When I left DGM HQ at 08.00 the temperature was -2.5˚ C on a misty morning. My preferred route to London from Broad Chalke is through Wilton & onto the A303, taking me past Stonehenge. On the left, the mysterious stones; on the right a geourgeous amber sun shining over magic bumps all around.
An accident at the Concorde roundabout, within the Heathrow approach area, fed back onto the M4 and the M25. It took an hour to drive around the junction. So I arrived at Studio Eno one hour late, around 11.25. I offered to pull out major organs in extirpation of my lack of punctuality.
We worked on four tracks between 11.45 & 14.25 and are close to having a new album.
The music falls into two distinct musical areas: muscular & chill (perhaps even ambient). Whether or not the dichotomy belongs on the same album is a judgement to be taken later, and taken by Eno. I turn up, play, have fun, laugh a lot, then drive off again.
Of all the "creative" people I work with, Eno more than anyone embraces the notion of play. I have no sense of seriousness when I am with Brian. This doesn't imply that Brian is any way careless about his work, just that he plays with the materials that we are working on. It is fun working with Brian. It is also quick working with Brian. And I play guitar when I am working with Brian. In Crimson, I don't do much soloing; this, for several reasons. With Brian, I do. And this morning I was honking along in the muscular area and, in the chille area, playing less notes per minute than any competent guitarist I know.
Then home to Bredonborough. Toyah's main Christmas present had arrived, delivered to Green's Ironmongers two doors down the High Street. Green's generously accept parcels & deliveries on our behalf when we are not around to accept them. And even if we are at home, the postman nearly always arrives when I am at The Patisserie selecting a tasty cake of the day.
Meanwhile, half a dozen regulars are in their local, my local. Most of them now speak to me, recognising one of their own. One of these regulars is a man whose dog I trod on when last here. This evening, he hasn't brought his dog.
"We may do whatever we like, providing we can pay the bill."
