Marathon stints on the lapdog have been run by me, completely naked on the sofa without even headphones. like that final scene in the Mozart film with maybe a bit less talent going on. Sweating in a fever of jetlagged all-night creativity combined with fever of slight cold.
I don't have a studio at the moment so my sofa is it. It is actually quite a good studio. It is warm and software can do such a great job these days.
This photo was taken by a VERY FUCKING WEIRD Ted Mayhem. I insisted that he stay at mine after the Brits as he was so completely warped and sweating he was starting to do his Hunter S Thompson danger to himself routine. He doesn't intend on being a danger to himself. I think he said something about Gary Barlow not liking him any more and he kept saying that Duffy is really blonde.
Anyway, the album doesn't sound like Lou Reed's Berlin because I never said Lou Reed, I only said 'Berlin'. Incorporating some kind of post modernist art house bauhaus row with foul mouths. But it's not that at all. It now sounds ravey. It is a ravey album album that bludgeons you over the head with its stick of 1988 Romford, Blackpool and Philadelphia rock. It is an insane album. Mayhem is an insane man.
