here we are in göteborg, otherwise known as gothenberg, otherwise known as sweden's second biggest city--and, yes, in many ways it does remind me of birmingham, in that (a) there are a lot of metal bands, e.g. in flames, a huge influence on our work and vision, and (b) we are about 100 feet away from a flyover, several burnt out cars, and a dubious looking canal--all of which, i should add, are wonderfully invigorating.

it's actually really beautiful--we just happen to be in the middle of an industrial estate. birmingham, on the other hand--well, as a wise man once wrote, birmingham made itself.

we're also about ten minutes walk away from scandinavia's biggest amusement park, though we have yet to go, being sedentary types.



that is supposed to represent how sedentary we are. although, ironically, jimmy is probably the least sedentary of us all.

the night we arrived we went to way out west festival, arriving belatedly in the rain. i djed to myself with misgiving, the music morphing within minutes--no, seconds--from sweet downtempo disco into raging schizophrenic bullshit, and then we left for the afterparty, which we thought was under a bridge on the banks of the river (it looked like brooklyn on the shore of the east river probably did in about 1870), and indeed was under a bridge on the banks of the river, only... on the other side--a sad fact which we didn't realise for an hour, wandering back and forth through a deserted marina happily hysterical, having blown all of our money on taxis, and unable to get in touch with yannis, who was either at the party somewhere or in little hairy pieces having been chopped up by the members of opeth with whom he'd scored in more ways than one... all the while dragging on ice-cream smokes and fantasting about dickens downstairs with the foot-long oysters and...



cracking up. we did eventually find the party, but we failed to talk to anyone who wasn't us, and the djs were obviously all on opiates, and deerhunter weren't playing, so we didn't stay for very long.

and since then we've had, shall we say, a pretty mediocre time, socially speaking. does anyone nice want to hang out with us? show us where the good parties are? show us, specifically, where the hot and happening scando-balearic house nights are? get in touch.



the studio itself is... easily the best studio we've ever seen let alone been shown into. it has everything, twice. rooms and rooms and corridors and cupboards of gear, and space, and promise, all decked out in in pleasing tones of light and dark and natural woods and potted plants. everything is in reverb. most of the pianos are in tune, and there's more than one vibraphone.



sweltering.

we're even sleeping in the studio, in submarine bunks with minimal natural light. occasionally the roof leaks and pools of water gather on the floor, adding to the nautical vibe. i'm considering getting an anchor tattoo, one of those crucifix hybrids, as if to say: sure, i used to believe, but then i got lost at sea.

sitting here, drowning in jack's latest hydrogenated vegetable fat-flavour snacks, we've watched most of a beatles documentary, and we've all agreed that george was the best, although john was very handsome and funny when he was younger, and we've done a lot of cooking (look forward to jimmy's upcoming food diary), and we've spent krunkloads of kronas on terrible weak beer, and walter's drunk it, and... i've slept an awful lot, as i feel a bit like i'm in remission from something or other.

we've even done our own washing.



jokes.

but the real the question is: what have we really done? and the answer is: about one and a half songs. but they sound good--like great (would i say anything else?)--sort of like an inside-out chicken in glorious technicolour, but a bit more vegetarian and a bit less funk. our producer--"the hand", or, to give him another bland pseudonym, luke smith--has been saying things like "super cool" and "i think it's wicked" a lot, which either means that things are going well or that things are going really, really badly. only time and the steady decline of our critical faculties will tell.

some footage of walter's bass takes.

...

stuff we're digging:
- the xx album. which i guess everyone is digging, but why be different, huh?
- shit loads of old house music courtesy of beatelectric.
- the new dorian concept single. next level. check it out.
- the video for fuck button's new rekkid. it makes me go "chriiiist!". like woah.
- this article about sound and about what's been won and what's been lost.
- toothpaste, generally.

stuff we're not digging:
- sweden's weird-ass puritanical alcohol regulations.
- that feeling on a ship after months at sea when you figure you may as well start having sex with each other.

yeah.

xx edwin.