected musician, danny axle, was found lying in a hotel bathtub, his wrists cut / he was forty years old

—shit

—no wonder, no wonder / 2spot loved his grandad, so much / oh god, elliot...

—yeah, I know / but look at the date

—what about it?

—donna, the date danny killed himself / oct 3,1977

—but...

—yeah / 2spot wasn’t even alive then / and all those stories about how his grandad had taught him everything / given him the name and everything

—I don’t understand / he made it all up?

—and not only that / the day danny axle died...

—what else?

—well, it’s the day after, isn’t it

—after? I don’t understand / after what?

—the last night at the electric circus

beatbox display unit
later that same day / I go down into the cellar of the house to practise my bass lines / jody’s out for the night, and I don’t mean down the pub / she’s been on the screaming jitters all evening / donna was keeping her company, of course / on the blunt end of the needle / so it’s quiet / peaceful / I’m alone with the walls and the damp and the cobwebs / sometimes, you practise alone, and the strings really hum / I’ve got the cellar lights out / just graphic displays and LEDs alone to shine my flickering way
it’s the first time I’ve played since 2spot ran off and here I am now, doing ok / living with it / setting the echoes ringing in the dark / getting the buzz and soft rasp of the metal / fingers singing / I get all that down to the bone, and decide to play along to the new drum patterns
like I said, the drum machine, it’s the latest model / loaded high with all the presets and whiz-bangs you could ask for / jody’s an expert already, so she’s made us some digital madness, one for each song / all coded inside the box, press of a button / and I have some small fun messing about with the beats, playing new bass patterns / changing the old ones so they play against the metronome / trying to get some half-ounce of the old glam damage feel back in the music
now the machine, it’s got a built-in sampler / just a sweet little unit hung on the side / as many switches as you could hope for, but simple enough to figure / sound grabber / a wire and a jack, and a direction of flow / I make a direct feed from our tape machine to the sampler, and then select one of 2spot’s old practice tapes / choosing a broken-down moment of bliss, I send it travelling down the line / into the beatbox, stretched out and magnified
ah yeah, let the thing play / caught in the loop
then I take up the bass again, making with the beat fever / rattling the deep-down / in the dark, and getting darker / and loud, and getting louder / late, and getting later / hard, sweet and juicy / harder, sweeter, juicier / I guess I’m just trying to play the feelings off me / make it clean / and maybe / well, yeah / it’s a little bit like 2spot’s playing along with me / oh yeah, just a little
oh man, I make some noise / make me a stew / rich and thick and slow and hazy and as loud as fuck and I don’t care who knows it / I make the house near shake the dark down, with vibrations all through the walls / and so totally lost in the sound, there’s no way I can tell how long donna’s been standing there by the door / it stops me dead

—I thought it was 2spot, she says / I thought he’d come back

—no / I was just, you know...

the bass at low body hum, still strapped around me / and the beats from the machine

—what did you see, elliot?

—in the liquid?

she nods

—I saw my mum and dad, making love

—oh

—they’d always told me this story / that they were there / and that it was there, that they / well / yer know / but I never quite believed it / not till now

—do you think it’s the truth, elliot / what’s shown in the music?

—I don’t know
she closes her eyes, just for a second

—he’s not coming back, is he?

I look at her, for as long as it takes / and then say

—no / no, he’s not
then she comes forwards / slowly, as though to...

as though to...

until she’s so close, all I can see are the amp-lights reflected in her eyes / and when she touches the bass with her belly, the tiny lamps in her eyes become a graph of the soft noise / and the wetness / so close we’re almost kissing, and then...

and then we are

plug me in, two time
and did yer ever get kissed, I wonder / ever get kissed so bad
did yer?

did the world slip away for a second / just there as the lips touched your own / and the stickiness clung / and did the stickiness cling in shreds / in tiny shreds of spit that caught each on each / like a sharing, like a secret, like a cradle?

like a cradle stretched as your mouths separate, just for a moment / and then close again / gathering the mucus / gathering the other person’s lips into your own / sealing the holes / and the way the tongue of one touches the tongue of the other, making a filament / like a small lamp being lit in the mouth / a soft wet buzz of electricity
did yer ever get that tingle going on in there / did you?

and the sudden flood of the pink light, from the tongues’ contact / seeping upwards into the brain / and the way the dark flashes in your head just then, the dance of the static / and the charge of it / the input and the output of it / and the charge of the kiss, slithering
did yer / did you ever get a kiss like that?

oh yeah, maybe you did / just about maybe and perhaps you did / but did you ever see all of it calibrated in your lover’s eyes / caught, traced, calibrated and burnt / right there in the graphic fuckin’ equaliser of your lover’s eyes?

ah well then, you missed out

bass player’s lament
every small moment of love has a concentrated tone / held special / filtered, purified, and recorded for ever in the heart, which is the night’s black spool of tape
a strange love / never talked about, only done / never acknowledged, only performed / in the moments suspended, here and there / and here and there / and here / and there / as the night stretched away, into morning / one night of a passion sharp, muffled with a clenching hand / and kept secret, even from ourselves / clandestine and stolen, even from ourselves / but rich enough, for all that / certainly, rich enough for me
because you know how it is, when it gets dark / how we find love where we find it
or else we lose it
or else never find it at all

the call
somewhere, a bell is tolling / high and shrill / it wakes me / the telephone / again, I’m surprised by donna’s presence / all through the night, the skin’s surprise, as I find her there, beside me / the sudden warmth
but now / this time, I leave her to sleep / instead, let’s see who this is / maybe it’s 2spot / walk naked downstairs to the hallway / pick up the phone
it’s the police / with a word that stops my heart, shuts down the brain / cold / and all through the talking, all I can think to ask is this

—how did he do it?

and yes / he cut his wrists in the bath / in a cheap hotel / and when I give the name of the hotel, the cop asks me how did I know that / and I say

—his grandad did the same thing / in the same place

—oh, runs in the family does it?

which was a fuckin’ cruel thing to say / but it doesn’t seem that cruel / not just then

—yeah, something does, I answer / something sure does

I’m standing there, stark naked / shivering / just holding the phone in my hand, long after the cop has gone / long after / until something soft, something warm, brushes my leg

I slide to the floor, wrapping the cat in my arms / against the flesh / lying there / with the sweet deep engine of its purr close to my face / and nothing will come / no tears / no fuckin’ tears will come / what’s wrong / why won’t any tears come out of me?

and then I have to go upstairs and tell the news to jody / and to donna / and I really don’t think I can do that / I really don’t

a note, a small envelope addressed simply
jody, elliot, donna
donna, donna, donna / this isn’t serious, and nothing to do with you / some things just have to be done, and this is one of them

I know you won’t understand / but understand this

I love you
jody, keep the van and the instruments and the amps and everything / do good stuff with them, and make sure the others know that a new drummer is a fine and necessary thing / don’t be silly about this / and stop writing bloody songs about me
elliot / I hardly know you really, but it was good playing the rhythm together / but that’s all gone now

2 spot

Bass Instruction Manual

To wake the strings so tightly bound, let slide

The finger’s nub along the neck from fret

To fret; from bridge to nut, the tones collide

To sound a joyous air! And yet, and yet...

If root of base desire the song deny

In tempting play of lover’s serenade,

No matter then how crafted skill apply:

Inside the heart remains a note, mislaid.

And never truly voiced, the song’s domain,

The chords a code as yet misunderstood

When love is tuned against the vein’s refrain

Of scratches and samples, the body and blood.

2

vibegeist
(spirit of the groove)

the new code

—who is it?

—elliot

—who is it?

—come on, elliot hill

—who is it?

—let me in / it’s raining

—who is it?

—oh / the bass player

—who is it?

—jesus / l don’t know

—who is it?

—I don’t know / I don’t know who the fuck it is!

and the door / the door slides open

studio ghosts
traces of a kiss, coming back to me as I’m looking through the glass, watching donna sing / this dolled-up woman, all neat and layered hair and a tailored suit / what’s happened / the mouth, and the way it moves just so around the words / the silent words
things have changed / of course / of course they have / we all have
the mouth is the same
jody at my side, headphones on, working some controls / her changes, perhaps the strangest of all / less driven somehow, less fiery / and when she takes the phones off, her hair, her once-upon-a-time goddamn cut-to-zero hair sticks up in sharpened tufts

—funny, she says

—what is?

—funny, how she turned out

—yeah / suppose
the singer sees me then / it’s a barely there glance, and I guess she’s nervous about the recording / I hope that’s it
it’s one year, just gone / and in all that time...

ah / leave it alone

—listen
jody works the desk, nudging a slider up a pathway / the vocals seep through, over the monitors / no music as yet, just the vocals / disembodied, floating and then I know...

it’s a crazy situation
to think our love mistaken,
to fly right off the handle
broken, stirred and shaken

...it’s her
the melody edged with a soul that never quite reveals itself / so tantalising / and that was always the way with donna / always the way, even in real life
and yet, and yet / there’s something missing from the voice

—it’s the first time she’s sung, says jody / you know, since we / since we split

—we didn’t split, we just ran away

—you did, elliot / you ran away

I just look at jody / I really don’t need this, and jody knows it

—sorry, she says / and thanks for coming / really
and like I said / where’s the old mad, bad jody gone?

—well / I’m more surprised donna’s here / than I am

—oh yeah / she’s here / she is here / listen now, the chorus / just listen to it
spirit of the groove
turning like a ghost
inside the rhythm
of a love that’s never given

—is that good, or what?

—well, yer know / let’s hear the music

—she’s married, did you know?

—she’s what?

feeling sick / dizzy / the naked song reaching into me / throwing me away

—well nearly / engaged / oh yeah / career, all that / computers / big money / the guy’s a programmer / a black guy / I guess she, yer know, went back to her roots / something like that / what’s up / you ok?

—yeah... yeah / I’m fine / fine
jody shrugs / she doesn’t know / she doesn’t know what happened between donna and me, that night / that night that
ah shit
jody moves another slider / another / a whole series of them / bringing in the music, track by track by track / first as a soft caress / and then further, louder now / locking tightly with the vocals
shaken, broke and stirred
the music’s never heard
too late to disentangle
I never knew you cared
and I’m shocked / because, well / it’s fuckin’ brilliant / far more so than anything that glam damage ever managed / totally out there / a dance of the weird / no regular beat, but a kind of flow to it / intricate, sparkling, evolving / involving / dense layers of sound folded into each other, confusing the feel / I hear guitars being played, soft and then jagged, and then a blurred mirror of noise / and the drums high in the mix / but whispering / whispering funk, close to the ear / and sunbursts of notes, electric chords / bangs and clatters / unknown noises / surges of distance, breathy / the glisten of wet strings, mixed into a shimmer of voice / somebody talking, dissolved, into nothingness / and donna, singing
she doesn’t sing all the time / it’s a long piece, seventeen-and-a-half minutes, jody tells me / and the vocals disturb the flow every so often, gently / just another layer in the mix / layers upon layers of sound / and yes, there is a ghost in there, turning / and some other quality, a shiver of lost love, caught in the rhythm
spirit of the groove
living in the boombox
haunted by the sound
of a love that’s never found

—this is our first single, jody says / vibegeist, we’re calling it / well... ?

—yes

—you like it?

—yes / I do / it’s good / it’s very good / you did this all yourself?

—glued it together / it’s all stolen of course, every last note / hundreds of samples /

—it’s about 2spot, right?

jody shrugs

—in the letter...

—yeah, I know / don’t write any more songs about me

—so?

—ah / come on / just this last time, ok / just to get me started again

—finish it off, yer mean?

—finish it off / the story / whatever / you want to start thinking about the bass?

—I don’t get it / just sample the bass as well

—I can’t do that

—why not / get bootsy to play it / or mingus / bernie edwards, he’d be good on this / no, no / robbie shakespeare / yeah, nick some shakespeare / perfect
but jody’s shaking her head

—it’s got to be you

—why?

