“People need hope, beauty and truth”
On the eve of THE THE’s first new album in a quarter of century, Matt Johnson recalls his ‘80s and ‘90s heyday, explains why he quit music in the early ‘00s, and reveals his reasons for coming back
Photograph: Prudence Upton
One of the most gratifying things about being a fan of THE THE over the past decade and half has been watching founder and sole constant member Matt Johnson slowly get his mojo back. In the ‘80s and ‘90s there were a lot of takers for his musings on life, love and loss, and THE THE albums of that period – Soul Mining [1983], Infected [1986], Mind Bomb [1989] and Dusk [1993] – made an art form of self-examination (some might say self-laceration), while the band’s ever-revolving line-up created music of both searing intensity and warm introspection.
Perhaps some sort of burn out was inevitable, but after the lack of label support for 2000’s NakedSelf, Matt sought to extricate himself from the industry that had employed him since a teen and find an alternative route to leading a creative life. It was a slow process, made all the more so by a crippling lethargy that Matt was unable to shake off. It wasn’t until friend and collaborator JG ‘Foetus’ Thirlwell sent him a copy of The Inertia Variations – a poem by John Tottenham that could have been written specifically about Matt – that he started to free himself from his torpor. The poem eventually became the title of a 2017 documentary detailing Matt’s artistic return through his soundtrack work, local activism and Radio Cinéola broadcasts. It also featured the first new THE THE song for over a decade, although this was tinged with sadness as ‘We Can’t Stop What’s Coming’ was a tribute to Matt’s brother Andrew, who had died the previous year. But the song invigorated him, and in 2018 Matt reactivated THE THE as a live band and undertook a world tour, The Comeback Special.
This week is the 35th anniversary of the release of Mind Bomb, and with a new THE THE album imminent, I thought it timely to revisit this interview I did with Matt back in August 2021. I spoke to him ostensibly for a career overview that ran in an issue of Record Collector (which you can still buy here), but also to sound him out on my plans to write a book about Some Bizzare. Not only was Matt an excellent interviewee, he was also very encouraging about the book, and when it was published in 2023 he went above and beyond to help promote it.
As we all now know, Matt has written and recorded a new THE THE album, Ensoulment, which will see the light of day on 6 September 2024. I’ve heard it and I’m very happy to say it really is worth the wait.
In the late 60s, your parents ran the Two Puddings, an infamous East End pub where The Who and The Kinks played. Did growing up surrounded by music inspire you to make it a career?
It’s hard to know, really, because I can’t put myself in the shoes of someone else. My older brother Andrew and I were too young to watch the bands. But we would hear music coming up through the floorboards and we’d go down when the pub was closed and play on the instruments. I think being exposed to music at a young age is a healthy thing, as it’s a very powerful and potent art form – and appreciating any art is part of the development of one’s brain. The environment certainly made me quite a sociable person, because I was around people from a young age, and there was always a lot of activity, a lot of noise. So I suppose that may have created some sort of predisposition to having a job that was quite sociable and involved a lot of people.
But in terms of developing a career in music, it didn’t particularly do me any favours because by the mid ‘70s my uncle had retired as a music promoter, so there was no strings that he could pull. I pretty much had to start afresh.
Andrew worked in the visual arts [he created much of THE THE’s artwork under the name Andy Dog] and your youngest brother Gerard is a film director. Was your parents’ encouragement important in all your careers?
Yes, very much. Our dad was quite a political person, he wanted to be a writer, and our mother would like to have been in interior design or fashion, but it was hard for working class people to get involved in the arts back then. I think there’s a degree of frustration for people of their generation who had creative ambitions as they knew they could never be fulfilled. So the next best thing was for their children to be creatively fulfilled.
They must have found it gratifying when you three brothers were so successful.
Yeah, it was good for mum and dad, they were very proud of us. And I think our brother who died very early on [Eugene Johnson passed away suddenly in 1989] also had a huge amount of energy and was a lovely person, and would have been successful at whatever he had chosen to do too.
You made your debut album, Burning Blue Soul (1981) in your late-teens. What are your abiding memories of that period?
I remember it being a very creative time, full of really lovely, encouraging people. There was very little money around but that didn’t matter. I was on the dole, but as I didn’t go to college I always considered that as a sort of arts grant.
