SHORT BREATHS 7

The Wire
god knows I have a love/hate relationship with that magazine: it's thanks to the free annual subscription I earned from having written the piece on Yoko Ono last year, I get to feel apoplectically irritated on a monthly basis over lunch at the nearby Himalaya Indian restaurant; and yet with that all said - and ignoring wankers like Edwin 'Pencil' Pouncey and Nick 'But' Cain - the editorship is genuninely respectful towards its contributors, I'd much rather it existed than it didn't, and they most pleasingly capitalise all words in song, book, and movie titles

Nurse With Wound
Andrew Liles kindly invited me along to Nurse With Wound's performance a couple of weeks ago at the Tramway in Glasgow; never having seen them play live, nor having heard recorded output since Soliloquy For Lilith, it seemed far removed from the carefully structured fondly anarchic surrealism of the 80s, more like loud droney lo-fi ambient; and yet that was neither here nor there because it was a real pleasure to see Steve, erstwhile loath to stages and audiences, revelling in the limelight

Wroclaw Industrial Festival
sad to report that there won't be a Whitehouse performance at this year's Industrial Festival in Wroclaw, Poland - there's more than enough else to enjoy at the packed four-day event for everyone who'll be there; I certainly would have loved the chance to catch up with Glenn (Michael Wallis) again

Books
I've been acquiring new books at such a prodigious rate in the last few months that I've decided to sell some older ones to create some much-needed space - they're mostly on the usual filthy subjects that we all love, and many are pretty rare; I'll post a downloadable pdf list of what there is soon, or just drop us a message

SHORT BREATHS 6
SHORT BREATHS 5
SHORT BREATHS 4

DAGBOK 3

The last day or so in Japan went past in a rush. Unlike the interminable 4 hours stop-over at Paris CDG airport before flying on home - even more tortuous its acting as a contemplative state of purgatory. In fact I got so bored with wandering around and testing perfumes in the duty-free and reading Italian women's fashion magazines in the news shop, that I carelessly picked up a copy of The Wire magazine to peruse. Huge mistake, I know. Look, I was desperate.

Do you think The Wire's contributors will ever get tired of using the word 'epiphany'? I must have counted out another dozen examples in that issue alone. And then of course, that prime pumpkin-head Nick Cain leaps out at you with a full page review of Peter Rehberg's recently released anthology. Now you might think this is bitterness for his inane review of Racket but far from it. Eminently worse is one of his (inane) 'good' reviews, especially after reading the incontinent twaddle he has to say about Pita's work. How that managed to get past the magazine's editor is beyond me. Cain is so toe-curlingly aroused by the sound of his own wretched prose, he actually manages to put you off wanting to hear the music. (And by the way I'm sure it is a great release.)

Anyway, enough already on that. The last day in Japan was for the performance that evening at the Red Brick Warehouse with the wonderful Marcus Schmickler also performing, in addition to a charming Toshiya Tsunoda and Luke Fowler. The opportunity also arose for an extra collaborative set with Incapacitants' Mikawa-san, so after a 30 minute solo set featuring Killing Hurts Give You The Secrets (live for the first time), we did 15 minutes or so together. For many years now I feel I've no real time sensitivity to music so that, whether recorded or live, it's impossible for me to make personal evaluations. Could be one of the best things ever, or a load of stinking rubbish - only time can tell.

Before I sign off with regards to this trip, and I do apologise for the consistently tiresome name-dropping, it'd be good to mention one particular highlight, that of meeting and spending some time with Joan Jonas - what a truly lovely and fascinating human being, one whose artistic passion burns ever bright.

In summary, it's such a privilege to get these kinds of opportunities that, let alone 4 hours, I'd happily sacrifice 4 days or 4 weeks stuck in limbo at CDG in exchange for. Just so long as that bloody magazine isn't anywhere to be seen.