—just listen to the drums
ok / it takes some listening / the beats are stretched ragged / cut up / reassembled / pasted / wasted / brought back to a different kind of life / but there it is / floating / lost

—it’s 2spot, I say / you sampled 2spot?

jody nods

—that’s why / that’s why it has to be you / you and donna

—shit

—so then / elliot?

—ah / I’m not sure

—look / one bass line is all I’m asking / then yer can go back to london / one crappy bass line / what do you say / don’t yer think 2spot would want it?

—no / I don’t think he would
there / I’ve said it / jody’s face takes on a hard aspect, just for a second / her eyes slit tight, turning parched / then she closes them completely, lets out a long, long breath / and when she opens up again, suddenly, she looks older, beyond her years / and tired beyond the day

—you’re letting me down?

—I’m a session man, jody

—good / treat it as such

—what’s really going on here?

—what’s really going on / is that I’m clean

—you’re clean?

—six months now / six months / and I mean everything / everything / all gone

—well, that’s / that’s great / ah / forget I said that

—it’s the music, now / it’s just about the music
and I remember 2spot saying more or less the same / all that time ago / all that time

—well done, jody / really

—damn right, well done / and listen close now / here we go
because donna has finished the last chorus / and there goes 2spot, playing those spirit cymbals, into the fade-out distance

—let’s go in / come on

I follow jody through into the studio / and straight away, I see that she’s living there / all her belongings piled on the small bed / down to this
donna is saying she’s sorry about the take, and that I distracted her

—that’s fine, says jody / you could try again, later maybe?

—yeah, later / maybe
and I’m thinking well that’s nice / and then she turns to look at me

—well, elliot / what the fuck are you doing here?

said with just enough edge / and then...

—I’ll be upstairs

—yeah, says jody / that’s great, donna / great vocals

—sure
and then she’s gone / and jody says to me

—so / will yer do this?

—ah, she hates me

—no, she doesn’t hate you

—she does / I knew she would / I knew it

—look / just fuckin’ play, will yer / lay some deepness down for me, elliot / the old deepness / what do yer say?

downriver bass
here I am / all alone inside the headphones, as the rhythm starts to slide all around me / and now that I know, and now that the music’s close up, it just seems so exactly 2spot / all the rhythms / all the magic / captured precisely / feels like I’m falling into this stream of sound / going back and coming forward / backwards and forwards, caught on the wave of a wave
and now / my fingers / already moving over the thick, metal strings / I don’t have to think about it / the strings play themselves / falling, falling...

I can’t remember what they played, or how they played it, and afterwards, when jody flows it back to me, I’m amazed
because you do the pub circuit for too long, playing your standard rhythm and blues trash, it gets so you forget anything else

I mean, this is the first real stuff I’ve done in months, in ages / shit, let’s get this out / it’s the first good bass I’ve played since glam damage / well, since the damage was done
say it, say it
the first good stuff since 2spot killed himself
and the other thing
well / it’s obvious what’s going on

a life in the samples
we play the vibegeist song back a few more times / jody messing with the levels and the mix of tracks / hands moving quickly over the board / playing the sliders / doing the dub

—so what made you do it?

—what?

—get clean

—well / yer know, after 2spot died...

and I’m thinking / oh, maybe I shouldn’t have asked

—after 2spot went and fuckin’ killed himself / and the band split up and all that shit that happened / well, I just went a bit daft, I suppose / yer know, how donna gave up the singing and got herself that computer job and the new bloke and all that / and you ran off to london / well that was you two going daft / but when jody goes daft, I mean she goes daft like serious / you know what I’m saying here, elliot?

—yeah, I know

—I had the opposite intention to you two / I was going to go rock’n’roll ultimate / no way was that stupid fucker gonna stop me

—2spot?

—yeah, the stupid fucker / jesus, was I angry at him / so fuckin’ angry you wouldn’t believe it / so I just went mad / I thought, he’s not gonna stop me, he’s not

—what / another band?

—first off, yeah / but all I ever heard was crappy-arsed musicians, thinking they were the latest thing / they just didn’t have that dazzle to them, yer know / so what was I supposed to do / piss my life away with the little boys, and the little guitars, and the tiny, tiny drums / well ... no / so I fucked it over, and just went mad on myself, playing myself / man, I took some stuff, I tell you / doing the submerge, all the way

—you always did

—what, when I knew you / in the house / that wasn’t drugs, that was just getting myself ready for the drugs / I still had a life then, I had the music / and that kept me connected / without the music, I just got myself cut off completely / I became this creature, this thing on the end of a drip-feed / I had next to no money, so I was doing some nasties to keep me in dirt / I won’t go into it / fuck / I was the mother, I tell you / the mother of dirt, and you know the saddest thing / you wanna hear the saddest thing of all time / even at the bitch end of life, in the dark, in the shithole / l was still thinking it was rock’n’roll
jody breaks off for a second / listens to the vibegeist unfold / her eyes seem to be following every beat, every stray rhythm as they bounce around the board / she makes a fine adjustment to one of the faders

—jody?

—yeah?

—did you ever...

—go on / what?

—no / nothing

—did I ever think I was going to die / no / not ever

—why not?

—because of 2spot
she says this as though it’s the most natural thing in the world

—right on the edge of me going too far, I would always get his face in my mind / and his rhythms, yer know / and they’d pull me back / pull me right back / oh shit / poor 2spot / we could’ve helped or something, I don’t know / realised, that’s what I mean / we could’ve realised

—yeah / we could’ve realised
jody’s tears / and silence / just listening together until the song comes to an end / and jody hitting the replay button, automatic

—that’s great bass playing, elliot / it really is / it’s just what we need / listen to that!

—so what then / you gave up / what, in a clinic?

—no / on my own / I was so out of it, I’d lost the music / just thrown it all away / and then I got this idea / about using 2spot’s rhythms / and that just seemed right, somehow / and something to aim for

—something to get clean for?

she nods

—and now what, you’re living here?

—just for the present / getting it back together, you know, and working night and day on the new stuff / re-using the music / all those tracks we did / scorched out, and everything / all those practice tapes, they’re all in there / I don’t know, just making something good from them / is that stupid, or what / I mean, is it?

—no / no it’s not stupid / but why the globe?

—what?

—oh come on, jody / you can stop messing with those faders now / this is liquid music / yer didn’t really think I wouldn’t recognise it

—well / it had to be, didn’t it
she hits a switch / and the globe pops out of the desk / and when she hands it me, I’m scared / I’m scared the thing will burn me, or something

—jody, this stuff is illegal now

—yeah / and this is maybe the last machine in the country, I don’t know

—you kept it back?

—I stole it

—the club knows?

—the club knows / 2spot’s mum, she wants this to happen / some kind of memory / and yer know, we only have a few of the globes left / look / all we’re doing is using the liquid to make the track / get it down on vinyl, and then that’s it / all gone / finished with / do you see that?

—ok / I see it

—we have to make this track happen / it has to be brilliant / it has to tell the story / that’s it / 2spot’s story / everything / the reasons why

—the reasons?

—yeah / the whole thing, beginning to end

—you’ve put, what, his grandad’s stuff in there?

—his grandad’s / his dad’s

—his dad’s? jesus!

—it has to happen / look, I’ve made some tapes for you
she’s reaching under the desk, pulling out a plastic carrier bag

—all the glamour stuff, the figs stuff / and this as well
she’s handing me a cassette / scrawled on the case, these words
the glamour, 1977, unexploded blonde

—what is it?

—the glamour’s last album, unreleased / demo tapes / I found it in 2spot’s room / his grandad was working on this...

—the year he died?

—the day / the day he died / I thought you might want to listen / you want them?

—what for?

—to listen to, ya stupid fuck
at last / a glimpse of the old jody

haunted by the rhythm

I’m walking across the dance floor, instrument case in one hand, the bag of tapes in the other / the floor’s bright and shiny, freshly cleaned / the place real quiet, in that particular way that affects turned-off dancehalls / lonely, with the ghosts...

—elliot!

it’s donna / she’s walking across the floor towards me

—what’s the idea? she asks / coming here like this

—jody asked me

—you shouldn’t have come

—you came / you sang / what’s wrong with you?

—that’s for 2spot / l’m singing for 2spot / who are you playing for?

—playing for? I’m playing for...

—you’re playing for yourself / always, always / always for yourself

—donna / this is stupid

—I detest you

—donna!

—I detest you / what’s jody playing at / bringing us together at the same time / I asked her not to / fuck / what’s she trying to do, get the group back together / oh / I shouldn’t have come, I knew I shouldn’t have

—but you did...

two people / two people, alone on a dance floor / suddenly, not daring to look into each other’s eyes

—I’m sorry
it’s almost tender, the way she says it / almost

—I’m taking it out on you
gets me turned around, just a little / and what exactly am I doing here, anyway / why did I come back to manchester / it’s not my home anymore / it’s just not my kind of place / any more
cold ghosts, hot ghosts, and crazy types
oh yeah, and I played a little bass one time / scratches and samples / dubbed, redubbed, mixed and fixed / samples of the heart, ripped out bloody, lost in the edit
shit

—I didn’t know / really, donna / I mean, jody didn’t say anything about 2spot, and the music and all that / it was just a job, she said / just a job

—just a job?

—I don’t think I’d have come / if I’d known / but now I’ve done it, while I was playing, I don’t know / it suddenly seemed right / did you get that?

at last, she turns to look at me

—oh yeah / what’s jody done, one more dance record, without a black sample / but that’s manchester for yer / down on the people

—oh
because she’s never talked about her race before / not ever

—I’m not joking, elliot / I really am very angry at you / shit / at myself

—I know, I know...

—you don’t know / you just don’t know

—it’s a year ago, donna

—I don’t care when it was / I’ve never forgotten him, not for one second

—and do you think I’m any different?

—you didn’t even come to the funeral

—I couldn’t have stood it

—now that really got to me, that did / told me what you were

—ok / ok, you’re angry / ok...

—it’s not that / it’s just / I feel so...

—what?

—lonely

—lonely?

—so lonely / without him

—but...

—that’s it

—jody said you were engaged / to be married

—I’m engaged / I am engaged, and mortgaged, and careered, right up to my neck, and rising, and soon I’m going to go under, and that’s that

—You’re engaged, and I’m divorced, now

—I can’t even sing properly anymore / and do you think I’d be like this / if 2spot was alive, still alive / do you?

—oh donna...

—no / no, I wouldn’t

—you can’t know that

—I’d be dirty / and exciting / and full of whatever / of life / I’d be / I’d be beautiful

I shake my head, but what can I say / what the hell can I say?

—don’t you see, elliot / I’ll never forgive myself / for what happened that night

—donna...

—that night between us
all the pain she keeps there / in the words / if I could only respond / properly / tell her things / tell her how much I love her, really / tell her how much it means to me / but

—that’s what killed him, she says

—donna / that is just / that is just silly / we don’t know why he did it / we don’t know!

—we should’ve found him / helped him / gone looking for him

—we didn’t know

—we didn’t care / we didn’t fuckin’ care

the punk in the rain

I leave her there / alone under the lights / walk to the door, and press the exit button / the door slides open, the requisite five seconds / and as I’m leaving, somebody grabs me, trying to push me aside / we struggle for a moment, and then I fall onto the bass

—hey!

a man is trying to get into the club / but the door closes before he can manage it / and then he’s just banging on the panel, shouting

—let me in!

—who is it? asks the door

—let me in, ya fucker!

—who is it?

I’m lying there in the rain / just watching this man / his fists smashing again and again on the talking door

—who is it?

—deezil / let me in

—who is it?

—george axle, ya hear me / george fuckin’ axle / let me in

—who is it?