I wasn’t a fan of punk but there were a wonderful couple of years following which was one of the most fertile times in British music. It was a small scene so I got to know a lot of artists like Throbbing Gristle, JG Thirlwell and Cabaret Voltaire quite well, and I was also hanging around the different record labels such as Rough Trade, Mute and Fetish.
Although I’d been in bands since I was about 11, I was really keen to get some records out. I’d already appeared on The Gadgets’ first album Gadgetry (1980) and I’d released the Controversial Subject (1980) single on Ivo Watts-Russell’s label 4AD. I was also just getting involved with Stevo [legendarily eccentric founder of the Some Bizarre label, Stephen Pearce]. Ivo gave me the opportunity to do a solo album, so he and I went to Spaceward Studios in Cambridge, worked during the day and slept on the floor at night. That became Burning Blue Soul.
Sadly, because 4AD didn’t have much money, they used to record over their multi tracks. I would have loved the opportunity to remix Burning Blue Soul, but as luck would have it, it was recorded over by Dead Can Dance, I think. Remixing would have been exciting for me because there’s a lot of things I hear on old recordings that I would have liked to have improved upon, but you’ve got to let things go.
There are a few unreleased albums from this period: Spirits (1979) and The Pornography of Despair (1982). What happened to those?
Well, there was also See Without Being Seen (1979), which I consider my first album and was recorded at De Wolfe studio in Soho, where I was working, and a little studio I had in my parents’ pub, The Crown in Loughton. I made up a limited amount of cassettes, photocopied the sleeves and sold them at gigs. [See Without Being Seen was made widely available on Johnson’s own Cinéola imprint in 2020].
Spirits was the album between that and Burning Blue Soul, from which only one track has ever been released [‘What Stanley Saw’ on the Cherry Red compilation, Perspectives and Distortion (1981)]. It’s far more accomplished than See Without Being Seen; I’ve been coming across tracks while digitising my archive and I think it’s a really strong album.
The Pornography of Despair was supposed to be the successor to Burning Blue Soul but Stevo came along and CBS got involved, so my life changed. I went from being an independent artist to a major label artist and The Pornography of Despair got stuck in the middle. Some of the tracks ended up being used on the Soul Mining project, for instance ‘Perfect’ and ‘The Sinking Feeling’, and some songs ended up on the cassette version of the album.
Signing with CBS was a big leap. Despite his reputation, Stevo certainly seemed to get things done.
When I met Stevo I was in my late teens and he was even younger than me. I’d been on the dole for a couple of years and though I loved working with Ivo at 4AD particularly, I was getting worn down by signing on and living hand to mouth in a bedsit.
In May ’82, Stevo managed to get London records to pay for a trip to New York to work with producer Mike Thorne (Soft Cell, Wire) but without them owning what I recorded. That trip was quite magical – I was staying in the Mayflower Hotel, which was where a lot of musicians stayed, and the studio Media Sound was an old church in Midtown around 57th Street. Britain and America then were so different back then and it was quite overwhelming, in a good way. Mike took me out to Manny’s which is a very famous music store on 48th Street, and I found this African percussion drum called a Zylimba. So I bought it and it became the sort of signature of ‘Uncertain Smile’. When I think about that record and compare it to a few years earlier, I was suddenly in a very nice hotel and working in a very big, posh studio in New York and having quite a lot of money spent on me. And what I came back with was the most commercial thing I’ve done, before or since. Stevo then got various record companies into a bidding war and CBS won. I was happy to go with them because they had Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash and Leonard Cohen – an album-artists’ label and quite glamorous.
For good or bad, Stevo was a larger than life character and did his own thing. Some of the shenanigans made me wince while others I found hilarious. I have mixed feelings looking back; I’m never comfortable with people feeling bullied or humiliated but I didn’t have such a problem when certain people in the industry got what they deserved.
The first THE THE album Soul Mining emerged in 1983. Even though it was pretty successful at the time, it didn’t seem to get the recognition it deserved until it was reissued in 2014.
It’s one of those records where its reputation has grown with time and it’s become a bit of a classic really. I’d just moved to Braithwaite House in East London [where the Kray brothers were arrested for the final time in 1968] with my new girlfriend and I wrote ‘This Is The Day’ there. I remember being in tears when I was writing it, it just made me very emotional. I do sometimes cry when I write songs, if I feel I’m expressing something honestly and being true to myself.
