New Age Witches, Stone Age Bitches, Seventh Sons with Seven-Year-Itches,

It’s me, your Ambient-Metal Guru calling from deep-in-a-heart‑o’Wessex. It’s been a week of real death in which earthquakes in India slaughtered at least 20,000, and flattened over 400 schoolchildren as they studied. It’s a week of political death in the new Third World U.S.A., where the new puppet president Rubber Dubya successfully pronounced his own name correctly on primetime TV. Indeed, a week of political death right here in Britain, where the escapades of that plank Peter Mandelbrot caused the knives and hatchets to fly uni-directionally from the drinks cabinet of No-New-Labour-is-good-New-Labour. And, tragically, it’s a week of rock‘n’roll death too, for this week saw the departure of an underground Goddess – the American DJ Deirdre O’Donahue was found dead in her apartment. Deirdre was a very dear friend and an amazing woman. She lived rock‘n’roll, and recognised the shaman heart that burns inside this artform long before I clocked it. Indeed, she recognised me way before I did. Along with Doggen and Kevlar from Brain Donor, she lived in our current house on the Downs for a short time (and used to piss off our neighbours by sitting in the trees). Deirdre had been ill for years and years, and once told me she was allergic to the 20th century. So this 21st century Address is dedicated to she, for whom the Modern world was too much. She always told me who she was listening to, where and how, and that’s how I’ll continue…

Me, I’m sitting here surrounded by local Ordnance Survey maps, listening to the mindbending un-Cajun voodoo of Karuna Khyal. Man, whoever is re-issuing this old Japanese stuff deserves a medal. Their sister band Brast Burn is another one that’s Never-off-my-Turntable nowadays — and both plough a vocal‘n’percussion groove that can only be described as Damn’d Catchee. Fingerprince-period Residents meets Mirror Man-Beefheart on its way to The Faust Tapes. In fact, it’s so Damn’d Catchee that I bail across the Downs howling their endless inbred mantras to any passing pheasants. Far Out is another Japanese lot you should search out, and pronto, Tonto! Mind you, as I’ve written before now, there are new Japanese bands providing equal inspiration in these shamanic times. Acid Mothers Temple is touring in May, and their leader, Kawabata Makoto, has asked me to play on stage with them. U‑betcha! He’s a forward-thinking Motherfucker, and it’s a fucking honour!

Touring – we’re out there again in April. But Donneye & I are swapping things about a bit this time: and I’ll try a few new songs. I’ve had my old Teardrops bass sprayed silver glitter so we can put it on the Wan (to force a little Odinist metaphor!) The L.A.M.F. album Ambient Metal should be available by then, and the Brain Donor 45 too! I won’t comment too much about either of these until nearer the time, except to say that the sleeves of both utterly reflect the music inside! 100 Watt the Funk!

I’ll finish this extremely rock‘n’roll Address Drudion with big congratulations to Thighpaulsandra on the release of his huge double-LP. It must be the only album from the underground with ex-members of both Throbbing Gristle AND Cheap Trick featured. Webmaster McGrail informed me that he’d read Thipe’s press release and I was on it. Nere, says I. No way. Then I listened to the final track of the album, and there I am on blasting Gibson freebass pumping over Muller-Staal’s glitterstompf, as well as the straining and tearing rhythm guitar grit under Schellard’s magnificent lead. Oy oy oy!

On that note, I’ll get out of your hair. I do hope Year One has started well for you all. It’s certainly smoked my pole so far, and we’re barely out of January.

Love on ya,

M’Lud Yatesbury