—let me in / please / let me in
as the fight goes out of him / and he slips to the ground beside me, crying
crying all these old punk tears / like the rain that falls
the rain that falls
it just falls, and keeps on falling

vocal serenade

—that fuckin’ bitch / that jody / she’s using my music / ain’t that so, eh?

—I don’t know

—the fuck yer don’t know / of course yer know / you’re the what, the bass player?

—the bass player / elliot

—fuckin’ bass players / I fuckin’ hate them

—right

—you ever hear me sing, kid?

and what am I supposed to say / sure, I smoked some music, and went back in time, and saw you messing up at the electric circus?

—just the one song, I reply / from the first album

—and I’m good, right?

—well...

—ya fucker / what’s wrong with you?

—it’s just screaming, isn’t it

—jesus fuck / it’s punk rock / it’s the bomb
we’re sitting in a cafe called the 10cc, right there on happy mondays arcade / the place is a quarter-way full, and all the way dismal, with a smattering of low-lifes slumped over the plates of grease / an old slobber of a chef stirs the pans / the waitress has the same skin colour as the overcooked food she’s carrying to the tables / while techzak music seeps like gravy from crackletown speakers / and opposite me

I can’t believe it

2spot’s father
a big guy, made out of brick / hands all cracked and dirty, the fingers buttered with nicotine / with tarnished hair the same colour, a slight recede shown off proudly / oh yeah, a real heavy presence / so overloaded, it’s hard to imagine 2spot coming from the same code / sure the same blue-glint eyes / but these jewels set in a face of dug-out pits and crevices

—what the fuck yer looking at?

—nothing

—yer see these / these lines / there’s one for every day inside / one for every day
he’s making a jailhouse origami of a roll-up / sets the end of it on fire / sucks deep

—so / what’s the game?

—what do you mean?

—what’s with this recording I hear about / you’re stealing my songs?

—some / I think so

—yeah well / that should be me singing up there / that should be me

—it is you

—yer what?

—it is you singing / it’s a sample

—don’t give me that sample shit / I fuckin’ hate that shit / fuckin’ dance music / what’s that, like finger-painting / oh look, oh look at me, I’m pressing a button / I’m a fuckin’ genius, me

—it comes from punk, one way

—fuck off / it does not come from punk

—anyone can do it

—it comes from black music / from fuckin’ black music
jesus / what can I do / what have I walked into / and I realise that my head is shaking, side to side, with some kind of nervous fear

—ya don’t like that kind of talk, eh / six years, kid / six fuckin’ years, with bad behaviour / the full stretch

—I don’t know what you want

—sure you do / some payback / some money

—I can’t

—can’t?

—can’t help you

—I don’t want any fuckin’ help / I just want some goddamn respect

—you think you deserve it?

—ya what?

—I’m saying...

—what the fuck are ya saying?

—your son...

—my what?

—2spot...

—what of him / eh / what the fuck of him?

—ah...

—where ya going?

—home

—home / where the fuck’s that?

—london

—london / oh, I don’t think so
he’s got me by the arm, pulling me back

—look, kid / elliot / sit down / ok, I’m being too nasty / will you sit the fuck down!

I sit down

—ok / I’m pissing off the bridge / sorry / let’s get us another tea, eh / hey, doll!

he’s shouting over to the waitress

—over here / another two teas / sharpish
the man stubs out his cig / starts another / working automatic

—the thing is, kid, and I’ll freely admit this / I’m a hard case / I was hard when I went inside, and it just made me worse / shit / I’m forty-six this year / where’s the life gone, eh / where the fuck has it gone / sure, I’ve done some stupid things, and enjoyed them, but somewhere in here, twisted, and black and stumped, but who cares, there’s something that just about feels / just about / do you understand what I’m saying / do you?

—yes

—do you / in here?

he’s banging a fist against his chest

—something / in here

—in your heart

—my what?

—look, george...

—who / listen / don’t call me that / the name’s deezil

—deezil...

—last of the true-faith punks, eh / oh, cheers, love!

the waitress places the teas on the table

—what it is, ya see / the old man called me georgie / the bastard / I mean, can you credit that / george fuckin’ derek / I mean, what kind of name is that for a true-faith punk, eh?

—ok / deezil...

—yeah, last of the true faithers / damn right

—why do you hate 2spot?

—eh?

—your own son...

—he’s the one with the hate / he’s the one

—it doesn’t bother you, that he killed himself?

—of course it fuckin’ bothers me / what’re yer saying?

—and your father / you’re surrounded by suicides

—I’m too strong, me / it won’t get me / I won’t let it get me

—what is it?

—it’s the demon / the fuckin’ demon

—the demon...

—sure, the manchester demon / don’t yer know, kid, it’s suicide city / top of the charts / listen to the music we make / and not just us / I mean all the music / all the fuckin’ manchester music / you never heard joy division, what’s wrong with you / the smiths, the fall / it’s a dark-side party

—dance music isn’t like that

—yer what?

—joy division became new order / dance music / it’s all about life, isn’t it / all about being, yer know, alive

—you fuckin’ twat

—right / so / what then / you’re blaming the city / the music?

he looks away, just for a second / the first sign of doubt

—you got a dad, have you / a mum?

—one of each

—and you get on do you?

—ok

—well / now there’s something / ok / ok’s good, isn’t it / oh yeah / the ok family / hello, we’re the ok family / we don’t have any trouble / no trouble / no trouble at all, ok is / as boring as fuck, ok is / don’t you agree / I mean, don’t you just wish sometimes that you could take your dad by the scruff of the neck and say, fuck off! fuck right off, you twatting bastard / I bet you’d love to do that, wouldn’t you / eh, just sometimes / well, wouldn’t you?

—yeah / yeah, I would / just sometimes

—but you see, with 2spot and me, it wasn’t like that / it wasn’t ok / it just never was ok

—why not?

—well, look at state of me

I look / and he looks back at me looking / and I look at him looking back at me looking

—yer see it?

—I see it

—I know yer see it / because you’ve got it as well

—what?

—it’s right there, kid / right in the eyes / yer just can’t love, can yer / no matter how yer try / no matter how / yer just can’t get it right

—that’s not true / I...

—it’s fuckin’ luminous on ya!

he smiles / a twisted grin / and I ask him, right into the smile...

—did you hit him?

—hit him / of course I fuckin’ hit him / didn’t I tell you, I’m a crazy fucker

—he was ... 2spot was hurt / very hurt, I think / but like, secretly / he kept it all in

—oh / there wasn’t much hope, with him and me / none at all / especially after he turned out that way

—which way?

—which way / you knew him well, did you?

—no / only for a couple of months

—a couple of months / well, fuck me / a regular fuckin’ expert

—I liked him

—I’ll bet you did

—he was / he was a good...

—a good what / a good fuck?

—a good drummer

—oh yeah / now there’s something / a good drummer / listen, kid / there ain’t no such thing as a good drummer / no such thing / all drummers are arseholes / and listen, I should know / I’ve beaten up enough of them / curse of the planet, they are / the fuckin’ curse

—your own son played...

—he was getting his own back, wasn’t he / I mean, all that puffed up rigmarole / all that prancing about / what was all that about, eh / how he turned out / dressing up, like that / playing the pansy / now there’s a slap in the teeth / to a man like me

—what are you saying?

—he was a fruit / he was fuckin’ gay / oh come on, yer must’ve got that?

—I ... I wasn’t sure

—not sure? the bastard used to wear make-up / oh yeah, age of six, I caught him / just staring at that fuckin’ sleeve / and smearing all this stuff, his mum’s stuff / all over his face

—which sleeve, a record sleeve?

—his grandad’s record / the fuckin’ glamour / what kind of name is that, for a band

—no / he was playing, that’s all / playing games / he loved his grandad

—loved him? he never even met him / the old geezer topped himself years before

—I know that / I found that out / but he said / he said his grandad taught him everything

—oh sure / the kid was mad for the geezer / playing those fuckin’ albums all the time / and he was only six, seven, when he got into it / jesus / what a waste / it’s me he should’ve loved / me / his fuckin’ dad / and I wouldn’t mind, but I tried to get him listening to the figs, yer know / he wouldn’t have it, the stuck-up twat / and all that fairy music

—fairy music?

—I mean, what’s the point of punk, if it’s not to kill that shit

—2spot had a girlfriend

—oh sure, he told me that / some black girl / as if

—he told you?

—sure he did

—but you were in prison

—yeah, and he’d come visit me / what / what’s up / is there a problem?

—no / I ... I just didn’t think...

—well, he did / near every month
oh, now / let’s see this / all those times that 2spot took off / is this what he was doing / visiting prison / and every time he came back, so donna said, he’d have cut himself again / new scars / new wounds to the body

—what did you talk about?

—you know the funniest thing / it’s just about the closest we ever were, me behind bars and all / it’s fuckin’ funny that, don’t you think?

—I suppose so

—and the funniest of all / he spent all the time talking about how much he hated me

—because you hit him?

—don’t be fuckin’ stupid / he liked being hit / the kid was born to be hit / no / not that / the thing is, yer see, those last times / those last times he visited me, just as I was getting ready for my release / well / he’d really got the idea from somewhere, that I was responsible

—responsible?

—for his grandad’s death

—and were you?

—no I was not / but the kid had grabbed hold of the idea / and that’s all that mattered

—ok / I see that

—but yer know, it’s good isn’t it / that he hated me / because that’s not ok, is it / because that’s not the dreaded ok / because what’s that thing you mentioned / that machine?

—machine?

—that fuckin’ machine you mentioned
he’s banging his chest again

—a heart / you mean the heart?

—yeah, a fuckin’ heart / you need a heart, to hate / don’t you?

—yeah / you do

—so then / 2spot had a heart / he had a heart for me

—if you say so

—I do say so / and that’s why

—why what?

—oh yeah / now there’s love for ya

—love?

—yer don’t get it, do yer

—get what / get what?

—why the lad killed himself / yer just don’t fuckin’ get it

—I’m trying to...

—jesus christ / you’re worse than I am

rhythms of the city
and that’s it, the guy tells me to piss off / and I’m glad to / out into the rain, coming down full strength now / with fifteen minutes’ slow-driving, to get to the hotel / some mock-gothic monstrosity, the best in town, right there on simply red street / a nice room for a week / all expenses paid by the zuum people / a week, for fuck’s sake / in manchester / what’s to do in a week?

trouble is, the idea of just going up to the room, well...

if I’m gonna be lonely, I’ll be my own kind of lonely
so I get out of the car, walk round to the boot / I’m drenched through just getting there / open it up, and there’s the bass / and behind it, the carrier bag / the tapes...

back in the driving seat, looking through them / everything’s here, the whole story / the 4 glamorous men, the glamourboys, the glamour / the three figs albums / and also
a globe...

what’s that doing here / jody must’ve thought I’d want a copy / the label reads
vibegeist mix #3
ok / let’s hear some, for real

I put the first glamourboys tape in the car’s player / start up the engine / start up the music / start up the driving, driving, driving
come on, manchester / play me some fuckin’ bass!

all around the centre, listening to the ready steady skiffle! music / just riding the beat along / reacquainting / circling around something that isn’t quite there / getting lost in the one-way systems, and all the singing street names
joy division terrace / rick astley street / sad cafe drive
soaking up the music, and the rain’s percussion / some people are out, so used to getting wet, they don’t hardly notice / sunday shopping, using up the weekend
john cooper clarke street / magazine boulevard / bee gees avenue
and here’s me, hitting the fast forward every so often / skipping the moments, letting the tape turn over, play out, slotting home another
down oasis lane / around billy j kramer circus / along the hollies road
sometimes just finding a space to park in / some place that reminds me of something
and then driving, drifting, arriving, deriving / songlines and dreamings
the fall parkway / the passage passage / a street called gerald / glamourboys parade
what’s that / I stop the car, turn off the tape, climb out / start walking
it’s a little street, edge of the centre / no one around / a few shops, some of them boarded up / well yer know, at least the group got a street name / and then I see the sign, the blue plaque stuck on the wall of a run-down building
on this site 1955-1968
the famous 2spot
coffee bar and night club
below the sign, a door / an open door, unmarked / stairs, leading me down
at first, I think I’ve stepped into some subterranean television showroom / all tuned to the underwater channel / big fat colours pop and wave / tiny little flickers dart, iridescent / the world’s a black pit, filled with globules, shipwrecks, lichen and slugs
it’s an aquarium / a giant aquarium / a few solitary men stand around, here and there, inspecting the swimmers, making notes in little black books / holding on to these bulging plastic bags, full up with greasy water and the golden goodies / I walk through the aisles, mesmerised / round a large open pond, where giant specimens swim through green water / until, at the back of the shop, a forlorn middle-aged man stands behind a counter / head down in some obscure fish-keeping fanzine, but still keen enough to notice my arrival

—is sir looking for anything in particular?

