Once again, I’m indebted to my dear friend Cheyanne Turions for sending me this prose…

The Legend! sings the songs of Daniel Treacy (Unpopular)

words: sweetcheyanne

I believe every word of it he says. Believe it like they were his own. Sad stories spoken through the voice of kindreds in secret languages. Knowing that it is not simply a love for what comes across our path, but like a recognition heavy with its solitary weight. These are the scared correspondence of what we deem the important to be understood, lost in our hiding from the others who know not how to step lightly on things like hearts, scrap pieces with scrawling, treasures of intimate knowledge, and the fragile beauty of light. It doesn’t help that I met Everett True before I met the Television Personalities. My lover almost had me convinced that “Everett True” was just another incarnation of self in the grand tradition of persona, a same origin of incarnation playing with Daniel Treacy. I can see now that they are dissimilar after all. But his voice, the one who is now The Legend!, must have spoken these things many times before we came to hear them. What accompanies him is frighteningly simple. No pomp and circumstance here - unless you want the flailing glory that comes when the fire burns us from the inside out. Bright. Blinding. He’s screaming at the top of his lungs. Oozing. Voice is doing all this and I feel a protective impulse like shielding a child’s eye from the sight of a dead rabbit in the woods. I want to protect this voice. Protect it because I believe so strongly in it’s having been destroyed already, knowing that I would not have been able to stand it if it had come to me - these things which would call forth such a documentation. Like how I always dream of time travel and a going back to the self that was 17 and saying with deep reverence that, “It’s going to be all right”. With enough unprotected bullshit so that I, at 17, would believe it. Not because I needed to hear it then, though I did, but because I need to be able to say it now. As I would tell Everett now that there is NO sense of belonging, and he writes poetry already, always. I’m listening to this music alone. I feel fucking embarrassed for my words, all just, “tiny, stinging regrets”. Feeling most alive, do not deny it, when the darkness is blackness. These are only two songs. Two tales of what we fight to bury at times. Buried alone as punishment for its truth, eventually always. Lost already, these are two simple accompaniments that will scare you into admitting that there is joy hidden beneath after all.

Posted by Everett True on Saturday, May 28th, 2005
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Brilliant day. Beautiful. Spent most of my day out in the garden with Charlotte, heavily pregnant and not able to take the stairs without a five-minute build-up beforehand - and also Poppy, who managed to rip the yellow tail entirely off the cat-baiting stick she lvoes to play with. Guess she wins. Baby due any day now. Man. The tension - although mostly unspoken - is incredible. We both know our lives will change forever but it’s still almost impossible to envisage. Man.

A few weeks back now, played an improvised set entirely based around the teachings we’ve recieved in ante-natal class: breathe, breathe, breathe…rise, peak, plateau, drop…breathe, breathe, breathe…there’s nothing to be afraid of, it’s perfectly normal, those strange feelings you have are only chemicals messing with your mind…as Steve Gullick and Danya and Scout Niblett played heartbeat guitar and feedback, and Sam from The Go! Team free-formed amazingly on drums. Steve has a mini-disc somewhere. Love to hear it. Stevie Chick was there also, still the nicest man on earth: and Scout played a blinder herself with the new drummer. Electrelane were pretty fucking on fire as well.

Great venue, that Old Market.

Played a few other shows too: a week back at Monster Bobby’s Totally Bored club at The Fringe Bar, Kensington Gardens - a little piece of Olympia come to Brighton - impromptu, with Chris La Momo providing two-chord acoustic, in support to the very cute and naive and magical Dennis Driscoll, who stole the hearts of all 10 people present but fortunately gave them straight back afterwards. I told how my fave criticism of me I’ve spotted on the web is, “Like seeing your best friend’s embarrassing dad drunk in charge of a karaoke book” and…well, it was a sweet evening. Metronomy charmed as well. As did Alex from Thee Moths between-songs asides. Bobby wasn’t there. Too busy being a pop star.

Charlotte looks amazing right now. The shape formed by the baby is an almost perfect half-circle and you can actually see the child wriggle around inside her. I haven’t been giving her massages like I promised, but I have been trying to make her feel loved.

