the sound of music

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there were technical problems, fuckin' big technical problems. in the back of the cab, flying at high speed, the weezle began to prod me. it stunned me out of me lovely, deranged moment, i was the count of monte cristo, spoon in hand desperately digging from tokyo to liverpool. once we had checked in we decided to investigate the local culture, dead fish, ankle socks, expensive imports. this man, him said "we don't have what you need, look somewhere else." the pair of us, eyes like saucers, heads like teacups found solace in the bassline from 96 tears, it was pumping out of the door of a car occupied by the smallest beautiful woman on earth. she uttered something to me, i ignored her, i was dazzled by her beauty. she shouted at the weezle, in japanese she said "you loooking in the wrong place, what you need is not here. leads and things. get your shit together, man." as the early stages of extreme hunger began to set in i was reminded of the dead fish. and something ghastly we'd seen in a window in kuala lumpur. i asked weezle if he rememebered what it was, he just shrugged and fixed his hair. even though he was a mere inches away i could hear his distant voice blending in with the traffic and lights, and, barely make out what he was saying. what he was saying was this "kok, we gotta get hold of this thing and get out of here. i know other places where the aliens are more like the people, do you remember?" for my sins, i couldn't remember a fuckin' thing, and as i raised my head he had wired up a stereo and was standing with three discs in his hand, they were: the misunderstood, thelonius monk, king tubby. just before the bathroom door imploded into a trillion technicolor polka dots the opening strains of i can take you to the sun forced themselves into my mind and played metaphoric spoons with everything i ever knew. the weezle said that back in kuala lumpur, we won ten grand in a bet on the fa cup final but in the confusion and panic of the moment we'd shook down the bookie and unless we were very lucky every eagle-eyed policebloke from jakarta to just about everywhere will be in our back pockets and after what we have. and what we need. once we got rid of the people in the doorway and i'd prized my face away from the window we began to record the voice links. weezle was taken aback, as i openeed my mouth a voice let fly. weezle said it wasn't my voice. i wasn't suprised, i had told him a long time ago that it was only a matter of time before they swapped everybody's voice. probably when they're asleep. we kept on going , i was becoming rather fond of the new sound from my open mouth and, i could see an end in sight. it was in stunning high definition, but it was shit. weezle thought so, i thought so, the visitor from another floor thought so. we left all the sounds in the room, the big one was: razzmatazz by quincy jones. that sounds about right. and the only thing we could think, see, imagine or be was scrawled across the hotel room above the bed, it read: THE SOUND OF MUSIC MUST BE BUILT. yeah, man. right.


this week: never stuck for words, basking in the glory of nothing.


WE WILL NOT SHY AWAY FROM POP MUSIC.

shortnin' bread.....the ready men.
three button hand me down.....the faces.
great stone.....king tubby & the soul syndicate.
you're in my eyes (discosong).....jarvis cocker.
spacer.....sheila b. devotion.
where you go i go too.....lindstrom.
brave awakening.....terry reid.
step by step.....joe simon.
frozen orange juice.....peter sarstedt.


frightened into submission by bernie connor, counselled and encouraged to live a normal life by mr. weezle weezler. x