Planet Sound

We are in Blackburn making a record that will change the history of popular music; I can’t recall us ever feeling so positive. There is snow on the courtyard and gales rip through the outbuildings; a death metal band murmur away in the distance in a haze of feedback. Craig straddles a heater that looks warmer than it feels. We always seem to record in the cold. Sweden was no exception. Joe Fossard, our esteemed producer and fellow recovering in principle nicotine addict is politely reminding me that the studio is called Planet Sound, not Sinister Studios, to which I have referred in previous dispatches. I apologise profusely but to me it will always be sinister. It just is. To Ben it will always be the place he nearly broke his ankle as he fell over a step in the square not long after we got the Villa result [another woeful loss I digress]. We knew it was serious as soon as he fell over. Ben doesn’t play the soft girl card when it comes to pain unlike the likes of Craig and I who often marvel not only at his keyboard tim wizzerry but also his capacity to lift seemingly immovable objects from stages to vans, namely, our Fender Twin Guitar amps…which are quite possibly the heaviest combos on the planet. He spent Saturday afternoon in the Infirmary in much pain and discomfort; he was like our very own Billy Fisher doing battle with some local Stamp no less. That’s a poorly thought through Billy liar reference and one we could probably do without. It’s just that I somehow, despite the passing of time and its associated diversions, remain fervently obsessed by the story, the film …but do stop me please if you’ve heard this one before. In truth we are making progress. The recording is over a series of long weekends and if this first one is anything to go by we’ll be done and dusted by May…of course now I’ve said that it’s all bound to go haywire but seven drum tracks to the good in just two days is a decent enough start. So today I sat back and pontificated in the company of my dearest and nearest as we scared ourselves stupid watching Syriana at the Trafford centre of all places which is just scary and troubling and then there was the film of course…you know…those greedy American tycoons giving everyone the creeps. The bloke from American beauty, the fascist dad of the drug dealing teen, he plays an oil mogul tyrant so frighteningly well and dearest George C is framed by the CIA and the torture scenes involve finger nails and gaffer tape...not pretty. No wonder it’s got him into Bush’s bad books. Pretty much everything is crossed and double crossed in the name of corporate corruption. Of course the US has a vested interest in the chaos of the region...a few lightbulbs went off in here but I won’t go on about it but if you get the chance do. It’s well worth seeing. If you have a few moments to spare try www.the17.org if this link doesn’t work put the17 into Google. It’s a new Bill Drummond art project thing that simply thrilled me when I chanced upon it via John Hirst in conversation on his new phone a few days ago. I will be signing up for 17 duties shortly. John and Bill were on route to Stockholm to perform the said piece as we spoke. I’d love to be able to report that Bill will be guesting on the new Vinny album but that would be sheer fabrication and hearsay. Wouldn’t it? VPx