…Then there was Colchester Arts Centre on Wednesday: what a cool place, converted church and graveyard next door, my 44-year-old ass totally kicked by two local(ish)15-year-old boys calling themselves Revchild who went on before and - despite liking the Libertines - played a music that was similar to Beat Happening and (Mick Collins claimed) Eyeless In Gaza, although they only had guitar and drums. They rocked, real hard. Serious. Dirtbombs were their usual rockin’ selves (genius in other words) and my mood was only lifted even higher by the appearance of two of my old mates from my ‘dancing down the fron’t days in the early 80s. So we all danced together and Mick even dedicated a song to ‘that crazy man there’. Me.

The Legend! was fine too: Eva playing glockenspiel and Ben Blackwell on rampant drums. Guess I need to play to the crowd more, perhaps.

Monday, or was it Tuesday? Andrew, Frances me and Charlotte saw Star Wars and…well, it’s a damn sight better than the previous two isn’t it? Indeed, it could even be the best of the entire six (the cynic in me points out that’s not exactly difficult). We were out, celebrating the finish of ANOTHER Plan B…man that cover kicks ass, as does Frances’ ESG feature and David - sorry, Petra’s - Antony And The Johnsons article. And you gotta love those geeks reviewing the vinyl toys in the back.

Spent most of today replying to far-gone emails, and now it’s time for, wait!…breathe, relax, breathe, relax, breathe, relax….
Man. Not long to go now.

Posted by Everett True on Saturday, May 28th, 2005
(1 Comment)

Saw Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy at the cinema just now. I cried when I left. The Guide helped define me when I was barely into my teens. They’ve trampled all over the original’s gentle, warm humour. They’re trampling all over some of my most precious, cherished memories. The Guide was never intended to be a fucking love story or even as a space adventure: rather, it’s an uplifting, slightly askew look at some of modern life’s more absurd moments and trivialities.

Some points.
One: the original, a radio show, was about the power of imagination. This, the film, is about anything but. The story has never need special effects or props - it could’ve been performed in the theatre to excellent effect.
Two: why bother even including Marvin The Paranoid Android at all?
Three: since when was Arthur Dent a wimp? All he ever was was a confused Englishman in search of a decent cuppa, and home.

Whatever.

Posted by Everett True on Wednesday, May 11th, 2005
(7 Comments)

OK, so this being the most twisted and solipsistic post I’ve done in a while and all, here’s a question for you (the ‘you’ in question being, oh…jesus….I hate thinking about this).

Right.

I have been asked to read aloud selected entries from this here blog/journal/whatever at a book launch on Wednesday. The book is about lo-fi culture; this is supposed to be illustrative of an online journal (please note, web types who know what a latecomer I am to this medium, others will be reading too!). Yes, I know, in a technological sense instant publishing is hardly lo-fi. I guess it’s the actual literary sense, ie that I write and publish this without any editing, background knowledge, authority, and that its tone is ‘lo-fi’, ie amateurish. But that’s beside the point, the point being I said I would read this bloody thing to people, like real people with ears hahaha FUCK.

SO

I ask the mythical you that read this thing, are there any entries that you think lend themselves well to this task? And don’t say the one about the aubergines and cheese, that was rubbish and you know it.

What d’you reckon? Do I go for the personal (cos that’s what these lo-fi types love innit) or do I pick the mini-essays on music, the pretentious, pseudo-authoritative theories I come up when tired, drunk and with laptop*? Do I do funny, or do I go for sadness, aging, goodbyes, musings? Shall I just tell everyone how much I love Laurie Anderson?

I have no idea right now.

Help!

*Strange how ‘theories’ come so easily to you when there’s a computer involved. I never had a head for conspiracy till I learned to type. Please suggest further reading, some theory on theorising, so that I know why this is and as a result feel a bit more comfortable with it.

Posted by Frances May Morgan on Monday, May 9th, 2005
(4 Comments)

i just realised it’s exactly 10 years ago today that i cut 2 of my fingers in half.
probably to the hour.
what a ride!

Posted by Andrew Clare on Thursday, May 5th, 2005
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Posted by Sarah Bowles on Thursday, May 5th, 2005
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Thanks to Stewart and Caroline for the sofa surfing last week in glasgow, and Mark for the company in Edinburgh.

Posted by Sarah Bowles on Thursday, May 5th, 2005
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On Monday night I snogged my synth, watched by various Plan B staff members. I think Everett did a gig last week too, and Andrew, and Mark Pilkington who does our DVDs page. So c’mon Daniel, Grace, Sarah, Stewart, Beth, Pil & Galia, and all you others - we’re waiting for your live debuts…

Posted by Frances May Morgan on Wednesday, May 4th, 2005
(3 Comments)