Dreary eye-sag and bloated gills.

Not easy editing Gnome; contrary to student rumour it aint all blowies and signed Wolf Eyes twelves (if only). Caught sight of my boat in the mirror last week and nearly barfed at dreary eye-sag and bloated gills that confronted me like an Unsane sleeve circa ‘91. I got trouble.

Which brings me hence: checked into Lucio’s Ascetic Hermitage on Tuesday. What’s the deal? 14 “cells” in suburban Harrow for the rich and stressed to unwind the mind. I only got in ‘cause grime star Chuggy Silence blagged me a two day pass. He swears by it. Got M&S champers in his cell fridge. I didn’t argue the ascetic point. Just took the St. Michael, as it were.

So currently hittin’ the keys in the chapel’s wi-fi pod. All pewter and dark woods. Little Johnny Cadbury would love it! Right up his alley! I’ll never forget when he installed that baptismal font into his Hackney octo-pad and used it to mix Chino Shocks in (Cadbury was once a cocktail waitress in Fife)...

Anyway, enough verbs. I feel truly refreshed after this morning’s game of Bubble Bobble on my iPhone... Just nice to get away from London and be in the sticks for a while. Back on the tube on

Monday.

Keep it rigid.
Noah’s Arch

Despite being NEARLY DEAD...

Cradle of Skills

Terrible day at the office. Started badly, ended badly. Woke to find an extreme inflammation of my sacred limb had developed into what can only be called a new plague. Phoned lady in question who denied being a hostess of hellspawn rash. Despite being NEARLY DEAD and quite frankly in no state to run the third most influential music etc. magazine in the Old World, I came into the office anyhow: Only to find Chris Carew, editor of “Stare Go On I Dare You”, that soul-sucking muzak rag that is crying out for punctuation in its title sat on my ledge-desk. He wanted to discuss a distro-share whereby I would give him access to Gnome’s distribution network (every Oddbins and half of the UK’s Tandys) and he would throw open the doors to the “golden calf” as it is known in the trade (Braggs the Bakers). “No deal fat boy” quoth I and booted him out.

So day progressed lucidly to soundtrack of Miracle Gash and the Klimbers’ new 10” on Empire Magazine Recordings. Fruity anti-cash rhymes set to phaaat electro-retch. “All day sunshine. Bikini leash. Freedom is a toolbox.” Yep?

Everything swimmingly I thought. Inflammation decreasing. YES! Maximal sensory music appreciation increasing. YES! Until I get PROFOUND SUDDEN HEADACHE that is surely the result of HECTIC PARTY LIFESTYLE. Went home early. Deep ambient snooze to Bark Haze LP, pray for wiser day in morrow.

Catch a bean Jesus,

Archie

Pissed on by Harmony Korine

Met with August from Caution! Productions at The Winchester today. She drank Rum Toddy with tinned peaches. I HAD A PINT. That might clue you in to the magnum disparity between two worldviews. August was hip to Gnome’s existenz but really didn’t feel it. She was putting together an “I Love Early 90s American Indie Rock” TV show for Channel Five and wanted my two Euros worth. I told her to get the new Wildcats 2” and dig something new school. No cable laid friend.

Day was not a total sack off ‘cause I got the new Hitachi Melts LP thru on grey vinyl. Comes with a free White Stripes CD that’s been pissed on by Harmony Korine. Feel the future.

Over and mpeg,

Archer

Quipped in full 'sarcaustic' mode...

Spun over to The KrakHaus in Chelsea for Javier Torqemada’s book launch last eve. Got ditzy on free chino blowers and lager top. Torquay, as I tagged him, was adamant that his book (Easy Totem: California Princesses 1989 – 2006) was shot thru with his most cred photos. I told him photos were old OLD and everyone was going Terry Nutkins over videos these days. “They move and everything,” I quipped in full sarcaustic mode. Will Gnome give good review? Decided? Not.
Anyway, ran into Susan Blacksheath from Thee Demi-Heads on XL Recordings. Was begging for a review of her Santa Tapes LP. I directed her to Christian Ziege who was sipping soda nearby. Told her he was my reviews editor. Proof she knows NOTHING about football? You need it? Spouted for literally mins to Deutsche no.3 about genre splice. Jeez.

Archer.

East of Jonathan

Archer Sanderson: entrepreneur, aesthete, hermeticist. Is there more? Frankly, yes. Welcome to Station Sanderson, main hub. Access granted.

I’m flipping these keys on the carbon glider back to the big smoke from Delaware. 2 am. Two days of spinning trax with Cheeky Fortuna and the Goose Boys at Cradle Beach. Little Jonny Cadbury skipping in with warm Chow Mein and blister pax. High times with the rowdy boys.

New issue of Gnome being primed with trigger groups and tuff writing, I’ve got a three page on Slick Tam and The Parts, all faux-harp and synth brass. Kids’ll puke.

More to come... (this is just touchdown). Keep this blog wireless. Don’t tell your friends. They suck.