Day 10: Deeper Underground
AROUND THE WORLD IN 80 LOUSY TUNES
I must have walked for miles in that cave system. Everytime I seemed to be getting closer to the source of the infernal noise, it turned out to be another echo chamber. Much of the system was lit by glowing mould, which I suppose would be a very polite way of noting the perspiration of the Sugar singer. Not being a naturally polite person I would call him that Sweaty Fat Fuck Bob Mould, but I digress.
Indeed digressions were my problem. Caves branched in places, and I generally head downwards, figuring that whatever creature was at home here would hide a far away as possible. At one point, tired to almost the point of exhaustion, I stopping a cool cave which had a natural pool in it. The water was reviving – not tonic water, not heaven help me Gin, but enough to quench my thirsty. I made a fire out of what looked like discarded Bibles (the only Bible I felt comfortable burning contained Boo Hewardine but it was not to be) and settled down. When I awoke what lay before my eyes was shocking. I crept to the corner of the cage as I watched some strange, inhuman creature ripping apart the body of what looked like Kim Catrall and dumping the corpse in the lake. Then discarding some books the mis-shapened beast picture up a small pile of records and ran off howling.
I quickly ran over the corpse. It was fresh but one could still see the lines on the Sex In The City star (or as I am sure Crispian would have put it, Mannequin star). Where were we? What was this creature doing to these minor celebrities and how. I could not let this injustice go on. After a quick search of what was left of her person for concealed miniatures (bah – Americans and their teetotalism) I set off in hot pursuit.
Hot pursuit it became indeed. In my headlong pelt I barely noticed that the heat was rising, as the occasional puddle of lava bubbled away in the periphery of my vision. That said, all the brimstone and lava in the world could not prepare me for the diabolical horror that confronted me, deeper underground, a sight of such hellish nature that I passed out with the heat and shock. For what I discovered in the lair of that infernal creature was my worse nightmare made flesh. Or at least vinyl. For this lava spiked cauldron of sin appeared to be A RECORD LIBRARY.
Swoon!
JAMIROQUAI: Deeper Underground
If there was one place that Jay Kay should have gone, and gone from his first benighted release, it would be Deeper Underground. Not in a musical sense, though I have never understood the suggestion that cutting edge, obscure music be called underground music. Perhaps it is due to the fact that we plant seeds underground, and they therefore have the promise of blooming into something fantastic. Not anything that would apply to any kind of music, who in the seed world would be like the magic beans in Jack & The Beanstalk. But without the beanstalk bit.
Even more amusing is that Jamiroquai could go even further underground than he was at that point. His status as a cutting edge, avant garde musician after all was as underground as standing on top of the Post Office Tower which had recently been transplanted to the top of Primrose Hill. ie Not very underground at all.
Perhaps Jay’s desire was linked to his liking of moles. Perhaps he wanted to go deeper underground to be just like them. Grubby, living in a world of perpetual darkness. Indeed living in a state of darkness would seem to be exactly the reason why Jay would want this deep core activity. After all he nicked his music from Stevie Wonder, there was no reason why he should not do the same with his eyesight.
Deeper Underground? Buried alive is preferable.