Read too many articles about the Middle East. Don’t talk about it. Sleep is organised by capitalism. So are pills, all pills. I know Umiaq addresses this song to some /you/ but the truth is he has unwittingly grabbed his fingers a MOMENT far greater than any personal pronoun or simple sentences collected neatly in the accusative case. To say. Something like the silent following: Goodbye Europe, Goodbye schooldays, Goodbye Heaven, I don’t need you now I know exactly how I want my haircut for the rest of my life. And still I watch the BBC news article scroll away into some grey archive of fear. And still I shudder in the wake of some stencilled 7 hour sleep. And still I imagine the gulping and the nurse, the comedy of a son drowning in University shallows, fresh meat and strobe lights. And so I sit, a sombre black heap, hopelessly watching my black tufts of hair cascade to the varnished floor around me. Cut to exactly 1 inch. Europe, schooldays, metaphysics; framed pictures hovering above my head in the mirror. All I can muster is a sense of unreadiness and loss, Umiaq crafts that sense into sound, a picture of miscellaneous, tidy haircuts on beach heaven, somewhere else, some 30 hours later, when I return to the inbox, a tinge of crass, past empathy.
Dark, again, dramatic, gravity, dubbed screenings of pop for the weary deep divers; Umiaq and his soon-to-be EP, Far From Home, of which the above is a teaser.