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Here is a song. It’s the first song on the LP.

NEW BIRD TO BE

I saw a blackbird burning in a tree, waiting so patiently
Sculpting the ash methodically with its beak for a new bird to be
We don’t want the other side, to decide, for you or me
John found the footstep as sad as a lock
It turned everything into a tooth
Who in the evening would throw it all away?
And why now can he not spell his name?
We don’t want the other side, to decide, for you or me
New bird its head back, calling on a fence
When is Vassoula coming home?
We saw a young friend. Ferris made us laugh
Now we know what is the cost
We don’t want the other side, to decide, for you or me

What’s this below? = A documentary art-work I made, called ‘Blackbird’.

blackbird
I
f you can’t read the text above -click on the picture- but it says:
FOR SEVERAL WEEKS I OFFERED A BLACKBIRD RAISINS
THEN STOPPED AFTER SHE WAS EVENTUALLY PERSUADED
TO EAT WITH ME
If you can’t read the text above THIS, then there’s no more help I can offer (or raisins).

I wanted a wild bird/animal to become used to me. To accept me; trusted and no more. Once she’d agreed, the game was up. Nothing more to be done or said on the matter.

When I lived in Brixton in 1999, I did a sort of similar thing with a human on a market stall:

I bought one Grannie Smith apple from the same
place at the market, every day from the 21st of June
up until the 30th of July, when the man who worked there
said.

“one Grannie, isn’t it?”

I didn’t need to achieve any more than this. I’d entered into his mind somehow. He remembered me. I never went to his stall again.

NOTES OF VAGUE INTEREST

  1. The footsteps at the start are a sample. I originally had my footsteps on there, but changed them at the last minute. They sounded too tinny and oomph’less to introduce the album, (could meek tapping of fingers on a table subdue a noisy lecture theatre?)(it couldn’t!). Probably the wrong shoes. Maybe the wrong mic. Definitely the wrong know-how. All the other footsteps and household sounds throughout the rest of the LP are kosher. OK NOW – GET OFF MY BACK, MUM.
  2. I received a letter from a gentlemen in Scotland (I’ll post it when I find it), who amazingly took time out of his day to write to my gallery complaining that the bird in the picture was in fact a male blackbird, and therefore shouldn’t be referred to as a ‘she‘. In fact, he “was shocked” to see the bird labelled a ‘she’…SHOCKED! He was of course incorrect. The bird does look perhaps darker than usual for a female, but that is due to the photograph contrast.
  3. The jungle-like animal sounds around-abouts the middle of the song, are all blackbird calls time stretched and lower pitched.
  4. Ferris Blood was a brilliantly dark humorist. We went to art college together and lived in a house in Brixton together, with a mad rasta landlord who eventually held one of our house-mates hostage! Most nights we’d get drunk out of our tiny minds, buying bottles of vodka from the Front Line offy on Atlantic Road. One summer, Ferris got me a job with him handing out flyers to shit club nights. It worked on a trust basis – you told the boss how many hours you’d worked and he paid you in cash. The good part was the boss was so coked up and paranoid, Ferris assured me we’d be sacked in a matter of weeks regardless if we ever handed out flyers or not. We’d crawl out of bed every Saturday morning, wailing amidst apocalyptic hangovers, walk round the corner to Coldharbour Lane and tell the boss we’d worked a gazillion hours that week, get paid, load up THOUSANDS of flyers in a shopping trolley, push them home, empty them straight in the bins, and crawl wailing amidst apocalyptic hangovers back to bed. This lasted for about 10 weeks until we were both sacked.
  5. Vassoula was in Dresden.
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