Soul Mining was recorded at The Garden studio in Shoreditch – which was owned by John Foxx at the time – with Paul Hardiman co-producing. We had some great session musicians in to play, including Jools Holland, and also friends like Zeke Manyika, Thomas Leer, JG Thirlwell. I think the album has a certain vitality that comes from the range of instrumentation, every song is unique, there are marimbas and cellos on one and an accordion and fiddle on another. Not having a fixed line-up gave me the freedom to create something very cinematic. I’m a big fan of soundtracks and atmosphere, and Soul Mining was an attempt to combine traditional song writing with film music, in a way.
Did not touring Soul Mining lead to 1986’s Infected becoming such a huge multimedia project? Or was it always your intention to move THE THE into other mediums?
It was a combination really. There was a lot of pressure on me to tour Soul Mining but I knew it was gonna be very difficult to recreate the album live. CBS weren’t very happy with that, but I stuck to my guns, rightly or wrongly. Going into Infected, there was even more pressure to go out on the road, but the way the album was developing, I knew again it was going to be very difficult to do it justice live.
So, Stevo twisted CBS’ arm to fund a long-form video album, on the proviso I would take it around the world in place of a tour. And I have to give him a lot of credit, he really hammered them, and they gave the equivalent in today’s money of well over a million pounds to a young up and coming artist to fly to South America and New York to make a film.
I imagine it must be a real source of disappointment that the Infected film hasn’t been commercially available since its video release in the ‘80s?
Yes, it is. We did some screenings a couple of years ago at the ICA in London, which were very well attended. The afternoon of the first screening, I went down there by myself to watch the film through to check the sound. It was the first time I’d watched it for decades and it looked so intense and vivid, I was blown away.
I’ve spoken before about my ongoing problems with Sony, but the fact is I’ve never received a royalty from all the records I’ve sold. Those old deals were just so bad – we all know the story, it’s not just me, it’s across the board. I actually ended up worse off from the 2014 Soul Mining reissue as all the remastering and repackaging cost were put onto me. So when they asked me to work on an Infected one I said, Why on earth would I want to do that? It’s a bit frustrating because it would be nice to remaster not only the Infected film but also the Versus the World and From Dusk ‘til Dawn films too and get them back out there.
You formed a band for 1989’s Mind Bomb. Was this you finally bowing to pressure from CBS?
The thing is, if I get pressured to do something, I’ll do the opposite! By this point, CBS had given up so that’s when I thought, you know what, I’m going to put a band together. A couple of things happened, the first being Stevo and I parted company at the end of the Infected campaign. It was a difficult time because I was very fond of him but without going into too much detail, things were getting completely out of control, so I had to distance myself.
Secondly, I was backstage at an Iggy Pop gig and Johnny Marr, who was an old mate, was there. We hadn’t seen each other since The Smiths became very successful and we’d always talked about working together, so we both agreed to do something. I’d already started Mind Bomb, with Warne Livesey and Roli Mosiman, who were my co-producers on Infected, and we’d done ‘Armageddon Days’, with myself on guitar and former-ABC drummer Dave Palmer and James Eller who’d played bass with Julian Cope.
When news came out that Johnny had left The Smiths I gave him a call. He came round, we sat up all night chatting, and by the morning he’d joined the band. There was such a fantastic chemistry between the four of us and we all knew that it shouldn’t just be a studio thing. In fact, it could well have been Johnny’s suggestion to take it on the road.
You kept the same band for 1993’s Dusk, which was a commercial high point, even though it came from tragedy.
As the band was so strong I really wanted to capture how we sounded live. By this stage, I’d bought The Garden from John Foxx and we set up camp down there. I kept the studio very dark, with incense burning and old oil lamps going – Dave used to call it the ‘psychic sauna.’ The studio it would be hot, dark and intense but it got results – it’s one of my favourite albums.
It was written in the shadow of Eugene’s death and was a very hard album to make. The loss had such a terrible effect on my family and the grief really took it out of me. On previous albums I was always very sharp in the studio and paid attention to the minutest detail, but on Dusk I was spaced out a lot of time.
Although I think it is that particular band’s finest hour, ironically the line-up was starting to disintegrate at that point. Dave had stuff going on in his personal life, Johnny had started working with Bernard Sumner on Electronic and James got offered a solo deal. Also, all of them had children – I was the last one to have kids – so they were understandably a bit torn. And I think that’s what makes it, for me anyway, such a beautiful album. There was a there was a real emotion in those sessions.