—erm / yeah / kind of...

—we have more stock, in the back / specialist items / if you would like to...

—didn’t this use to be a club?

—a club?

—yeah, the 2spot / a nightclub?

—was it?

—there’s a plaque outside

—look, mister / you want some fish, or what?

I leave him to it
back on the road again, letting the rain fall / and listening / passing landmarks, youthful things / getting a sandwich, eating it in the car / listening, following
stone roses junction / victor brox house / northern uproar cul-de-sac

I see a newsagent’s / buy myself an A-Z of the city / check the index / there’s a glamour walkway listed, right along the river bank / but no mention of the figs / there’s a john the postman yard / a frank sidebottom villas / a biting tongues playground / but no figs street / no figs road / not even a figs car park / george axle was a man without a place
moving on now
new fast automatic daffodil street / m people mews / inspiral carpet warehouse
heading out of town / down new order road / down to the strange, finding the old house, where we used to live / let’s call it glam damage house / what is that, a new paint job, frilly curtains / I get out of the car / it looks like any normal family home / and I know jody and donna moved out some time ago
gives me a shiver, just being there
the curtains twitch / somebody’s looking at me
so then, back to the car, more listening / tape after tape / music unfolding, losing me, finding me / I don’t know where I’m up to / losing track / the music getting looser, more relaxed / becoming too much, too much to listen to / what’s wrong with me / it’s just pop music / just the usual cheap salvation of the pop dream life
durutti court / morrissey gardens / alberto y los trios paranoias roundabout
along all the roads, the rhythms play
glamology / just this one family, going through all the phases / growing older with it, from rock’n’roll to beat, to psychedelia, to rock, to punk, and beyond / fifties to sixties to seventies / beyond / me, skipping forward, jump-cutting / getting the picture all in one place / trying to, anyway / following through the twisted moments
genetic harmonies / disharmonies
a damageography
and then, suddenly, I know where I’m heading

rhythms of the blood
danny axle / with the 4 glamorous men

1957 ready steady skiffle!

1959 live at the 2spot

with the glamourboys

1963 postergirls

1965 embrace you

1968 swirl

with the glamour

1970 damaged goods

1973 tainted vein

1977 unexploded blonde (unreleased)

george derek axle / aka deezil / with the figs

1977 skull

1979 flesh

1981 vapour

william axle / aka 2spot / with glam damage
scorched out for love

and now?

vibegeist

how far, how far?

sometimes, she listens
away from the centre, mile after mile of the tapes unwinding / doing the history / thinking about what donna had said before / a white-boy history / past the church of take that / the slaughter dog hotel / the glories of the black grape flats
oh / now just wait / what was that?

I turn the car around, park it in front of the hotel / just this seedy two-storey building, nothing good to show for itself / and yet / right here / danny axle did the deed / and then 2spot followed him / slaughter dog hotel / jesus, they should have a sign / suicides, special rate
time to get going, I think / and the further you drive down the old smiths road, one by one the musical names start to disappear / so by the time I’m moving through weaver street, coal street, engineer street, with the rain finally giving it up, I know I’m home
home?

the mam’s on me, straight through the door / giving it all the

—oh, look at him / oh, look at him, dave! look at the boy!

tears, already / laughing and crying

—he never lets us see him / never lets us see him / it’s a shame, it’s a real shame, it is / never lets us see him, not at all he doesn’t
you see what it is with the mam / tears and joy, there’s no barrier between them / heart to brain, direct fuse

—oh, look at him, dave! a year he’s been gone already, and just look at him!

whereas, with my dad, no fuse at all these days / there he is now, hanging back, trying to work out a suitable expression to wear / shaking my hand like I’m a door-to-door salesman

—and he never even said goodbye, says the mam / off to london, he is / and never even saying goodbye
so I get to eat the biggest meal I’ve had in years / receiving all the updates on all the people I can hardly even remember any more / from what I can gather, most of my old friends still live around here / mam’s insisting I go look them all up, but I can’t think of anything more scary / meanwhile, the only thing my dad says in all this

—lovely roast, susan

—just the one glass of wine, dave / remember?

what’s happened to him? and when will it happen to me / when will the fires burn out / and maybe they have already, playing the crappy r’n’b in the pubs of london / and if they’re burnt out already, when did it start / when did the fires get rained on / with 2spot killing himself / or with me getting into the drug thing / or before that / years before / when I was just a kid, trying to keep out of dad’s way, my dad’s drunken way / or else it started the day I was born, to such a tight household / or before that even / just being got like that, made like that, fucked into being like that, in the car park of a lousy broken-down punk club / was that the spark of me, or the snuffing out of me?

perhaps I was infected by the music that night / maybe they bred it into me, the punk trash conception
and then I’m looking over at dad, thinking about the bass strings / those stupid strings he sent me / sent in secret / maybe that was the bad start of me / all my stupid life coming from that gift / and why did he do that, I still don’t know
he’s looking at me / he’s looking at me / and then looking away
ah, he was better drunk
after the meal, we sit around / we sit around and sit around / long lost and never found / we sit around / until the mam says to the dad

—well, david / talk to him, talk to him
and he says

—still playing that bass, are you?

—yes, dad / still playing that bass
and that’s it / the mam starts crying, from nowhere

—oh that poor man / that poor, poor man!

—what have I said? says dad

—that poor mister 2spot!

now then, she never met him, not the once / it’s just what he represents, that brings the tears / all the dirty roads I’ve gone down / the rock’n’roll business, the drugs and everything / the drinking / the suicide, the running away / I know she thinks I’m as bad as life gets, I just know she does / and can I prove otherwise?

—that poor, poor man
and my dad says

—now then / let’s not get into all that
oh yeah / we’re an ok family, no problem / we’ve got ok up the arse
as I’m getting ready to leave, my mam rummages in a box near the antique record player, and pulls out nothing else but a copy of scorched out for love, twelve-inch vinyl

—I listen, she says / just sometimes

groove cutter
here we go now / there’s a few things in the hotel, a spare shirt, some toiletries / let the staff have them / and the bill, let zuum sort it / I’m out of here, direct route / bypassing manchester / I’m through, basically / done the bass, done the tour, done the mum and dad / and 2spot’s dad, jesus / enough / finished / the circle road, catching the motorway going south
south / away / gone
playing the last of the tapes along the way / the final shine of the glamour / twilight falling, the perfect time to catch this music / you know those moments, when a tortured saxophone sobs like butter / and the voices cloud the mix, darkening a smile / it’s that song again, the one 2spot played me / so proud of what his grandad was doing / so proud / the veins tainted with poison
what the light considers
the dark of moon delivers
and shit, yer know / it comes to me / maybe I’m wrong / maybe it’s not about drugs at all / maybe, just maybe / it’s about having a child / a kid / a bad kid, gone wild / the tainted vein
the sun that burns on midnight’s turn
devours and spits and shivers
and maybe, just maybe, it’s not the sun that burns, it’s the son / it’s about father and son / the father and the son, and the hatred between them / no, no / listen close / it’s about how to live / how to live with yourself, after you’ve created something bad / a child that’s bad / a child that hates you / that devours and spits and shivers you / a bad kid who calls himself deezil, just to spite you / Christ, what the hell’s going on with this family?

I have one glamour tape left / the unreleased demos for the 1977 album / unexploded blonde, the title / and at first I think jody’s made a mistake, given me the wrong cassette or something / because it’s dance music, more or less / just these swathes of soft noise / a bare rhythm / isolated bass / mechanical drums / cold, distorted voices / jesus, old danny axle was pushing it some / and then I think of the whole german scene, and the stuff bowie was doing at the time / and how white kids finally got hold of dub reggae / giving space to the music

And guess what / it’s a fuckin’ brilliant track

I love it
and then I think of 2spot, in the middle of this / what was it like, being brought up by deezil / how did he survive for so long / by falling in love with the grandfather, of course, the dead grandfather he never knew / falling in love, through the music / the old vinyl groove escape route / making it real / what was it 2spot said that time?

he made this music / it’ll live forever, and now it’s all mine

Christ / so lonely / and all that cool he had, just a frozen heart, maybe / kept in check, because otherwise...

what sent him over, I wonder / over the edge into actually killing himself?

something in the music, perhaps / the liquid trip we made / something in that last argument with deezil / the last imagined argument at the electric circus
his anger / 2spot’s anger, when he came down from the trip / and the running away

I try to imagine the moments / the slow, dark moments that pass through the soul
he knew that his father was going to be released from prison soon / I try to feel the anger 2spot must’ve felt, the hatred / and then / some final moment of release, perhaps / thinking, perhaps, to escape the poison / the poison in the blood
is that why he did it?

that question he asked, just before we took the first liquid smoke trip, together
do you believe that every human being has the right to damage themselves?

and the stupid answers I gave back
shit / and then 2spot killing himself / escaping the bloodstream / drowning himself
revelations of the autopsy / the final cutting of that mapped-out flesh / that the water in the bathtub had taken him, before the veins had emptied / a portable river / the freezing cold portable river of the night
the manchester night, where the demon lives / is that the way it was?

somebody tell me please
because also in the body, they found traces of some unidentified substance / a song, in the bloodstream
is that the way it was?

fall down in secret places
where am I / where I am / lost in the music
a slow rain against the windscreen brings me around / making a blur of the car in front / sudden swerve, and pull back / easy does it / I’ve been driving on auto / so I
and then I
ah, right / it’s not raining, is it / it’s me / it’s the rain in the eyes, only
shit

I pull off the motorway at the next exit / get myself parked / I’m in some hideous non-place / some lonely stretch of the night / plastic cash-and-carry warehouses and featureless, window-less engineering works / there’s not a human being in sight / oh lord / I’m sitting in a beat-up car, in a beat-up world, listening to some off-planet music, and I’m sobbing / I mean, the tears are pouring out of me / great surges of pain from deep hidden emotions, finally let loose
how long has it taken?

twelve months / twelve bloody months / what the fuck is wrong with me / and maybe deezil is right
you just can’t love, can you, no matter how you try
oh donna / donna, donna, donna
it’s not 2spot / it’s not him I’m crying about, not really / it’s donna / the living / the best chance I had in a long time, to get the heart melted / the very best chance...

