Making a record can be like putting a jig-saw together, only you have nothing to refer back to when it comes to seeing the thing as a whole, like putting a jig-saw together in the dark maybe. We have scattered around us on laptops and dictaphones, fragments of music, drum beats, diary entries and other “stuff” that we suspect needs to go into the crucible of this record, and day after day these fragments get toyed with, looked at, re-considered, gutted, re-assembled and in very few cases, left completely alone.
At this point in time its puzzle work, its the stuff of murder mysteries, following clues. You have the belief that its in you somewhere, you’re hoping to stumble upon it in a phrase from your well-loved book, or better still it will come singing out from your own mouth one night when you’ve just about tried everything and were ready to hit the sack…but you don’t know, and nothing is certain. Theres our manager back home putting together plans and booking shows, Skype calling us and wanting to know exactly what the fuck is going on in this suburban palace by the colorado river. But he will never know, because frankly, we don’t know. I’m not sure i know the difference between music and the sounds of nature that hiss and rustle around our garden anymore. Did last tuesday even happen?