Even now, 1995’s Hank Williams covers album Hanky Panky seems an odd artistic choice. How do you feel looking back?
I really like it. It may seem like an anomaly, but it was supposed to be part of a series of records, I planned to do a Robert Johnson album as well as several other great singer songwriters.
In my mind, it seemed a natural thing to do. Yes, I’m a musician, a producer, a singer, but if I had to choose just one term, it would be songwriter. That’s what I think I’m best at and what I love doing. I’m fascinated by the tradition of song writing and how it evolved, how certain elements originated in England, Europe, and Africa as well. And the fact that we’ve ended up with this form that is so global, that each new generation filters through their own experience.
Oddly, Hanky Panky is another album that seems to have grown in people’s affection over the years. I know it was better received in America and Hank’s biographer wrote me a lovely note. But at the time I don’t think the company knew what to do with it – Britpop was at its height and it was a tricky thing to promote.
2000’s NakedSelf was released at a time when the industry was in turmoil. You ended up bankrolling the tour and lost a lot of money. Did you feel you might go down along with the industry?
Yes, it was an unhappy time. Getting it made was difficult enough, because there was the Gun Sluts album which Sony didn't like [some rough mixes of which were recently released through Cinéola’s Official Bootleg series], but once NakedSelf was finished I realised it was going to fall through the cracks.
The actual creative process was a lot of fun, I was living in New York and worked very closely with guitarist Eric Schermerhorn, and had Spencer Campbell on bass and Earl Harvin on drums – a wonderful band. We’d found this amazing little studio called Harold Dessau Recording and it was one of my favourite ever studios. Sonically I felt we were breaking new ground. We were utilising a lot of analogue techniques and old equipment, no digital reverbs or keyboards. It was a tough sounding album and I was very proud of it.
But Sony couldn’t hear a single, so I said, Well, I’m an album artist, I’m not going to suddenly start pulling hit singles out of my hat. I was at the end of my contract with them so I was able to take the album elsewhere.
I was approached by Trent Reznor’s label Nothing, which was an imprint of Interscope, part of Universal and Polygram and Seagram and Vivendi… and it was a disaster. The upshot was that poor old NakedSelf got lost. I went on a 14-month tour and about halfway through funding effectively came to an end. But it was a bit like The Charge of the Light Brigade, I believed in the album so much, I just carried on and on. And it did exhaust me, in more ways than one.
David Bowie asked you to appear at his Meltdown festival in 2002, but rather than do a THE THE set, you enlisted JG Thirlwell and film maker Benn Northover to collaborate on a glitchy, electronic multimedia performance. The reaction was mixed…
Yeah, it was really extreme and in a way I kind of liked that rather than having a wishy-washy response. You had people absolutely loving it and others who, I was told, hated it so much a fight broke out. It was radical and unusual but my feeling is, if you like a record, it’s not going anywhere, it’s safe, trapped on vinyl or CD, and it’s always going to sound the same. Why not be open minded, and allow people to do something different?
How do you balance that experimental side with your traditional song writing sensibility?
I feel the two coexist very comfortably within me. I love experimental music and but I also love sitting with an acoustic guitar. As for where that comes from, the best example I can give is The Beatles White Album. Andrew and I would play it all the time when we were kids, and I suppose the diversity within that one record must have had an impact on me. Why shouldn’t one song be as far removed from the one that preceded as possible?
In recent years my soundtrack work has allowed me to play purely with sonics, which I really love, but I’ve also been getting back to more traditional song writing for the next THE THE album.
After NakedSelf and the Meltdown show, you basically walked away from the music industry.
I felt burnt out, I didn’t feel inspired, and, most importantly, I did not want to sign another deal. I pleaded to be let out of my contract with Universal early, which they agreed to, because I said I just didn’t want to make any more music with them. I got other offers, but I could not go back to the old way of working.
So I took a lot of time off, travelling and just taking care of personal stuff with my family in England as well as my Swedish family [Johnson has a son with Swedish photographer and film director Johanna St Michaels]. But time goes fast and before you know it, one, two, three years had gone by.
Johanna and I separated but we have a good friendship and when she started making documentaries, she asked me to supply some music, which was a way of getting back into the water, without get without getting my head wet. [Johnson’s music was used in St Michaels’ short films Best Wishes, Bernhard (2004), Snapshots From Reality (2005) and The Track (2007)]. It was very enjoyable and it led to writing the soundtrack to Gerard’s film Tony in 2010.
