Strange Days

Dear Chroniclers,

it seems an age since we last met.

The Christmas decorations have all been packed away, the tree long since dismembered, its skeletal spine consigned to rot in some darkened Anderson shelter out back of the House and life returns to what passes for normality ....

... except for the low feral howl emanating from deep within the inner sanctum that is electrofried's music room.

Three Presents

So did Christmas bring what you truly want? Now the tinsel has gone it's time to reflect on three different and very special presents.

So would you help me unwrap them all over again?

The Doors of Perception

It was there to greet me on Christmas morning. A neat box wrapped in gold paper placed lovingly beneath the pine-scented bowers of our family tree.

It contained a set of remastered CD's that took me way back to the spinning psychedelic haze of a red-brick University discotheque. Songs that sparked and burnt their way indelibly into my consciousness - songs that spoke of love and lust and death and strange deeds on an Indian highway.

Some music to open the Doors of Perception.

The Call of the Darkness

I spent many an evening after Christmas closeted alone in the music room, the sound cranked up high and drinking in the memories of the past. In my mind I danced on fire across a glistening Student Union floor, entwined in the embrace of my lover. Together we flew as one into the night.

Answering the Dionysian call.

Riders on the Storm

Was it chance or some strange sleight of hand from the Master Horologist that brought the muse from the past alive once more?

Shortly after Christmas the second present fell into my lap - a scented visitation. Turning over the pages of a magazine I chanced upon the tour itenary for "Riders on the Storm", the vestigial remains of a once great band that had opened the Doors for me, and many more besides. Plans were made, tickets purchased.

And so came a night of great magic, once more with my love entwined to the music. We danced on fire as it intends. The two original members of the band looked professorial and skeletal by turns, but how the majestic sound still sparked! Two men lost and found amidst the dignified splendour of a dying Dionysian call.

There is a sad and deeply beautiful feral cry that rings out from this music. The place where darkness and light intersect and the human condition is revealed. I hear it ring out each night as I return to the music room in response to its siren call.

An album opens

But what of the third present?

Over the Christmas break we paid a familial visit to the icy house of the Black Dowager. As ever, she was intent on expunging the memories of the past, but for once this gave rise not to pain but an opportunity for healing.

For some reason the photographic albums lodged in the bottom of her bedroom cupboard were causing her a problem that needed to be resolved. Rather than despatching them to oblivion I was given permission to root around. I emerged with two glittering prizes.

For those who have read "The Captain and the dirt-kneed schoolboy" may I share just one diamond-day jewel - the black and white photograph that appears above. It's a bear-hugged portrait of the two of us lost somewhere in time. And it bears the sweet smell of myrrh that one day will embrace us all ...

And with that thought in mind, may I wish you all a very happy New Year!

yours as ever,

electrofried (mr)