
Breathing dirty wind on the frantic streets of the Emerald City. Spreading Barking by mouth press ’record’ for posterity, ’play back’ to broadcast. Ride the train again, following a voice in the Head. John Warwicker visits Hyde’s exhibition in Tokyo.
(k)

Truck rolls back to Essex returning Instruments of electric joy freshly dowsed in Swiss mud & liquids. Phone rings & rings & rings - voices from around the world ask questions. Remember to smile. Listening to Kano doing ’iPod Generation’, back behind the wheel.
(k)

Combines eat the bean-crop. Dirt points stubble at unbroken cloud, gossamer thin & glowing promising sunlight for the skin already mourning the passing of Summer. Thank you to the DJ’s all over the world, in Clubs & on Radio playing our new tunes. The fruits of your support are found in new faces coming to see us live that sing along with tracks only you could’ve turned them onto. You connect the roots of our genre with new generations like John Peel believed was important.
(k)

No one to cut the grass in Essex since Berlin. It’s standing lush & green like shag-pile. Fruit heavy on the trees & washing machines do over time rinsing travel dust out’ve our threads. Into the air-lock, the time between times where emotions come alive, connections to the closest loved re-kindle & the speed of the world approaches Human. Now to find the spare brain cell I stashed behind the sofa.
(k)