Around the same time you started the Radio Cinéola broadcasts, 15-minute collections of dialogue, soundscapes and unreleased music based around a theme. I thought they were fantastic – because you’d been away for so long it was like you were beaming in from some distant land.
Oh, I’m glad, I loved doing those. In 2010 I was doing one a month and I’ve done several specials since. They were very eclectic, playful and experimental. And a lot of humour was involved. I’ve been thinking about releasing them in some sort of a physical form, which might be quite nice, put them out as a book or something.
I was listening to an old interview with Johnny Marr from 2013, and he was asked about working with you again. He replied that people are always asking him that, but when he tells you how much people love your work, he suspects you think he’s just being nice. So now, almost 10 years later, do you believe him?
Yeah, when we’d meet up he’d always say, “I get asked about you all the time and doing new stuff together.” It was lovely to hear because during that period away, I went to some dark places in my head. I’d lost a lot of interest in the things I enjoyed and I’d started to forget what I was good at, who I was, really.
Your first new song for 10 years, ‘You Can’t Stop What’s Coming’, was a tribute to Andrew who died in 2016, and featured in Johanna St Michaels’ The Inertia Variations documentary.
Yes, it was Johanna nagging me to finish that song for the documentary that led to me touring again, so we’ve got her to thank for all this! But there was such a wonderful response to that song and the Comeback Special tour announcement, it reminded me of what I had been missing. I felt huge affection for the audience and I felt affection back, it was really lovely.
The set list from the Comeback Special tour featured songs from right across your catalogue. Was that important?
Yes, because I hadn’t toured for so long, I felt it should be both overview and retrospective. The band had a new member in Little Barrie Cadogan (Little Barrie, Primal Scream), who was hand-picked by Johnny, and has worked out brilliantly, and DC, James and Earl I’d played with before. So it was important to have that overview but also to reinterpret the songs. Some of them are consistent with the album versions – it would have been a mistake to change ‘Uncertain Smile’, for instance – but other songs such as ‘Like A Sun Rising’, ‘Soul Catcher’ and ‘Beyond Love’, we pushed in new directions. And I wanted the whole show to be filtered through this brilliant new band.
That approach unshackles the songs from their recorded versions, and to hear them interpreted in a slightly different and more organic way kind of sets them free.
Yes, and I think that was the point. When we sat down for the initial rehearsals it was just me, James and Barrie – DC and Earl joined later on – and we went through lots of songs in the catalogue. I really wanted to listen to the songs in their essence, rather than the produced versions. What is this song? If we boil it down, just to the chords and the melodies and the words, where does it take us? And approaching the songs with a very, very clear and fresh state of mind, because it had been so long since I’d even listened to them much less played them. And it was quite an interesting process, really. What I didn’t do was sit down and listen to the records, and say let’s copy that. We played them on acoustic guitars – even the songs that had a very defined production or arrangement – to see where they take us. And the songs led us in a certain way and lent themselves to certain instrumentation.
You recorded a live album of the tour at the RAH, a couple of days after losing your father. You’ve said he would have wanted you to carry on – but what was going through your mind as you set foot on that stage?
Well, it was complicated because we were being filmed, so I knew that we were going to have cameras close by. It sounds cliched, but you’ve got to be professional in such moments. I was very confident in the band, and knew that if I made a mistake, they would cover for me.
Oddly, and I’ve not spoken about this before, I had no nerves at all during the entire tour. I should have felt under a lot of pressure, but I didn’t. And I did wonder if all the bereavements within my family had something to do with that. Really, what on earth is there to be afraid of going onto the stage with a few thousand really nice people wanting you to do your best?
My only concern on the night was if my mind wandered, so I had to put my dad out of my thoughts in the nicest possible way. Until the end of the show, during ‘Lonely Planet’ when I sang, “All the people you’ve ever loved, All the people you’ve ever lost,” and I was looking at the box where he would have been sitting and that was quite emotional for me.
And the whole project now is a tribute to your dad now.
Yeah, I wanted to dedicate the whole thing to him.
There’s an amazing picture in the accompanying book, where there’s a projection of him on stage looking down on you.
Yeah, and everybody felt it, you know. Tim [Pope, video director] and the people at the show that knew him, we really felt his presence there, there was something intangible in the air.
Will the Comeback Special band be playing on new THE THE material?
