as a child varese used to escape from his difficult family life by swimming. one night he went for a swim and swam out too far. a dolphin nudged him gently back to shore. if this doesn't entirely accord in your mind with ionisation and all those sirens and rattling sheets of metal then imagine him in his workshop downstairs in his little red brick house in sullivan street in new york. a piano takes up most of the room, there are gongs and musical instruments from around the world. upstairs is the kitchen coloured green by the sunlight in the trees in the garden. from behind the workshop's door come 'thunderous olympian sounds' according the visiting anais nin. strangely she gets only one line in louise varese's varese a looking glass diary but gives 8 references to the vareses (and that's just in volume 3 of her autobiography).
idiot st. crazy comes from dunkirk and can play. horsemouth went out to see him (and others) play last night (more on this later).
today is the birthday of cameron bain who died this year. freebird would be too corny (though they did play it at his wake). when he and horsemouth talked they mainly talked about heavy metal and russian and east european literature. they almost entirely met at parties and almost entirely talked at the start of the evening - for later on they would both be too drunk - he drank like a russian). horsemouth (as a child of the valleys) liked his commitment to the style of heavy rock. cameron's own guitar playing came out of the new zealand 'play...listen... play again' school. the miracle of recording means we have at least something of him - he is not gone utterly. he waves back to us from the sun from a vantage point high up in the beckton alps. we do not notice. we are too busy talking.
horsemouth will close with an epigram from sigizmund krzhizhanovsky picked (after a few tries) by bibliomancy (book divination) 'I am not alone. Logic is with me.'
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horsemouth will write up the gig he went to sunday night another time.
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