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motets of the cross fell massif: volume one

by Simon Aulman

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1.
ironwell band 04:48
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2.
crowdundle beck 06:42
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3.
pennymoor bogs 05:32
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4.
eller gill 03:02
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5.
wythwaite hole 04:11
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about

I like this one a lot. Much more than the previous one. Understandable if anyone struggles to hear any difference between the two albums - it's probably only because I've seen them on the screen, I can see the waves on this one, there were few waves on the previous one, that makes this one the more danceable album, "danceable" is good, I'm not "experimental" by choice, I yearn to make music like ABC and Prefab Sprout, albums like this are as close as I can get, Martin and Paddy would be appalled. But that disappointment aside, this one's about as good as I'm going to get during these final few years when I can feel my brain starting to retire sooner than my first pension.

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Another good question is Why the hell does that idiot insist on writing a million words with each album release when he leads the dullest life in all existence and clearly has nothing interesting to say. I agree. For instance, yesterday was a huge landmark in my life because I think it's the final gig I'm ever going to go to. Jeez I've been doing that shit for half a decade and the number of really great gigs amounts to somewhere around still-waiting-for-one. It's like phone calls. How many phone calls has anyone (except a 999 operator) had in their life that have been remotely necessary or interesting or "important". I don't think I've ever had any. And not just because I've never had a phone.

Absolutely nothing we have or do is remotely pressing. Last night a pal and I jumped on the train to Winchester and walked the ten yards to the Arc to see Hollie Rogers. There was never a chance that I was going to enjoy the music. That's never the point. The good thing about the gig is that I've passed through some wormhole and now I'm again going to gigs where I am among the youngest in the audience. Elsewhere it was lots of very large people pressing flesh with strangers in tiny seats - there were singalongs and handclappings and it was like we were all already in the care home doped to zombification and the left hand barely able to find the right hand as the carers went through the motions in front of some couple who just wanted mum to die somewhere stimulating.

No I can't go to any more gigs any more, never any more, please no more, what ever was the point of them. Yes I am sorry that the Art House has closed and I am sorry that everywhere is struggling and no one wants to go out and what am I talking about, no I'm not, gigs are just shitty things where the musos have a better time than the audience and they ought to be paying us and in future I will only go to gigs when the "business model" has been changed - ie gimme twenty quid for going to a gig in town, thirty for going to e.g. Winchester or Portsmouth, sixty quid for London, a hundred quid for the north.

It's shocking that we still haven't reached the stage where musos are wiling to pay their "fans" to download their music, and a helluvalotmore £££ to actually hear any of the stuff - let me (one person) assure you (zero persons) that I have already extracted all the fun that can be had from this album, I have heard most of it, some is quite exciting, some is a bit less so, the final ridiculously-simple track is strangely beautiful - and actually you'd think the 2nd track was too if you could've seen it with me on the screen, those waves, waving and waving and waving and lulling us all into stupor and then death

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recorded this morning using that small acoustic gtr plus LBC (yes that is David Lammy), photo about twenty minutes ago (time now 3.20pm)

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released March 24, 2024

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Simon Aulman Southampton, UK

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