The Box Has Run Out... ouch

Another weekend flies by in a hazy mess of red wine, cheese and noise. The increasingly warped synapses of my sorry little brain have a few memorific flashes - a vague recollection of a wobbly microphone and room on Friday night, visitors on the Saturday, "covered in bees!" - but its all rather debatable. We were all the conquered good on Friday night, as Keano and Woodo are mired in democracy, Ed's escape from Leeds/Leads, and entire library move I. But exhaustion can sometimes be the mother of invention, or at least it's slightly older and worn lover, and the performance of Blood Oranges was probably helped by our having to force our cyberselves. "Robotic!" said Ed, and we were. Next day, would you excuse me madam? I'd be delighted - this 6/8 beauty beguiled the afternoon sun, and by midnight last night we found we'd managed to create two odd little tunes, though quite how is still unknown. It's not always easy this lark, you know? It may seem to the outside Pisco-watching world that these weekends are smelly, messy, drink-sodden excuses to be as smelly, drink-sodden and messy as we can platonically be. And quite true that is - the challenge is to make music at the same time. "Very good," said Keano... "no... hold on... very good. Very good?"

Petros Ina-plaztique Op Pisco