I let the glamour album play out, getting submerged by it, and then finally start to relax as the silence takes over / just the whirring of the tape, as it continues through the machine / running into darkness / and I’m thinking, ah, there’s still something on there, maybe a ghost of a previous recording / a distant bass, faraway drums, and the voices, I can almost hear them / it’s got me messing with the tone and balance controls, trying to isolate the source / but then the tape reaches the end of the spool
click
and the voices are still there / I’m sure they are / still whispering

I take out the vibegeist globe / feeling stupid, I put the thing against my ear, shake it around / there’s nothing inside of course, no sounds, but the voices in my head are suddenly louder, suddenly clearer

I was too young to know, and all the lonely tears, fall down in secret places...

what is that / I know those words / I know them from somewhere / where is it?

one of those glamourboy songs / I cried my heart out over you / I heard it this morning, driving around town / and now I’m singing it to myself the globe in my hands
vibegeist, dubgeist
everything’s in here, the whole story / isn’t that what jody said?

which means all I have to do is listen
listen deep

I start the car, find the way back to the motorway / the opposite route, back towards manchester / oh yeah, because it’s not over yet, 2spot / l can’t let it go that easily / I need to get back to the hotel, do some digging, some searching / maybe talk to your dad one more time / I need to find out why / why you lay down in dirty water and opened your veins / really / just to get some peace for myself
and a space / maybe, just maybe / a space to let donna back in
entering the city, I let the figs play loud, filling the car with noise / a manic attack, cleaning all other songs from the skull / punk’s demon knife of love
as the globe tingles on the dash, with every passing headlight
liquid beats, blood music / samples of the way back / samples and scratches, a life mapped out in vinyl / groove spirit / ah 2spot / at least you knew / where you were coming from
feels like I’m being dragged downstream, every mile I drive along
and the first thing I do, back in the hotel room, is take the old magic bass strings out of my bag / and the second thing I do, is raid the minibar
it’s my first drink in months

the night caller
when I’m called, I don’t know where I am / don’t even know who I am, not for a few seconds / until the room sways into place / becomes something / hot, damp sheets all wrapped around me / wine, beer and whisky, dried solid in the channels / slow through the brain, the wavelengths of pain / like a beam of light, revolving / close-up, miles away / close-up, miles away / and then realising, ah, it’s not the light, it’s the sound / the sound of the telephone
reaching out for it in the pitch dark

—elliot!

—uh?

—elliot, please...

—jody?

—help me!

—what / what’s happened?

—it’s donna / she’s gone under

—she’s what?

—it’s donna / she’s gone under / she’s gone under!

slowly / slowly now / working it out

—elliot? you there / are you there?

—yeah / yeah, I’m here / look, keep calm / I’ll come over

—oh please, hurry up / bring the globe / the vibe

—the what?

—bring it!

needle in the groove

—who is it?

—elliot
the door opens, first time, just like that / the rain hardly touches me
inside, it’s like a graveyard club / the hush of the machines, all turned to standby / all the lights, turned to darkness / walk through, slowly / every single line of force concentrated, right to the dance floor, exact centre / where the night seems darkest, alive with secret rhythms / it moves, the centre moves...

gallagher

I follow the cat, downstairs, along the corridors / past the kitchen, along to where the wooden door leads down to the studio / down another level / my first ever journey here, repeated / the studio door / through / control booth / the window / through there, a dim-lit scene / jody looking right at me, her face split by shadows
the cat walks through the final doorway, and I follow it / all the way to where donna lies on the bed / the cat jumps onto her stomach, quite gently / I bend down, take her hand

—donna?

her sleepy face stirs at my voice / the eyes are closed, softly closed, and the trace of a smile plays around the lips / I stand up, turn to jody

—where’s the ambulance?

—no ambulances

—what?

—no, we promised

—promised? jody, she needs help, proper help

—no, she said no / I gave her my word

—what is this?

—I gave her my word
jody looks distraught, tired / all the promises made, draining the flesh

—ok, ok / let’s sort this / you gave her the stuff, did yer?

jody nods / holds up an empty vibegeist globe

—how much?

—all of it

—all of it? jesus / all that smoke? no way, she’d choke on it

—no, not the smoke

—she drank it?

—injected

—the needle? holy shit!

—elliot, she wanted it / brought the gear over herself

—and you agreed to this?

—she said / she said...

—yes?

—she said she wanted to find 2spot

I look down at donna / well, there’s no pain, that’s for sure / not yet, anyway / I reach down, to stroke the tattoo on her arm / the 2spot / oh but girl, what kinda love have you been keeping / what kinda heart are you possessing, it can take you this far?

—how long’s she been under?

—oh / some time...

—how long?

—an hour

—right / that’s it / I’m calling them

—elliot, no...

—where’s the phone?

—it won’t do any good

—jody, I’m doing it / don’t try and stop me

—the door / they won’t get through the door

—give them a password

—I’ve jammed it / straight after you came through / jammed the programme

—jody / it could damage her!

—where’s the globe / you brought the globe?

—what’s going on?

—give it to me

—why?

—give it to me
so / I hand over the globe / vibegeist mix #3

—there’s only this one left now / donna took the other / so this is the master / this is it
she’s turning the globe around and around in her hands / and from the look on her face, the sudden fix...

—jody...

—there’s no other option / I’ve gotta go in

—don’t be fuckin’ silly / come here

—don’t try and stop me, elliot / I’m going in after her
she goes over to the bed, sits on it, right next to donna’s legs / I watch her doing all this, it’s like I’m watching a film or something / a slow-motion study of the ways of the world / watching, as jody picks something up off the floor / a plastic bag / inside, a number of syringes / watching, as she chooses one, cracks the wrapper on it / next, she breaks the seal on the vibegeist globe, sticks the needle into the valve, pulls up the plunger
the syringe slowly fills, turns blue / a small collection of the sky

—you’re not taking all it? I ask

—no / just enough
a well-practised hand gets rid of air bubbles / a thin trickle of the music, spilling over / and then the tying of a ribbon, around the upper arm / pulled tight with the teeth and the free hand / until the veins enlarge, stand proud

—jody...

—it’s too late

—I’m thinking of you / I’m thinking of you, breaking the habit / don’t do it / please don’t do it / the needle, jody / it’ll just drag you back

—I’ll take the chance
the ribbon, unleashed / the tip of the needle, pressed against the flesh

—stop!

I go over, grab the syringe from her

—elliot!

—fuck it!

I stamp my foot on the other syringes, the ones in the package

—what are you doing?

—stopping you coming after me

—what?

—give me the ribbon
she does it / gives me everything I need / as I pull her off the bed, take her place / the cat’s purring beside me, curled up on donna’s thighs

—but you’re the same, says jody

—no, I’ve been clean for years / more control

—elliot...

—ok / ok / ah / who the fuck am I kidding / the thing is, jody, well / I love her

—yeah / I know

—and donna / donna needs to know that / that fact
oh shit / the way I remember precisely how to use the ribbon / frightening / how to get the veins up and ready / how to angle the needle just so, 45 degrees to the bloodstream

I look at the studio clock / it reads 4.06am

—give me fifteen minutes / if we’re not out by then, call the ambulance / you got that / you’ll promise me that?

jody nods
needle kiss the skin / pushed home / and then, thumb to the...

—remember, says jody / it’s a different mix / you’ll have to search around

—ok
the cat moves against me, as I press down on the plunger / jam that spike
home / burning

plug me in, vibegeist overload
did yer ever get drugged / did yer / did yer ever get drugged and popped, and danced and kissed / and did yer get the heartbuzz, the bloodsonic drugbeat of a dancing pop kiss / and these kisses, were they like drug percussion kisses / like electric popdance frequencies / like insect chimes / like a drugsoft shimmer / a kisspop and drumkiss liquid bass affair / and did yer ever kiss a drug, pop a drug and dance a drug / did yer / did yer ever do that, so far, it’s like a boombox rendezvous / like a blood mix / where the beat is always one groove away from the needle’s end / clouds of dance coming in, clouds of sparkle, kissing the drums / and did your bass ever get cloud-captured, made soft, with all the notes veinshot / climbing the mix, in orbital rhythms / something to float away on, in the waves of noise from the speakers / and then finally, falling / and in the fall, did yer hear the voices / like a drumvoice, distant, almost on the very edge of the edit / and was it the whispering dub, the murmuring / the long lost and never found / the voice you’ve been almost just about hearing all your life / the four-string ghost / finally, finally played upon
did that kinda thing ever happen to you?

did yer get yourself some drug / like I got me some drug / got me some popkissdancing drug, all the way burnt / with the four strings, catching fire, one by one
until

blood sample 57
one string / they only gave me the one string to play with / just this wooden box, a broom handle and a length of goddamn string / string, real string! / I’m supposed to make music from this / left hand desperate to find a place on the handle / the right plucking madly at the jive / ok, call it a rhythm, stick to that / make a breakdown stomp for the singer to raise a shout along
johnny o johnny o
johnny o’ palaver
born with the devil may care
match the guy beside me, scraping raw notes from a pigskin banjo / and the guy behind, scratching those thimbles over the washboard / and danny the man up front, swinging that guitar / one real mess of a sound / but yer know, it’s rocking / we got a stewball going on / here’s where I come in, finding the harmonies...

went out a sporting, ended up courting
the devil’s fiery glare
ohh
the devil’s fiery glare
made it / made it just fine, all the words coming to me / and down / keeping it going, and getting into it / as some kids down the front start to dance / it’s a complicated movement, the girls with their swirling skirts / the lads all dressed as we are / check shirts, blue jeans, soft shoes / ill-lit stage, bare stone walls, cheap equipment / behind me, strung across a wall, a torn-up sheet / oh yeah, I made it this morning, wrote it out by hand
rocking the 2spot
danny axle and the glamorous men
oh yeah, oh yeah / I’m a glamorous man / try and stop me / making the one-string bass talk like a full-throat / jazzing the changes / no electricity, just the box to amplify me / but loud, loud, loud / ragged and proud / making a merge with the drums and the board / with the feet of the dancers, spinning around / and all the kids along the sides, moving their hands in the new jive code / hot / sweat on the walls of a downtown cellar / all the clatter and bang of the rattle and twang / one last string run, down to the tonic
then we’re done / last song of the set / the crowd make a noise for us, and it feels so good / this could be my life, maybe / making music / just sitting there on the edge of the stage, talking to the girls / danny beside me / I have to keep close to this man / he can write the songs / don’t know anybody else who does that

—good stuff, guy, he says to me

—sure thing, diggin’ it

—what were you playing there?

—oh, yer know / some new lines I worked out

—yeah well / keep it nasty, guy / keep it sweet

—sure / sweet and nasty
somebody’s slipped a coin into the jukebox / don’t you rock me daddy-o, by the stretford blades

—ah / someone’s got a joke on ‘em
the blades are the next best skiffle band around here / a long way the next best

—square time / at least nobody’s dancing
now we’re sitting in a corner, round a chipped table / sipping at frothy coffees / a young woman joins us / danny’s wife / he puts his hand on her stomach

—what’s in there? he asks

—danny!

—that’s my boy in there, he says to me / my little boy

—you don’t know it’s a boy, says his wife

—of course it’s a boy / can feel him kicking

—don’t be silly / he’s not kicking yet / he’s only just started

—feel that rhythm on him / oh yeah, the georgie boy / gonna be a player
around the booth where we’re sitting, a cut-glass mirror / my face comes back to me, fragmented / my hair, combed back immaculate / I push my hand through the thick, greasy wedge of it, loving the feel

—hey danny / we got the business
two black guys have come up to our table / air-force uniforms / danny’s looking over the gear they’ve brought

—oh yeah / we dig this / bassman, ya see this / brooklyn stomp, the 1932 version / we’ll have that, most definitely / and what’s this?

—rhythm and blues, man

—ah, I don’t know / guy, do we dig this?

—let’s see

I take a look at the record / hoochie coochie man, by muddy waters

—yeah, dig it / this is the one

—you sure / I mean, it’s not our style

—we can change it around / maybe get ourselves plugged in

—sure / change it around / guy’s also saying that / ok, what do you want for it?

so, we make the deal / records bought with cash from the group takings

—now then, says danny / there’s some taste
because now the jukebox is playing solid gone sweetheart, the b-side of our single / and the kids come out to dance / I love this / watching people move around to the stuff we do / it’s the life / and that gets me scared, just thinking about my eighteenth birthday coming up soon

—danny, I don’t wanna go away

—ah, it’s only two years / if I can make it, you’ll make it

—but ya know what I’m thinking / I’ll do my national service, come back / and you’ll have a new bassman

—hey guy / listen to me / we’ll keep it hot for ya
the small floor is packed now / a twist of colour / dazzle and spice / something in the air I can’t quite place / a tingle / aroma / ah, now then / I look over at the two airmen / their faces are focused on something / and I follow their eyes, all the way / right to the centre of the floor
where two people dance
two kids, just dancing the night away / one white, the other dark / a boy and a girl / and the tingle comes back to me, informed by a scent of flowers / and a car starting
lavender / lavender, petroleum / hair grease

2spot!

