A bit like yesterday's entry, there's a feel here of genius-marking-time waiting for the next shot of inspiration to hit.
The standout track for me is Brunswick Parking Lot, one of those songs you can hear the tumbleweed blowing through. It revisits a familiar David Thomas trope, the main fount of which seems to be the Blue Hole of Castalia (which, contrary to how it sounds, is in Ohio). But there's a story around this near-bottomless hole that involves a woman called Deborah and others. I think there are several versions of this story. One of them can be found on this page for an earlier David Thomas and Two Pale Boys album:
Years ago four friends agreed to meet again in 10 years time at a place called the Blue Hole of Castalia. They never did. Since then the Blue Hole's been closed to the public and now they never will. A few years ago I ran into Deborah. That's all there is to the song but I couldn't get the vocals right so it never made it thru the mix stage.
"Deborah, let's not meet again," he sings on the version of the song finally released here, two albums later. But I'm sure I've heard other versions of the story in live performance. With this deep hole and the preoccupation with re-visiting a moment in the past, there's a waft of acrid Freudian smoke in the air.
I saw David Thomas and Two Pale Boys three times in three months after the release of 18 Monkeys. The first was at a tribute concert for Nino Rota, organised by good old Kate St John: the Boys played only one piece, a deconstructed Satyricon, but definitely caught everyone's attention with it. Then Lucy and I saw them play at Blackheath Halls, a relaxed and intimate performance.
But the one that really sticks in my mind was at The Spitz on 10 July 2004. I got there fairly early, on my own (I had tickets for Jeremy and Liz but they cancelled), and saw Andy Diagram, half of the Two Pale Boys. He wasn't happy and muttered about problems with the venue. Moris Tepper was the support act. I couldn't believe that he looked so young — under 40 — 22 years after playing on Ice Cream for Crow. He had major problems with the sound, and ended up playing from the edge of the stage completely without amplification or electricity, relying on his presence to project. Then David Thomas and the Boys took the stage, and ground to a halt a minute into the first song. Mr Thomas went into a rant about how they'd turned up at the venue at 3pm to find the stage manager already drunk. "Only in London…" he cursed.
Now, it's not uncommon for DT to find things to get angry about: I think it's part of his Jarry-inspired stagecraft to create a feeling of tension and unease. For example, I've hardly ever known him not have a problem with the microphone stand. But this had a different edge to it. "If I have to come back there and beat the shit out of you, I will," he shouted a few minutes later at the mixing desk.
The show went on. But several of us in the audience became aware of unease at the back of the venue as well. Two guys who looked like they were on door duty were heckling everything DT said — not loud enough for him to hear, but loud enough to annoy everyone else. A few people went up to these guys and asked them to be quiet, but their requests were brushed aside. The tide of rage rose inside me, and I did a very stupid thing. I went up to them with my mobile phone and took a picture of one of them. They were not happy about this, but I beat a hasty retreat… Five minutes later a bloke ame up to me and started to apologise profusely. He offered me the limpest handshake ever and insisted I reciprocate to acknowledge his apology. "But who are you?" I asked him a couple of times. No answer. Then he leant over me and said, "Don't worry, because me and my mate are going to beat the shit out of you when you get outside." It was then I realised he was one of the two troublemakers.
I didn't enjoy the rest of the gig. In fact I barely heard it. I contemplated entreating Andy for asylum backstage after the show, but in the end I took the main exit, and nothing came of the threat.
I'd taken the CD with us on holiday to Spain a few weeks earlier, and Lucy and I listened to it a few times as we drove round Andalusia. It didn't really stick. However, don't take my word for it. Whenever an album doesn't particularly click with me I reckon there are three possible causes: a fault with the album; a fault with me; or something awry in the interaction or interstices between us. There are two reviews of this album on Amazon.co.uk as I write, and both of them give it five stars. They're probably right. One of them is almost certainly wise when he advises, "Play it at night, in the dark and let the tales of Soda Mountain and the Blue Hole terrify you." Driving through the June Andalusian sun, we could hardly be further away.
 MusicBrainz entry for this album
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