So I have been remembering more of my dreams lately. This is unusual as I don’t usually remember anything that happens during my noctural activities. The other night I was in a dream with The Missus and there was a constant threat of danger at every turn. It was like a disaster movie playing at 100mph. The sky was black, there was a huge mountain we were trying to climb and ridges of moving ice and danger at every turn. A huge tidal wave was sweeping towards us across the flat plains and despite climbing faster and faster, we were going to be hit by the wall of water. And so I braced myself as the tidal wave hit, holding tight onto The Missus’s hand. We were flung high into the air and landed in a jungle, the tree-lined canopy breaking our fall. There was more danger and more running away and peril, but I can’t remember any more. I just remember the fear of the tidal wave and resigning myself to doom, even though by a miracle we were eventually saved. I think it was a metaphor for life in general.
The dream I had last night was much more pleasant. It started with me walking down a dark corridor and flinging open a door into bright sunlight. As I stepped into the unknown, I realised that I was on a field, surrounded by coaches and people busying themselves. I looked down and realised that I was not wearing my usual clothing and that I was wearing something very unfashionable from the 1970s – flared trousers and a goddawful shirt. I checked my bonce – yup my hair had miraculously grown back down to my backside (like it used to be) and the weight I had gained since being involved with The Missus had gone. I was a young stud again. Hurrah!
On investigation, I realised that I was backstage at some open air festival in the seventies and there were many different people milling past. There were bands and groupies and whatever, but I didn’t recognise anyone in particular. I evesdropped on one group and they were speaking in German – I listened and began to think that they might be some kind of Krautrock group I’d never heard of. In fact, most of the names I’d never heard of. Bob Fripp was standing on a soapbox giving a lecture or preaching about something, but I wasn’t interested in him and neither was the crowd milling around. I was more interested trying to figure out what concert this was. I tried looking for my ticket, but these were the wrong trousers and I couldn’t find my way into the event. How could I get inside without a ticket. In the distance, I could hear the low-dull, bass-heavy, thump-thump-thump, of a rock band performing.
I found myself surrounded by a group and they were very friendly to me. One of them offered me a guitar and asked me to play, but when I tried to play the instrument, it just sounded awful – probably because this was some 13 years before I actually began learning to play the guitar. They all began to laugh at me and call me a chancer. I became upset and found myself alone, bemoaning my lack of guitar-based talent and no ticket to the concert. Suddenly, a friendly face appeared – a another lad like myself and he promised that there was another way into the concert.
I followed him away from field, through some trees, into a gulley. The grass was chest height and we had to wade our way through. There was some kind of trough we had to jump over. I might have been a trap to capture those trying to sneak in the back way, I don’t know. My guide jumped first and insisted I follow, but I was nervous. I stood there for a while, mustering up my confidence and made the leap. As I passed over the trough, I saw a pound coin glinting in the sunlight, it’s markings on the rear were familiar and etched out in great detail. “But there are no pound coins now,” I thought to myself before running with my new-found friend to the concert.
We managed to find our way to the front and could only see by looking around a large concrete pillar. In the distance was the sea and a pier. It seems that the bands were playing on a stage at the end of the pier – walking away, down the boardwalk away from the stage, were loads of different people dressed in Victorian or Edwardian wear – some had familiar faces, but I couldn’t put any names to them.
Then I was woken…
A strange dream, but a nice dream. Not too heavy or depressing like some of the other dreams I’ve had recently. I am still finding it weird how I am accessing this flights of fancy again. Is there a switch you need to turn on or something? I don’t know.
Yesterday, I did a little bit of recording. Working on a piece which is far from complete. The ending came together and I added some strings to it using my keyboard – it sounded a bit Michael Nyman-ish writing for Peter Greenaway. I am not happy with the strings, but here’s a different dub with guitars replacing them. It’s nothing wonderful, just a little snippet of the future:
Direct download: CLICK HERE