2spot and donna / doing the diamond jive
and all the days, the weeks, the years come zooming / gathering around me / and I know then, just what I am doing here / the name’s not guy / the name is elliot / elliot hill / I play the bass / the four-stringed bass!

—guy! guy, where yer going?

—later, danny / later
through the dancers / transfixed, as the boy flings the black girl around / catching the tails of themselves, every last second / centrifugal / and then, saying the word

—2spot...

the dance breaks in two

—what?

it’s the girl / it’s donna, looking at me / the fear, the fear on her face

—no! 2spot! wait!

the boy’s running now, through the crowd / to where the stairs lead upwards, outwards, along / and the girl, she turns to me, close / angry

—donna, I never...

she’s gone, and I’m running after her / climbing the stairs, feeling jump-cut crazy / taking me outside / cold, bitter / manchester / the moon a full peach of a thing / golden, shining on the cheap painted frontage of the 2spot coffee bar
donna’s standing alone / on the small back street of nowhere

—I was dancing / I was dancing with him!

a certain lingering scent in the air / dispersed / filtered clean / and when I look at the moon again, I see now I was mistaken / it’s the smallest possible crescent
the city darkens around me

—donna / come back with me / donna?

oh / she must’ve slipped away somehow / she must have...

and when I turn back to face the coffee bar, I see that the sign has changed / cleaner, brighter, louder
the 2spot nightclub
a neon two of hearts, burning, on and off / on and off
and a different music plays from within

I go through the door, buy a ticket / and then start down the stairs

blood sample 64
jammed / tight and shiny / tight, shiny and dark / I’m dressed in the latest / three-button tailored jacket, single vent / sharp on the collar / three-tone cloth with the sparkles, all gold and green and purple / slim jim tie, with the silver pin / and my fringe travelling, down to the eye / every day, further down towards the eyeline / I’m gonna shine / who’s listening / tonight, I’m just gonna shine myself a beam / force a way through the crowd stream / hand in the pocket, deep in the crush / fingers closing around the pills, the speed / keep it cool, for the fools / head down, hand up, slip the benny in the lips / feeling the charge as the beat gets louder / moving now, just moving, through the darkness and the smoke / towards the stage / the burst of heat, and the surge of the blues / the hoochie coochie mojo man, blowing the mike / sky high
the glamourboys
tight and shiny / tight, shiny and dark / with a feedback spark / waves of applause / no pause / riding the feeling, straight into the next number / this ballad / the springs and twists and turns of melody, precise, like a knife across the heart / all about how the singer cried his heart out / and all the lonely tears, yer know what, they fall down in secret places
yeah, right
the round the way fans, with the out of tune tears / tears, for all the crazed and fiery nights spent down in this cellar / for all the songs they think belong to them / to them alone / tried and tested, down in the dark, the shared dark
push through, further, closer to the stage / it’s so easy, moving like this / even with the tightly packed bodies all around me, I move like smoke / must be the tablets, getting me slippy / through, to where all the girls enjoy / the squash / I watch them reaching out, reaching out for the singer

—danny! they scream / danny, danny!

all the dreams of the city / contained within this one band
looking past the singer now / between the bass player and the lead guitarist / through, to where the drummer brings the skin alive / he’s good / they said he was good / and he is good / too good / too good for this band, or any band / he’s playing rhythms like they haven’t been invented yet / holding back from the beat / holding, releasing / until you just can’t stop moving to it
you just can’t stop moving

2spot, they call him / bloody silly thing, isn’t it / calling yourself after a club
the girl I’m looking for, she’s right there at the front / the black girl / the only black girl in the place / I tap her on the shoulder and she turns / gives me a bad look but what the hell / I grab her hand and start to pull
the girl struggles / maybe she even screams / all lost in the noise and the crowd / and I really think I’m doing this / the whole club’s starting to dissolve around me / the music, losing its beat / pulling / pulling the girl away from there and back to

—get the hell off her
a sudden blow spins me around
the drummer / the drummer’s on me / the smell of him / the sheer lavender fucking smell of him / the petrol of him / it all comes flooding into my brain / and I know / and I know, even as the rest of the glamourboys pile in, dragging me down / under / the wet, sticky floor / hard blows / kicks from pointed heels / stamping on my hands / bringing the damage
and I know, even in the darkness / I’ve lost the tune again
hey! dj groove selector / bring another mix on
and then the lights catch fire / and flower

blood sample 68
so, ya know, man / ya know what’s happening / well, danny boy / yer know danny, from the glamourboys / well they did this gig in london, and met some cats / and danny comes back home with this drip-drip / sure, baby, a whole bottle of the fix / and he gives me a drop / one drop, two drops / right there on the blotter / he says, take these tonight, come down the club, watch us play / it’s the last night ever / so yeah, I put myself on it, man, take the skull burn / get down there / ya know the place, the two of hearts / a real swirltown happening / night of the shutdown / all these colours climbing the walls, sliding around / and I get a colour stuck in my eye / the colour turquoise, like a splash of blue tears / there’s not too many cats there / plenty of room to move, real slow through the rhythms, crawling from the speakers / a screaming, rolling special / voices of children / the clocks go blind, the days unwind, oh yeah / it’s like I took my head for a swim / downstream, downstream / hair hanging, over the eyes / feeling loose, in every step I take / flared / sucked into the music / caught in the bass line / endless, endless / and at the end of every note, donna rides, donna rides, always one note ahead of me / amid kaleidoscope flowers / donna, I say / words like glue on the tongue / donna, donna, donna / come back with me, come back / grabbing hold of her dress / donna, leave him be / leave the drummer be / just saying it over and over, until she slips away / slips away / slips away / where all the jokes, are told in smoke, and as the place floods with liquid, I get the taste of the rhythm on the eardrum / aroma / flowers / petrol / and then the flowers fall, one by one / donna, will you marry me / donna, will you / and the line of petrol catches fire / whoosh! my hair’s on fire / in the funny little town of swirl, my fucking hair’s on fire, oh man, it’s like...

blood sample 73
it’s cold, tonight / so cold / I’m standing outside a club, over the other side of town / it’s a stylish venue, strictly smart attire / now look / you see this jaunty number / the cashmere coat, the grey suit and tie / and my wife at my side / the beautiful wife, dressed in her best frock / oh yes, we’ll do / the saloon car is parked, safe / and we have tickets / we have everything we need / everything
all this week at swaggers cabaret bar
supper dance with
hit sixties singing sensations
the glamour
excellent / inside, all the tables are laid out, just so / candles, wine baskets / oh, it’s very upmarket / very exclusive / oh yes, they put on a good show, at the swaggers / I lead my charming wife to our allocated table, and as I do so, she says

—can we not move closer to the stage?

—now don’t fret yourself, donna / these are our seats

—oh but, elliot...

—we can enjoy ourselves perfectly well from here / perfectly well
we get a few looks, of course / but we’re quite used to that by now / after all, we have the same standards as the rest of the clientele / we eat the same fancy meal, with the same delicate manners / and the band come on stage exactly as we’re finishing our dessert, perfect timing
oh, I remember them well, the glamour / of course, back then they were known as the glamourboys / we heard them quite often, my wife and I, and in some dreadful dives, let me tell you / still, we were young then / so very young / and it’s nice, isn’t it, to hear the old songs again / of course, it’s not the original group / not all the original members, I mean / but the singer’s the same, and that’s all that matters, isn’t it? and they do all the old favourites

I cried my heart out over you
oh now there’s a song / why don’t they write songs like that anymore / it means so much to people, so very much / and donna, donna is singing along, just to herself of course, one shouldn’t make a scene / and shall we dance / yes, let us dance / onto the floor, arm in arm / around and around / with more couples joining us, all lit with the sparkle of the mirrorball / shots of light, scattering
it’s cold, tonight / so very cold
we dance closer to the stage / and closer still / why, it’s almost as if my wife wants to show herself off, to the musicians / really, I do have to keep my eye on her / well, one never knows, does one / really, perhaps we shouldn’t have come here tonight / and once safely back at our table, I say to her

—now, what was all that about / showing yourself off like that?

—oh / it was a long, long time ago

—what was?

—a long, long time ago / I’m not sure...

her gaze is drifting, over towards the stage / as if drawn / closer, closer still / to where the singer stands, speaking to us

—here’s a song from the new album / one for the boy / wherever he is
what the night uncovers
within the heart of lovers
the sun that’s torn on twilight’s dawn
snaps and cracks and smothers
now then / what’s this noise / that’s not a tune / that is not a tune / and those words, where is the love / where is all the love we were promised / and all around, from table to table, the diners start to chatter / louder, louder / the singer carries on / and the more you look, the further he sings / see now, how strange he looks / why, the man isn’t even dressed properly / shaking, like he has a disease / and what’s that on his face, make-up? / the clientele are restless / and would rather talk, and order more drinks, than listen to this, to this...

—look, says my wife / look, the drummer...

the young man has risen from the drum kit / he grabs the microphone from the singer

—you lot, he says / you lot, you should be listening to this

—how rude, says a man at the next table

—you should be listening!

it’s cold, tonight / so very cold outside the swaggers dancing and entertainment club / and a grey downhearted rain begins to fall / dissolving / the band are loading their equipment into a van / the single word there on the side, glamour, and the word boys, painted over
donna insists we pay our compliments / she walks over to where the drummer and the singer stand alone

—I liked your show
the singer looks up / plainly seen, behind the smeared mascara, all the broken dreams

—thank you, he says

I touch my wife on the shoulder

—come on, dear / we have to go now

—just a moment
she turns to face the drummer / something passes between them / some feeling I can hardly dare fathom

—haven’t we met before? she asks

—yes
his single word / my wife is set alight

—I knew it / I knew we had / but where...

the drummer smiles at her / devastating

—come on now donna, I say / we really should be getting along / the babysitter...

