Dance & Drink & Screw

Future Bible Heroes, Partygoing, 2013

The new Magnetic Fields Future Bible Heroes album feels to me like a return to form for Stephin Merritt. The idea behind this ongoing side project is that all songs must be synthesiser disco-pop - essentially the Magnetic Fields camped up on Erasure and Yazoo beats. Lyrics are typical Merritt and mostly sung by Claudia Gonson (who is also part of the Magnetic Fields): barbed miseries and ditties that are smart, ironic, and always far from a happy end.

The album opens with Claudia sharing how a drink is just the thing to light her mind when she's feeling low. She's followed by a narrator who lives in a cave surrounded by books, records and dolls, and who clarifies that "I never said I wasn’t crazy / I know I’m a loon / I’m crazy for you darling, and that’s / sadder than the moon." The parents in "Lets Go To Sleep (And Never Come Back)" buy some crack and make a suicide pact because they can't afford their rent or children anymore. Later, though, the best plan for a another set of parents is to "Keep Your Children In A Coma" as that saves the family a load of grief (no priests will abuse them, no bullying beasts will catch them in school).  There's a lot of dreaming too: of "A New Kind Of Town", the kind that "doesn’t hate you / wear a new kind of gown / And they’ll queue to date you;" or the ones brought about from "Living, Loving, Partygoing" - partying with John Waters and attending Mink Stole's birthday bash; then sleeping for three days after falling on your head.

The only wrong step in the album for me is "Drink Nothing But Champagne" - a song that sounds more like a musical number, with "David Bowie" and Aleister Crowley voices taking turn trying to convince us that champagne is better than water. Another strange thing is that some of the songs break away from the traditional pop structure, with no second verse and chorus - going straight into a short "middle" after the first verse and chorus.  It leaves you hanging and wanting more.

There was one section inside the house where a river flowed. A man with long black hair had been caught in this river trying to jump one of the many logs that crossed it. When I followed this river I reached a balcony in the house that overlooked a canal in Israel.

It was nighttime and I could hear singing on the canal and see, further away, the lights of Israeli homes and offices. The singing grew closer and I knew I'd been to this place before. The singing came from an ancient young people who lived in these rivers - had done so for many thousands of years, even before the arrival of human civilization.

They noticed me on the balcony. One of them jumped over the house's fences and easily climbed the walls until he joined me. I was afraid but he didn't do anything except continue to sing.

Something fell from the sky - the piece of an airplane - and one of the buildings across the canal exploded. More pieces landed near us - one of them hitting the house I was in. The singing had stopped and now we ran through the house, trying to escape the fire and the cries for help. Someone lamented they had seen a father and his child fall into the canal.

I was barefoot. I ran back to the balcony to collect my boots, ignoring calls for me to save my life.

The start of Iggy Pop's "Lust for Life", sat on a hard chair, surrounded by white walls, faint whiff of the cold coffee to my right and a gentle creaking that is either raindrops or just the window moving to the air outside.

I'm in the spare room - my office - surfing the net and listening to a playlist on Spotify I put together from Electric Dreams songs. My back is sore and I'm sitting up straight; trying not to break in half.

If I concentrate on being in this moment, it feels like I'm sinking into the chair.

Via sarahofthedead

I went swimming today and it was just as good as last week. 1pm on Sundays are the ideal time: lessons are finished and extra lanes are opened for free swimming; however, most people are either hung over or sleeping in, so the lanes tend to be empty!

I was spoiled when I learned to swim in Brasil. I was taught in an Olympic pool that was pristine and well-tended, with round-the-clock coaches happy to give you exercises and tips. You always had a lane to yourself.

Here in the UK, on the other hand, you have to share lanes usually with about 4 other people (optimistic outlook.) And at least 2 of them are in the wrong lane (should be in a slower one.) Plus, the pools are quite grim (just ask steer about the one we use in Bethnal Green) and the pool staff couldn't care less. I actually think most can't even swim - would hate to put my life in their hands if I suddenly had a cramp and sunk to the bottom...

But whatever... I have this hour on Sundays and I will try to stick to it. Feels good to let my thoughts wander and just go and go and go.

My boyfriend is currently in the kitchen, making cookies. In 11 minutes I'm going to embark on an hour-long writing session.

I bought a copy of Walt Whitman's poems before yesterday because I've been wanting to revisit Leaves of Grass after hearing him mentioned in My Dinner With Andre. I read Whitman in university and seem to remember my professor not liking him too much; I was a fan though.

I found his poetry collection in that second hand bookshop just by Waitrose in Bloomsbury (the one you go down steps and it's like a Borgean maze of dusty classics.) The book was on the floor, at the top of a poetry pile, waiting for me. £3.

My Dinner With Andre has also made me think/notice about people choosing to dress like what they think they are. I.e. terrorists look like terrorists, designers look like designers, hipsters look like hipsters, bankers look like bankers. We (unconsciously?) try to fit into the stereotype of what we think we should be or look like. Have you noticed? Just watch the news and you'll see confirmation of that.

Who am I? Whom do I look like? I see pictures of myself from 5, 6 years ago and realise how gray my hair has become.

I've also been this week to a launch party by a famous British rapper, and written a letter to a famous dancer (now retired) asking if she'd like me to teach her how to use emails and the internet.

Yesterday, I witnessed two women getting into a fight at the bus stop outside Westfield Stratford. One of them was wearing a hijab and looked Somalian; she was sitting down beside three white British women when she suddenly broke into a loud, angry rant. She accused them of making remarks about her hijab and called them some bad words. Everyone looked at her as if she was mentally ill. A few minutes later, she made a phone call and, during it, began to make offensive comments about the women again. One of them couldn't take it any longer and shouted back: how dare you be racist to me? Somalian lady replied that no British woman shouted at her, which only made the other one shout louder.

An elderly man (muslim as well) tried to calm things as well as the British woman's daughter, but in vain. I saw a policeman walking towards us and made gestures at the daughter that the police was coming. When she understood she tried to stop her mom, but by now there was no stopping that verbal war. More police arrived and the Somalian woman tried to leave. But the police were having none of it - they wanted an explanation as to what was going on. Now Somalian lady looked meek and perhaps aware she was in deep shit (witnesses were also not being allowed to leave - perhaps because it was a suspected racial incident?) I picked up my shopping bags and quickly made a getaway for the Tube.

Later, on my way to friends for a Twin Peaks Marathon, I saw police cars and firetrucks outside my building. People were looking up at the tower block next to ours... one of the flats was on fire.

This morning, I'm debuting a new pair of glasses I bought at Westfield Stratford. The world looks wonky and 3Dish. I can see all the lines on my pale face and I feel even more old.

If I ever marry [1], this is the song I want played for the First Dance.

[1] My boyfriend comes from Irish Travellers stock (or at least his surname does) so I could technically have a Channel 4 My Big Fat Gay Gypsy Wedding!