I tried something different this week. Creating a a vocal piece that's more emotionally expressive. Anything I'd made up to this point—songs or spoken word—was pretty calm. I'd sometimes thought I could call it my style. Alternatively it's a mark of me bottling my emotions up.
So that's why I find myself in the bathroom, slapping my chest and face and shouting at the mirror (laptop and microphone in place to document the results).
It was an interesting exercise and I think I got something usable out of it. It also seemed to directly impact on my mood and dreams. One night after recording I remember a dream saga involving William Bennet and Pete Best of Whitehouse, the filming of a TV series involving mummified dead bodies and a court case over stollen creative content.
Can't remember ever dreaming about William Bennett before. Seems more than likely listening to tracks like “Philosophy of the Wife-Beater” and “A Cunt Like You” seeped into my dream state somehow there.