—no / you go / go on without me / I want to stay a while
and like the fool that I am, I turn and walk back towards the car / our lovely saloon car / feeling myself melting / melting away in the rain / the boomsonic rain
it’s cold tonight, isn’t it / so very, very cold

scorched out for love, dubgeist remix
scratching mad magic
splinters and tactics
scraped from the shimmer
of samples and static
boomsonic boomsonic
kaleidofunkphonic
let the vinyl glide

finger drag scatter
pop rattle and clatter
the rhythm’s incision
twin-deck precision
boomsonic boomsonic
kaleidofunkphonic
let the vinyl glide

grooving ‘n’ smoking
bass-lines invoking
turntables revolving
in crackles dissolving
boomsonic boomsonic
kaleidofunkphonic
let the vinyl glide

blood sample 77
a bass guitar / plugged into the sun
let the vinyl glide
and I shall play this number, speeding / through a line of flow, of fire / of speed / through a line of burning speed shall I flower / four lines of burning speed / faster, faster, screams the singer / and I shall give my body up to the final bass, the burning bass / it’s a punk flame that I seek / yea, even amid the howls and the scratches / and the one million samples of a life lived, and lost, in music
lived, loved, and lost / spat upon, shat rapid like blades from a flower
good times! bad times! good times! bad times!

it all comes down to this / that when I open my eyes, I’m on stage at the electric circus club / manchester / and now I know, that this is my place / I was born to be here / this stage, this wash of filthy light / this cage of crackle / here I am / a dark mass that pumps the noise, a surge of hair and bone and flesh / and three simple chords / three simple chords encase me / four strings enwire me / three hundred souls surround me / I’m a slave to the tune, the beat, the group, the jeers of the crowd

I’m the mule / holy fuck, I’m the bass player with the figs / the fuckin’ figs crew / arse band of the universe, and I’m loving every single moment / every single pumpshit nowhere moment / with harmonies of saliva, watch me
even the good times turn out bad!
even the good times turn out bad!

behind me plays mondo, on the drums / beside me fluxus, on the guitar / ahead of me / deezil, setting his tongue on fire
bad bad bad!

and this time, I know everything / why I’m here, and how I got here / the liquid mix / looking out now, into the crowd, and seeing donna there / out there, with her arms around 2spot / and thinking, right, that’s it / enough / this sudden urge, as the crowd start to curse and throw things / to just pull off the bass / take a screaming run towards the moment where the stage ends / and just to leap
to leap, into the noise down there / sailing towards where
into the crowd / arms waiting, to beat me / and bloody well kill me / just trying to get through to donna / one last time
frozen, caught in flight, above the pogo pit / and
let the vinyl glide
you’ll find me in the gents, taking a piss / surrounded by chaos graffiti / all the lousy bands who ever played the hole and never came back out / and catching myself in the mirror / its black depths far worse than the bunged-up toilet / my face reflected, cracked in pieces, crowned with spikes / Christ I look bad, hardly there / a skin of flickers, eyes of glaze

I have this picture, this captured moment in the glass / and when I turn round
let the vinyl glide
and when I turn around, I’m suicidal / just floating through the air once more / slowly / stage-diving, into the crowd / arms reaching up to grab me / and stop me / from just getting through, one last time / to where donna stands / and
let the vinyl glide

—where is he?

—uh?

he must be the oldest person here tonight / some crazed nutter

—you’re the bass player, aren’t you?

—yeah, but...

—where’s georgie?

—georgie?

—deezil / whatever he calls himself / where is he?

shit / it’s danny axle / thin biscuit hair / jagged bones / eyes in a mantra / strung out wild

—where’s my son?

vinyl glide
time’s getting twisted / around and around the groove / falling now, slowly, slowly / through the noise, into the arms of the crowd / ah shit, if I could just get through to donna / just the once before the needle jumps / shit!

vinyl gliding
all the way backstage

—what the fuck is this? says deezil

—my latest stuff

—pops, yer all fucked up
deezil puts his arms around some major punk girl

—listen to it
danny axle has brought a small cheap cassette machine with him / a wire stretched from it, to a pair of plug-in earphones / he’s holding this line out to deezil

—jesus, what is it with you?

—unexploded blonde

—yer what?

—my latest stuff / please, son / I wrote it for you

—oh fuck off

I’m watching all this from a comer of the dressing room / the air stinks like an armpit / punk musicians wander through, sit around / one guy is lying flat out on the floor / just sweating up the place / somebody’s spray-painting a large letter F on the wall

—listen to it, please / just listen

—I’m busy
deezil grabs the girl hard, takes a nasty kiss right off her lips

—listen to it

—christ almighty
deezil snatches the wire, plugs his ears with the music / and he’s just laughing

—fuckin’ jurassic, pops / jurassic and a half

—you’re not listening

—it’s over, dad / we don’t need yer anymore
he knocks the machine to the floor / brings a doc marten down on it / the look on danny axle’s face / the blankness written there / and beyond that, through the doorway, I see 2spot, watching / watching all this / watching / and as I move towards him, following the sudden scent / the flowers / ah
vinyl on the glide
and don’t yer know / it’s a slo-mo heart that can fly like this, right over the crowd’s desire / and then, twisting / coming down / losing height / a snatching hand grabs me / pulls / pulls at me hard / oh please, mr dj, let the groove become a wave
and let the vinyl glide me, slowly now, so slowly...

finally / outside / cold wind, and a touch of rain / and I remember, the last time I was here, it wasn’t raining / I wonder which is true, which remix / some kid, painting TIME’S UP on the wall of the circus / a bottle falls from a top-storey flat / falls, and smashes / I walk towards the car park / over there, my father’s car / I remember, I remember...

the rain falling heavier now / and standing beyond the car, two men / 2spot and his grandfather / 2spot and danny, their arms around each other / something is said, and then the grandfather moves away / the rain takes him

I wait a while, and then walk over to 2spot / flowers / flowers and petrol, overwhelming the air / supernatural / he turns at my approach

—mr bassman / how yer doing?

—ok / and you?

—oh, yer know / he’s gone / that’s the thing

—your grandad?

—every time / every single time, he has to go to that bloody hotel

—you keep coming back here?

—oh sure / playing the same old tune, over and over / just trying to get through to him / trying to make him listen

—trying to, what / persuade him to stay?

—why / why won’t he listen / why?

he looks away briefly / after the figure departing

—I died with it, didn’t I, elliot / I died with the tune inside me

—scorched out for love?

—totally scorched / and now he’s gonna kill himself / over and over, in that bathtub / that bloody hotel... jesus / if I could only...

it rains / and keeps on raining

—2spot?

—yeah?

—I’ve come for donna

—ah / that’s up to her

—let her go

—what?

—she’s not singing anymore / let her go
he looks at me / a deep straight look / and then he smiles / and says

—I promised deezil / that I’d murder him, that I’d kill him, once he got out of prison

—oh / right

—there was no turning back on it / you do see that / no turning back

—yeah, I see that / but you couldn’t do it / so / so you killed yourself instead / is that it / what / some kind of fear / some kind of guilt / is that it / 2spot / tell me / come on / I need to know
he smiles once more / and then lets it die on his lips / then he takes me by the arm, and leads me around the car park, towards the back of the circus / a beat-up van is parked there, the single word figs on the side / and waiting beside it is my father / my young punk of a father

—dad...

yeah, I actually say it / and the young punk turns to look at me / that faint glimmer of recognition passes / and then a sadness prevails

—yer know, says 2spot / there’s a thing between us
he’s steering me gently, towards the van

—between us / what do you mean?

—take a look
he opens the backdoor of the van / and inside...

a genuine punk love song, vibegeist remix
now then / here’s a story

Sunday oct 2, 1977, the last night of the electric circus club / fused / and all the manchester bands playing over the weekend / sparkers of the flame / the remembered and the dust
and the fans / place them up there with the players / the wall to wall mess of people
but move in close on just two in that audience / nobody famous / a man and a woman / call them that, a boy and a girl really / teenagers / little punks / but the boy was on the scene, trying to be anyway / knew some of the bands, just to talk to / and for this special night, he’d invited the girl along / it was only their third date
but still / something got them going that night, something wicked / white hot sulphursonic / this super fast whine of guitar and twine, dragging a tide in their blood
their names are dave and sue / just ordinary names / nothing special
except / that afterwards, around the back of the building, in the rain, the boy was persuaded / made stupid / cold, left out and stupid / he did it / yer know, let his girl go loose, all for a touch of the rock’n’roll dark / like bending down to pick up a diamond, and ending up with your hand in the dog shit, the smelly, sticky lump of it / as he let his girl go with the singer / in the lousy beat-up van, with the singer
and that, as they say, was my mum and dad, doing it / deezil and sue / and what they were doing, the dirty, that was me being made
once upon a time, a child of the buzzcocks / now, a child of the figs
ah fuck
ah fuck, ah fuck, ah fuck / as I push myself away from the sight
falling...

slaughter dog hotel
falling, through the air / into the crowd / arms grabbing at me, pulling me down / and suddenly, I’m fuelled by something, something hot / something that tells me I can do this / I can move myself through the music, no trouble / right to where donna stands / just learning to ride the waves of the sound, at last / making like a dj, working the spike through the grooves of black life / I’m the man, the man, the needle-fuckin’ man!

kid liquid / just turning the circles and then the crowd have me / closing around me / tightening / pulling me under, further / and down / and further down / below the low and deepcore / black vinyl gliding me / melting the noise and the lights and the crowd / clean away
ah / so peaceful
just this vast expanse of deep blue liquid that I’m swimming through, naked, alone / music is playing, somewhere far away / oh so very far away / but that’s ok, all I have to do, now and forever, is float around in here / in the deep blue loving stillness
and never feel anything / not ever, not ever
not ever not ever not ever not ever / with no music to plague me
with no music, not ever / oh, but only...

only, that tune being played / oh so very far away / calling, calling
upwards / upwards, towards the light / the swirls of red
and through / gasping for air as I come up / breaking the surface of the world, the thin stretched melody of the world / playing so close, and only for me / only for me

I was too young to know
how to fall in love with love
but I cried my heart out over you

I’m lying in a dirty bathtub, filled with dirty water / streams of dark red liquid extend from my wrists / oh, there must be holes in the skin, to let the red stuff get loose / how strange

I raise myself into a sitting position / look over the rim of the tub, and there’s a lonely boombox / playing the lonely tune
and all the lonely tears
fall down in secret places
when I cry my heart out over you
and sitting beside the machine, this black cat’s looking at me / one good eye, set tight upon my naked flesh
jesus, it’s cold all of a sudden / I’m shivering / get me out of here
so I stand up, as best I can / feeling weak somehow / and catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, the peeling mirror

I have 2spot’s face
and looking down

I have 2spot’s body / 2spot’s arms / the muscles like wire that once worked the drums / and 2spot’s hands, that once twirled the sticks around / and his wrists / the two open gashes, one in each / the blood still flowing
oh shit
oh god / oh my god / please / jesus / help me / please / somebody fuckin’ help me

I stumble towards the bathroom door, bang it open / tumble through / just this terrible cheap hotel room / stained wallpaper, unmade bed, the smell of used-up life
and then I’m falling, all the force gone from my bones / hitting the carpet / down flat
broken
from where I’m lying, I can see the telephone / bedside table / I start to crawl towards it

—you looking for something?

I jerk my head around

—well?

It’s deezil / lounging in the armchair / I didn’t see him / why didn’t I see him?

—help me...

—what / what’s that / sorry, I can’t hear you, son
and I want to tell him, I’m not your son, I’m not 2spot / my name is... my name is / but the words won’t come, and the room is blurred / I reach out towards the phone

—oh, you wanna make a call?

I start crawling / but deezil stands up, comes over to me / he sits down on the floor, cross-legged / right in front of my face

—you see the thing is, son / it’s a bit late / it’s a bit fucking late!

then he drags me, just pulls me right across his legs

—that’s right / come to daddy / lie down across daddy’s lap / just like the old days, eh / just like the days
he’s stroking my hair, my wet hair

—this didn’t have to happen, yer know / it really didn’t / we could’ve sorted it / we could have / what do yer reckon / shall we start again / shall we make amends / uh, son / shall we / just throw it all away / and start again

I want to tell him to fuck off / really / really I do
with a stupid old cat staring right at me
and then the blood drains away completely / taking my breath with it / and I let it all go
dying / right there in a cheap hotel room / right there
in my father’s arms

the last sample

—wake up / elliot, come on

—what?

—you’re back

—donna?

—yeah, it’s me / I’m fine / come on

—oh god / I thought I’d... I sit up, wipe my face / it’s covered in sweat / look around / studio zuum / donna beside me / and the cat sitting on one of the amps / no sign of the dj

—where’s jody?

—never mind jody / look who’s here

—yer wanna put that track on, bassman?

It’s 2spot / he’s sitting behind the kit, combing his hair / left side, right side / the quiff

—what...

