It was a post methadone moment, or at least it felt that way, and all the world had become a cartoon. Not a Tex Avery cartoon either, or even a Quimby, but a too cool for Gauloises smoking black and white tableau of the inhabitants of the shadows.
It seemed almost fitting therefore that I should be holding a probably soon to be always obscure slab of ten inch vinyl by Tut Vu Vu in my hands as my mind disconnected from the relentless tedium of reality and wandered into the hand drawn land of whatever might happen next. So what happened next, I hear you say from the midst of the deep caverns of your indifference? I’ll tell you for this was a moment of the white rabbit kind.
“Lynch” dragged me for a Badalamenti style stroll down chain smoking street with but a similarly lost and confused trumpet for company. “French Eggs” served up a west end snack but was more of an interlude than the musical equivalent of a late breakfast. The bus to the asylum then arrived and “Twang” beckoned all the lost and lonely souls aboard.
Then, as if the skies had suddenly been cleared by divine instruction, the musical cortege that is Tut Vu Vu launched into a more than passable impersonation of mournful conventionality with “So Lonely” before using “Smokey” to drop the pace to that of a late night stroll through the back streets of the pencil and ink urban jungle. It seemed therefore fitting that discord and Lalo Schifrin should simultaneously power “3 Note” all the way to the altar of the end.
Methinks it is time for a Fry’s Peppermint Cream and fourteen hours sleep for the day after tomorrow will soon be here.