I can't tell you anything at all / And that's the biggest joke of all.
Posts tagged Kevin Shields
Three Years Ago Today
Three years ago today I got on a train after no sleep, travelled in a blur of disremembrance and finally, finally, arrived at Camden Roundhouse. I’d have travelled to Canada. It was all I’d thought about, felt like a culmination of months, years. I travelled away from something I loved but which was slowly, effortlessly and carelessly bringing me down.
My little world changed. All changed.
For 5 muggy, grey, sometimes sunny days, different people who are all very dear to me went out of their way to let me stay, feed me, drive me around, let me wander in a private little world with them. Through London, in and out of nooks and crannys, out into the countryside, into the inner mechanisms of The Arsenal. I was strolling through Camden on the 24th, the final slow acheing reluctant day, when a guy called me over from a café.
“Thanks”, I said, overcoming a little bit of startledness - he’d picked me out of the shimmer, seen the Feed Me With Your Kiss EP cover on my chest through a crowd. I told him the rudiments - where I’d come from, how much I’d wanted it, what I thought - how I never wanted this experience to end. I told him it was the most beautiful noise I’d ever heard.
“A beautiful cacophony”, he agreed, with a grin, nodding to himself. He waved and I walked. A minute later he shouted again, from some distance behind me, cutting through my twisted, scuzzy thoughts.
I turned round.
“They mean a lot to you, don’t they?” he asked.
I smiled slightly, the kind of thing that would probably have looked telling in a cheap movie. “They’re my favourite band, man.”
“I want you to have this, then.” He peeled off a backstage pass from last night. “Kevin’s roadie is my brother.”
I stammered some pathetic thanks - not enough - and walked on to Camden tube station, off somewhere else temporarily. I can’t remember where. It’s not important.
My little world changed on June 20th 2008. I’ve almost never been so happy as I was through all of it, all of what I thought they’d be like suddenly and tangibly transposed into my anti-reality. Never ever forgotten. I’d give most of what I have, the pittance and collection of junk that would be thoroughly meaningless to anyone else, to just go back there again, to wait and anticipate, and walk through the Market with some horrible greasy food containing noodles of some note, with people (that bit is important), knowing that the shimmer (and then the afterglow) of my nightly hit of My Bloody Valentine’s eternal, perfect, life-defining squall was nearly on me again.
A lot changes in three years - but these memories keep getting stronger. It was - hang the reticence, chronic fear of hyperbole be damned - the happiest I have ever been in my life.