—oh yeah, says donna / let’s do it

—one last time, says the drummer / set it rolling

—elliot...

donna’s looking at me

—will yer work it?

without even thinking, I go into the control booth / fixing the globe to get the vibegeist flowing / the music starts
and straight away, 2spot starts to play along
to play and to play / real simple / just the extra beats where you least expect them / playing along with the samples of himself / making it real
so much so that donna just can’t stop singing along / going up to the nearest mic, putting in the harmonies

I’m watching all this through the glass / too scared to even consider / that this man, this player / he’s my brother / half-brother / whatever / my brother...

until in the end nothing at all can stop me from walking through into the studio, with the cat slithering around my ankles / and then plugging myself into the bass / just letting the feel of it take me / along the congregation of these four bits of stretched, tightly pliable wire
spirit of the groove
fading in the mix
evaporating process
surrendering caress
and I know that when this song is ended / donna will have to choose / finally
between the drums / and the bass

the dancer
coming round, the first thing I do is check the studio clock / it reads 4.16 / I’ve been inside for just ten minutes / feels like my skull is filled with rhythm

—you ok? asks jody

—sure / I’m living it

—jesus / what happened?

—yer don’t know?

—how should I know / I never took the stuff
donna’s still lying there, deep down and drifting / the cat still asleep on her lap

—what’s wrong? asks jody / didn’t you find her?

well / what can I say?

—ah, it’s up to her now / if she wants to come out

—so / ah, what now / we call somebody?

—listen / do you have the vibegeist globe / the master?

—oh sure / it’s here

I can see the sphere in her hand / the blue liquid inside / the sparkles

—play it, will yer / and get the result down on tape / no, don’t shake it / just play it
so / jody works the desk, and the music comes alive / and the singing, the singing is harmonised / the drums are god-like funky / and the bass, the bass...

—bloody hell, elliot / I never heard you play like that, not ever / did the fluid do that?

—I guess so

—never heard it do that before / not ever

—turn it up, jody / turn it right up
turn it up loud, so loud / that donna just has to come alive / start to dance / open her eyes
come on girl / open up those moonlit eyes

Bass Instruction Manual

To wake the strings so tightly bound, let slide
The finger’s nub along the neck from fret
To fret; from bridge to nut, the tones collide
To sound a joyous air! And yet, and yet...

If root of base desire the song deny
In tempting play of lover’s serenade,
No matter then how crafted skill apply:
Inside the heart remains a note, mislaid.

And never truly voiced, the song’s domain,
The chords a code as yet misunderstood
When love is tuned against the vein’s refrain
Of scratches and samples, the body and blood.

Until at last the player finds within
The key, that every note is but one part
of a whole; and then and there beneath the skin
there lies revealed a remix of the heart.

G D A E
and all the things I saw / and all the songs I heard...

later that day, I’m sitting on my hotel bed, dry in the mouth, heavy in the head / really, I could do with another drink, but yer know / I have to start again now / start again to learn how not to be addicted
but 2spot’s dad / was he really there at the end, helping his son to die / and what the hell, he’s my dad as well / is that true / is deezil really my father / all that anger he showed me in the cafe / did he know...

it’s right there, kid, right in the eyes – yer just can’t love – no matter how yer try, no matter how – yer just can’t get it right
and then me trying to tell him that wasn’t true / and him saying
it’s fuckin’ luminous on ya!

and how am I supposed to handle that / what do I do, ask my dad, I mean david hill / and my mum, ask them both what happened / dave and sue / what really happened, that last night at the circus / and where the fuck is all the love you promised me?

can I dare to do that / dare to ask?

and is that why 2spot couldn’t kill deezil / because he’s my father as well?

oh jesus / 2spot, 2spot / making all those murderous promises with the soul / and then finding them disallowed / but knowing inside, nothing’s going to stop you, nothing at all / you’ll do it anyway / kill the bastard / unless, unless...

the only way out / the drummer on the mix, taking out the bad note / and is that the reason 2spot killed himself / in order not to kill my father?

is that what the music’s telling me?

and anyhow, it was all just another remix, wasn’t it / of course it was / I mean, in one version of the song, I was married to donna / remember that / and that’s not true, so why should this version be true / why should it mean, really, that deezil is the man?

only...

I have the old bass strings alongside me / all four of them laid out on the candlewick
the four strings I received as a kid / the G, the D, the A and the E
but / well, the E string, I bought that myself didn’t I / and my name is elliot

Elliot
you see what I’m saying?

so then / the G, the D and the A
received in that order
you see what I’m saying here / george derek axle

George Deezil Axle
ah

I don’t know / I just don’t know

I really don’t fuckin’ know

connecting

—dad?

—who is this?

—it’s me

—who?

—elliot

—oh / right / I’ll get your mother

—dad, listen...

—elliot / it’s very late

—yeah, I know / I know that / but just listen a minute

—what do you want?

—oh, just to, yer know / just to talk

—to what?

—dad / you brought me up, didn’t you?

—what are you saying?

—I mean / you brought me up and everything, right?

—of course I brought you up / all the good it did

—yeah, I know...

—the way you turned out, and all

—oh yeah / the way I turned out / that’s right

—son / what’s going on / are you all right?

—I’m fine, dad / just about fine

glamourboys parade

—you’re sure this is the place? says jody

—this is it / there’s the plaque

—ah, that’s rock shit, that plaque system / they just stick them anywhere

—no / I was here / donna?

—yeah...

she looks around, away from the building / and I know that, like me, she’s remembering back to that night / the night we stood here, outside the 2spot coffee bar / back in 1957, watching the moon change shape

—yeah / this is the place

—come on then, says jody / let’s get it over with
she walks down the dingy stairway, and donna follows / and I follow, last of all
it’s difficult to gauge donna’s mood / it’s the first time we’ve seen her, since the comedown, and even now, days later, she has a distance around her / as though some part of her, some tiny part, is still travelling the samples / down to the beat of the bone / I can only hope that what we’re about to do...

—bloody hell!

it’s jody, doing her reaction to the darkness / and the rectangles of luminous colour that dot the cellar walls

—will yer look at those fish!

—jody...

—but look at them!

—jody / keep your voice down
because the people in here, the customers and the man behind the counter, they’re all looking over at us / and no wonder / donna and jody are the only women in the place / and already a few of the lonely guys head for the stairs / guilty / guilty of something strange

—this is it, right here, says donna
she’s pointing at the large pool in the centre of the room / where golden bulbous beauties flick and dart / flick and dart / flick and dart

—this is it, this is it
donna sits on the edge of the pool, trailing a hand in the water / and remembering perhaps, how she and 2spot had jived the skiffle beat / around this very centre

—you after something? asks the man behind the counter

—just looking, says jody
she sits down beside donna / and I sit opposite, keeping an eye on the owner / waiting / waiting until he’s serving a customer / and then saying

—ok
and donna takes out the globe / the seal is already broken / only a sticking plaster keeps the liquid inside / and then donna rips this off, puts her thumb over the hole / turns the globe upside down, right there, suspended above the pool

—elliot, says jody / yer know it’s the last one?

—sure / but we got the track on vinyl, ok

—well yeah / but I still think you’re crazy / both of yer / crazy fuckers

—donna...

and donna slides her thumb away
the liquid drips into the pool / turquoise / turquoise music, mixing easily with the green of the water / a fish comes to inspect the new arrival, thinking it food / nibbles / and then flicks away / and flicks away / the glamour fish / and donna whispers

—bye, 2spot
and I whisper something of my own, even quieter / and I just know that jody’s eyes are rolling, but so what / she’ll be thinking something more or less the same / something more or less exactly the same

—hey, you kids! shouts the owner / what yer playing at?

—nothing, boss, says jody / nothing at all
and then we head up the stairs / and out, into the cold parched sunlight of manchester
in silence for a while / each with our own thoughts / until jody says

—yer know, elliot / that guy’s been asking for you

—what’s that?

—that deezil guy

—oh yeah?

—sure / he’s been ringing the club about you / wants to see you

—right

—so / what do I tell him?

—tell him / tell him, maybe

—maybe?

—no / no, tell him this / tell him that elliot says / repeat after me / elliot says...

—elliot says...

—elliot says, fuck off / say it, say it

—elliot says fuck off

—elliot says fuck off, fuck right off / say it

—elliot says fuck off, fuck right off / that’s it?

—elliot says fuck off, fuck right off, you twatting bastard

—elliot says fuck off, fuck right off, you twatting bastard / that’s it?

—that’s it

—well, that’s gonna make him happy

—yeah / the funny thing is / it will do / it will make him happy
and a little way further on, donna says

—do you think that we’ll ever get a street name?

—what / a glam damage street?

—oh, we could, says jody / if we make enough records

—sure, says donna / we’ll do that / but yer know, what if, like, all of life is just one big remix / what then / I mean, what if we’re still caught up in it?

—ah, well then, I answer...

—ah well then, says jody / you’ll need a bloody good dj, won’t you?

and there they go / watch them / the singer, the dj, and the bass player / watch them / with the bass player taking the singer’s hand
watch them / walking
away from a night club called the 2spot
along glamourboys parade

scratches and samples

Thanks to
mike / linder
howard devoto / richard boon
james noon / helena at waterstone’s / pat cadigan
jon savage, for the books time travel and england’s dreaming
and most of all to cp lee for the book of shake, rattle and rain
and the expert knowledge
rhythms
autechre / derek bailey / dj premier / king tubby
microstoria / evan parker / plastikman / pole
the smiths / sonic youth research / david toop
mix process
main body of work written in analogue flowtext
occasional use of iambic digitalis
dubs created using the cobralingus filtering system

about the author

Jeff Noon was born in 1957 in Manchester, England. He was trained in the visual arts and drama, and was musically active in the post-punk scene, before starting to write plays for the theatre in the 1980s.

His first novel, Vurt, published in 1993, won the Arthur C. Clarke Award for best Science Fiction novel. He has also won the John W. Campbell Award. His stage and radio plays include Woundings, The Modernists and Dead Code. He is currently writing and developing screenplays, as well as planning other novels and stories.

General news and comments as well as hundreds of fiction spores can be found at his twitter page @jeffnoon

The microspore site is a community page bringing together words, music and imagery: microspores.tumblr.com/start

Jeff’s main site, metamorphiction.com, contains new stories, avant-pulp experiments, essays, remix manuals, and lots of information on all his past works.

books by jeff noon

Vurt

Pollen

Automated Alice

Nymphomation

Pixel Juice

Needle in The Groove

Cobralingus

Falling Out of Cars

Channel SK1N

Pixel Dust

Table of Contents

- glamography
- 1 scorched out for love
- door code
- sticky stuff
- heavy on the download
- the glamour
- scorched out for love, original mix
- a deeper high
- scorched out for love, soft remix
- the damage

- scorched out for dub, elliot’s bad and busted remix

- blues in a rented room
- Bass Instruction Manual
- a genuine punk love song, maybe
- down the vein
- this kid, made out of wire
- the score
- a deeper groove
- freeze and scorch
- E A D G
- powdering
- forbidden songs
- the love scene
- plug me in, one time
- drench and squeeze
- check the technique
- scorched out, club zuum remix
- beneath the buttons
- underground jam
- bass addiction
- making strange
- smoked out for love, punk filter dissolve
- kaleidopunks
- comedown city
- limbo time
- lost boys, lost girls
- from the pop music archives
- beatbox display unit
- plug me in, two time
- bass player’s lament
- the call
- a note, a small envelope addressed simply
- 2 vibegeist (spirit of the groove)
- the new code
- studio ghosts
- downriver bass
- a life in the samples
- haunted by the rhythm
- the punk in the rain
- vocal serenade
- rhythms of the city
- rhythms of the blood
- sometimes, she listens
- groove cutter
- fall down in secret places
- the night caller
- needle in the groove
- plug me in, vibegeist overload
- blood sample 57
- blood sample 64
- blood sample 68
- blood sample 73
- scorched out for love, dubgeist remix
- blood sample 77
- a genuine punk love song, vibegeist remix
- slaughter dog hotel
- the last sample
- the dancer
- G D A E
- connecting
- glamourboys parade
- scratches and samples
- rhythms
- mix process