New, Old, Fresh - Time To Fly
Oh shit! The end of an era? The beginning of a new one?
Man, all that driving out to Kangaroo Ground… all those decelerations and accelerations toward Hurstbridge… is that how we made this band? Is that how we made this sound? Is that the hidden chug of this Blood Love record? Always at Krisso’s house, always with the black tea, always one more song, one more pass, one more elongated chord. So now that Kris is all, “Gotta move, let’s rehearse inner city.” What then? What is the next sequence on the soundtrack? What is the next fuzz point? A city band? Us?!
Plus, we’ve got the gig this Saturday… oh yeah… launch it all… fling Blood Love into the reality matrix and watch the geese gaggle, the promoters haggle, the sound cones shake and shudder…
Oh, is that it? Yeah, yeah, cosmic thunder, augury, the flight of birds, reading entrails, that’s why we can’t practice at Krisso’s anymore, cos that’s the journey, isn’t it? The end is Blood Love and it tips into the new-ness of the city rehearsals. The end is Blood Love, like Blood Love was the beginning, in Hurstbridge, a thousand years ago (2007, actually) when Blood Love was nothing but Milky playing E minor, nothing but us listening again and again to Laughing Stock, nothing but a vague sense the stream of life would carry us – eventually – to this launching point. Oh God! The symmetry of the sound! The melody of the mood!
So, thank you, Kris, for the era of jams in the city’s eastern periphery. Fuck yeah. It was awesome. The end of an era, the birth of a record, the outskirts band moving closer to the city centre: Blood Love.