One of the Holy Grails of Berlin’s Musical Culture (which is nearly as cool as Minneapolis was in the 1980s, far cooler than post-Grunge San Diego was in the mid-to-late ’90s and can’t even come close to the Psychedelic Revival/ Break-Beating Soul ll Soul and Acid Jazz explosion of London in the year 1990,  precisely) is a solid drummer,  with professional skills and practises, who comes with his own recording studio and ultra-cool hair:  I scored one,  for free, for my project,  this January. Better than the model race car track for Christmas, ’66. Portending  many warm dazzles and several big flashes for 2020. My drummer (I love how that sounds) is in his early ’30s, extremely into my music and is not a beery, shopworn caricature of an exploding Spinal Tap cliche. Unlike that Italian drummer I had c. 5 years ago. Fucking Italians (oops, sorry Italians; and, of course, Silvana Mangano and Italo Calvino and Don DeLillo excepted…)

Great drummers, in Berlin, are like pretty girls in the French Foreign Legion. And, along with the Great Drummer I scored a massively-good, Jaco-loving Bassist (full disclosure: I’ve known both these guys for ten years… they were in their 20s when I first worked with them). So I’m just about set to bring the Really Big Project into its Public phase. All I need now (not to get greedy, or anything, hypothetical Jesus, to whom I will bet-hedgingly pretend to “pray” just in case a milliwatt of psychically-projected Avarice can actually interact with Micro-Amperes of benevolently Conscious and Responsive Intent in the Aether) is a tall Black model-type Gurl with a shaved head, a good voice, rudimentary synth skills and a Scooby Doo van equipped with Eight-Track Player and Tapes. Fragile (Yes) and Sex Machine (James Brown) would be nice. Worth a metaphysical try…?



Daughter (13) and I often take the train to the Hipster Enclaves in the evening and walk about, a form of physical daydreaming I encourage Daughter to indulge in as she sculpts her future from daydreaming’s lucent clay. Daughter, who has shown promise, Arts-wise, from a very young age (I swear to you, by Zeus’ beard, the following, inserted below, she made, deliberately,  at the age of 3, on a laptop she subsequently destroyed with a bicycle pump at the age of 4)…



… has experienced quite a freakish quantum high-jump,  in technical ability, between 2016 and the end of 2019.  Look at this representative doodle from 2016:



And then this (full sized A4) from a few weeks ago:


Or, consider the confident, subtly-modulated cross-hatching of this figure ( 8″ x 5″, below), also from a few weeks ago (a casual sketch I rescued from the possible discard pile; both of these figures are favorite characters she sketches from memory when she’s bored):  doesn’t this look like the professional effort (c. 1930) of a 35-year-old Disney studio worker… ?

DAUGHTER work 2019

I had some drawing talent as a kid, too, and kept at it until my 20s (wisely abandoning it when Lit/Music took over)… and I always expected Daughter’s ability to dwarf mine at some point. I didn’t expect her to do so shortly after becoming 13.

We keep a second flat in a Hipster Enclave, in the heart of the high-end Gallery Ghetto, and Daughter plans on moving into it when she’s 18ish, there to live her Life as an Artist. I fully expect her to do so and do well and be happy. As I explained to her: the Old Economy is Gone. Don’t fall into the Old Traps.  Protect your Talent, polish your skills, maximize your Talent Options. Never ever think that time-eatingly nurturing a semi-odious “fallback” plan is the “mature” thing to do. Stick with what you can really do; with what you were born to do. Fuck slaving away your 20s at some soul-chewing, ass-licking, crypto-penal, card-punching lackey-position making money for some idiotic and imperious Business Shithead. Do what I did (house-painting as a hired gun) if you must. Rely on our support if you’re able. Don’t dilute your Gift or your Life.

Keep sharpening that blade until it’s a Laser. The Target will reveal itself.





Right. Back to my little (I’m actually working quite hard) vacation…!




  1. To steal and paraphrase: When two separate [ideas find themselves represented as a twin entry] pertaining to the same object of inquiry, we must always pay strict attention.


    1. D! Well-spotted! This one was all about the not-diluting of Art/Life and the good growth (spurts) we get when the plant isn’t watered by fear-sweat. Erm, you wouldn’t happen to know any tall Black model-type Gurls with shaved heads, good voices, rudimentary synth skills and Scooby Doo vans equipped with Eight-Track Players and Tapes, would you?


              1. I can’t think of a better response to what I’ve heard the kids call these days ‘a dad joke’. On the other hand, Dad might retort that they’re groaning ’cause their balls are small.


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