east end by katharine eastman
[LATER = after writing the aloof sneering thing below I have now given the music a bit of a chance (really just a bit) and I do rather like it - yes it is deformed and an amateur mess and is only tolerable at lower volumes, but I always try to hear the best in everything and even this one should be allowed to live a long happy quiet life]
Good morning. Again. I am normally too embarrassed to write the usual My-Musicianly-Hell reports about how hellish it is to be someone clueless enough to think they're (sometimes) (something) like a musician - but this is one of those things that started going wrong quite early - and ALWAYS the sensible thing to do is just stop. Stop. Delete. Abandon everything. Start again, totally fresh. Always the head tells you this - but your heart can't so easily abandon your ugly lover, and so you give it another chance, and another one, and each time it just gets muddier and muddier - the way a painter tries to bring a garbage painting to life by adding more and more colours and all that happens is it just gets browner and greyer and drearier and samier and blurrier and awfuller.
But this is one of the 1% of things that wasn't killed off young, and which has grown up into something which just-might be okay. I of course am the parent and thus far too close to it to know if it's any good - the way all parents are always crap at knowing which of their children are the real successes and which are the disasters - if there's one Rule Of Family Life then it is always that parents' favourite children are always the cuntiest ones. But obviously I am biased - not being the favourite child.
You might find this too blurry, or you might find it not blurry enough. You might wish it would suddenly come into focus and you could hear something definite going on. Or you might wish you couldn't hear anything definite going on - just wish it would all blur out into a vague distant fog - and basically just turn the fucking thing off and go out and do something a bit less shitty with our lives - as much mine as yours - please don't encourage me - I might still be doing this stuff on the day I die, not sure if the blur I remember of my whole life should've been spent totally drunk and a fog, or totally sober and focused and so much more obviously a waste of a life, like everyone's.
recorded this morning, photo a few weeks ago