That was always the plan but then COVID it knocked everything for six. It also depends on everybody’s availability, because they’re all busy guys, they’ve got things to do. Little Barrie has his career, Earl plays with Tindersticks, and DC and James do other stuff. We all want to, it’s a case of if we can line everything up. But certainly I really loved playing with this band, I love them as musicians and love them as people and I have a huge amount of respect and affection for them. And most importantly, we have a lot of laughs together. So that is the plan, but it’s been a strange 18 months, as I’m sure you’ll agree, and I’m not sure if the roller coaster ride is over just yet.
I’ve got a mental image of you as a young musician writing and recording with lo-fi equipment and bits of paper spread all over the floor. What’s your process now?
It hasn’t changed much, although my back and knees ache if I lie on the floor too long! I’ve got my studio here but I do like to start off a bit lo-fi, maybe a four- or eight-track or perhaps just acoustic guitar. I keep things simple because if a song is sounding good in a rudimentary form, you know that you’re onto something. I do have a lot of what I think are really beautiful songs underway though.
Lyrically you’ve always been adept at tackling the personal and political without being dogmatic. How are you approaching lyric writing in 2021?
Well, there’s certainly been a lot of rich material – if I can’t write anything out of the past two years, I might as well give up! It’s just a case of commenting on things without being too overt. I mean, nobody wants to be preached at, least of all me.
In such turbulent and strange times, it’s a responsibility of all artists – whether filmmakers, writers, painters or musicians – to deal with these issues but in a positive way. There do appear to be some quite dark forces at work at the moment, and what people want is hope. That’s what needs to be communicated right now, hope, beauty and truth.
Is the Inertia Variations Matt gone now?
Yeah, he’s gone. I’m very, very busy all the time now. I might need to bring him out for a reprise at some point!
THE THE’s new album Ensoulment is released on 6 September 2024. You can pre-order it here.
The comeback Kings of Soul
The big news this week at Dancing Architect Towers has been conformation that The Wolfgang Press are to release a new album, almost 30 years since their last. Featuring core members Michael Allen and Andrew Gray, along with latter’s brother Stephen Gray, A 2nd Shape finds the trio return to the stark and visceral stylings of their early ‘80s work, recalling The Burden of Mules (1983) and Standing Up Straight (1986) rather than their funkier ‘90s releases.
The new album is a lesson in post punk sound and attitude. Allen’s dubby bass is as prominent as it has been since their debut, and Gray’s guitar retains its serrated edge while pushing into new sonic territories. And of course Allen’s distinctive baritone makes it instantly recognisable as the same band who created the peerless Bird Wood Cage (1986).
The album is released by Downwards on 27 September and befitting a band so associated with 4AD the artwork has been designed by Chris Bigg, the man behind many a classic v23 sleeve.
There’s a vinyl pressing available from Boomkat, but be quick, it’s super-limited and at the time of writing has almost sold out.
Hot sticky scenes…
I took my son to see one of his favourite bands The Mysterines play a low key warm up show at the Guilford’s 250-capacity Boileroom last Saturday. The tiny venue was rammed and, boy, was it hot.
But it was a good environment for the band to showcase their excellent new album Afraid of Tomorrows, and was a proper loud, sweaty club gig. What I like about The Mysterines is that they’re unapologetically rock with a capital ‘R’ and they’re not afraid of a big riff or an even bigger chorus. But there’s a post-rock-shoegaze element to what they do too, so there’s plenty of interesting stuff going on in among the riffola.
And singer Lia Metcalfe’s voice is an incredible instrument, totally unique and even more powerful live than on record. I’ve been telling anyone who’ll listen that they’re going to be massive, and I think their new album is the one that might just make that happen. It was great to take the boy to see them in such an intimate setting before he starts having to watch them in huge venues or at festivals.
For those who read to the end…
Thanks as always for reading and subscribing, especially those who have opted for a paid subscription. As a paying subscriber you get access to everything I’ve posted this year, and it really helps with covering the costs of putting this all together. There are various options available, but even a couple of quid would be most welcome.
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Another great read WD.
Have you listened to Matt's OST releases for brother Gerard's filmic endeavours?
Well worth a listen, (the films are pretty good too).
Looking forward to the new album - the two tracks I've heard so far are both roasters.
Currently going down a Coil shaped rabbit hole - it's dark, cavernous, and a little bit scary down here.
Keep up the good work - looking forward to reading more from you soon.
Bestest,
scott