The rain before it falls. The monochrome of afternoon, soft grainy light across the unit where the turntable lives. A afternoon of contrails, as if positioned for one particular artist. An afternoon of acknowledgement; the peculiar and specific character traits of the music blog – the few hundred words speared and smothered, a track here, a photograph there, and none of it particularly conducive to insight or virtue. That sheaf of subject matter best left unaddressed – not because I feel unqualified to tackle the theme in question, or grow daunted when the crisp and virgin sheet of electronic writing paper arrives on the laptop (although there is some of that); rather, there’s an underlying notion that this is a format ill-suited to any head-on discussion of topics rich in scope and dexterous in back catalogue. There’s a prerequisite for oblique angles here. The tacit admission that to write in any other way is predestined to irrelevance.
And in the monochrome of afternoon, with Eno on the stereo, this is what I thought. No target in particular, just a range of tracks from his extensive portfolio. Brian Eno, who regularly hosts evenings of communal gospel singing round his gaff. Brian Eno, who managed to make Bryan Ferry appear relevant for a while. Bran Eno, who really should be on stamps.
Nope – I won’t be penning an Eno article. I’ll just store the words as feelings, tendrils of thinking on a wet afternoon.
Brian Eno / Emerald And Lime