pylewell by katharine eastman
(LATER= I'm coming round to loving this one very much - if I had to keep only ten of my albums for all eternity this would be one of them I'm sure - though that might partly be because I can't remember what any of my old albums sound like)
I've kept this one short - it's almost 7"-single length by my standards - because the only certainty I have about it is that it will try people's patience. That's not to say it is terrible. It might be. But it might also be so unutterably brilliant and ahead-of-its-time that today's ears haven't adapted to it yet. Imagine if a caveman was suddenly transported to today and blasted with Bjork - something as frightening as that. I'm beginning to accept that from your point of view my music must be like elephants - it's something where yr glad they exist, but you wouldn't want to own one. Same with any of my albums.
The cover photo was taken yesterday on my walk to Lymington. After leaving Calshot and heading inland and all over the place, this moment in the photo is my first sighting again of The Solent and the Isle Of Wight beyond - things like this always excite me, especially as it happened very close to the end of my walk. You know what (of course you don't), but I woke up this morning and wanted to go on another all-day(ish) walk ... and another one tomorrow, and the day after, and forever.
I really think I'm gearing myself up for some multi-day long walks like I used to do in my youth - crashing-out in hedges and dry ditches and walking to Wales - Wales was a place I walked to quite often in my 20s and early 30s - there is something about reaching the old (and then, only) Severn Bridge - when you start to see the top of its pillar-things on the horizon it really does thrill you/me, especially if you've walked for five days to get there - wonderful to walk across it - good to dip down into Chepstow, a nothing-special place but I was always fond - and I would always walk on to Monmouth, which was always one of my favourite places in the country, and then either throw in the towel there or else wander about over the Black Mountains, right on the border - then there'd be no one up there, I guess that today there's a cycle path and it's all tarmacked and controlled and signs every ten yards and probably street lights or something.
Well later this year I might actually find out. Weirdly on my travels I must admit my most pleasant surprise is how little so many places have changed over the years - I'm fully expecting Monmouth to be a modern dump the way that all built-up places are now in Britain, but once you're out there, away, at night, on a weekday, a bit of rain, nothing dramatic, just that dis-ease that puts people off, I am sure it will be like nothing has changed and I haven't changed and I think that's why I keep doing this shit, the music and the walking over and over and over.
recorded this morning, photo Pylewell yesterday
