Rockhunter, Issue 17, February 2005

In these days of CD reissues of everything We’ve reached a turning point where the old toons are dead but wholly reculturated, re-stratified and contextualised and revisioned. As in Bronze Age memory mounds. Rock is dead family. We’re digging space in the garden of remembrance. The best music is the music that lives only in descriptions.

I’ve got to work out another way of loving music than as archaeologically re-represented found objects.

This issue was going to be about esp. fluv., forgotten early-80s faves of me and my only friend at the time. But I can’t really face writing any more about vaporous entities that hardly existed in the first place. And I can’t think of a single thing that’s likely to get me going in this place.

From my newbedroom windown in St Leonards-on-Sea, from which all the stars of the night are visible, what constellation hoves into view at the going down of the Sun? None other than Orion. Thee Hunter.

So there’s nothing more to write about. This is not a self-generating effort.

Hate and Love

Ed.

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