The Church Of Me
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Kissing in the churchyard, I know a righteous woman

Thursday, July 25, 2002

Last night, played back to back the first PM Dawn album Of The Heart etc....The Utopian Experience and Hats by the Blue Nile. Equally sumptuous sounding, like an unbereaved Charles Foster Kane walking through his land of multiple mirrors ("In The Presence Of Mirrors") and seeing the smiling Barthes handing him his pen back.

The PM Dawn sonics prove just how much a use there is for jazz-funk in the hands of the right alchemists. Sensuous and strangely yearning chord changes, electric piano harmonics, all go to frame Prince Bee's querying of what in life to call his own, and if so, how he should love it. "Think! Todd Terry" he exclaims (if he could ever be said to exclaim anything) over a Royal House backing track - thereby the record anticipates both cLOUDDEAD and Missy Elliott's house peccadilloes by a decade.

(For smoother sensuality there is of course Midnite Marauders by A Tribe Called Quest, with wonderful melodies and harmonics opening up a gateway to the rays of hope)

The shimmer in Prince Bee's mirrors is reflected in Paul Buchanan's footlights. What a record Hats is. Hear, FEEL how he is yearning. He wants to live again ("From A Late Night Train" says goodbye to the past without letting go of it, because no one should, as long as they are not imprisoned by it) but is afraid. Afraid to tell the woman he loves her and that he is capable of being love. But "Downtown Lights" and above all "Saturday Night" keep building, the reservoir of passion filled to overflow until the high string synthesiser lines can only release what he has wanted to say, what he wants to keep saying.

At the end of "Saturday Night" after six minutes of soul searching, Buchanan trembles, almost in a whisper, but with an ecstatic sob - "She loves me!" He can't believe it. His prayers have been answered. He takes the first step into a new life. He is crying with happiness. It is a transcendent moment - a moment in love.

And if this weblog is anything - and thank Spencer and Barthes that it is not a consumer guide! - it is a doorway through which you can access my mind, read my soul. I will receive your soul and reciprocate it with equal passion.

Above and beyond anything else it is a love letter, a long, unending, blissful love letter - the resurrection of me, the ascension of passion to illuminate the healthy commonplace, the pavements of the highway which lead me towards a new life, which entice me with subtle perspectives and heartfelt closeness, inevitably and WILLINGLY towards the golden husk of humanity, which I will open to find the silk, smooth you. You who I love and I hope loves me.

"I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime of something far more deeply interfused, whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man."

And Dylan Thomas says what I want to say far better than I could say it:
"But why, if you fall in love again - and you are bound to at some time or another - will you not give again all that you gave before, not necessarily That Which Is Dearer etc. but all the energy of your youngness (youth, here is the wrong word), your sweetness etc. (I evade saying everything, you know), your brightness and sulkiness and every other bloody mood and feeling you possess. I said your failing was the failing of loving too much. It is, and it always will be. So fasten your affections on some immaculately profiled young man, and love the swine to death. Love among the angels is a permanent distemper."

posted by Marcello Carlin Permalink
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