September
was going over to Marshman’s. Other people played ‘Sticky Fingers’ on their
stereo player. Marshman played ‘Ege Bamyasi’. Eerie DIY sounds weaved from
speakers, wove in 1972 waves. Marshman was possessive about his Can records;
they were not for loan. We stared through his bay windows at spring rain
through Ashburton liquidambars, tuning in to what Germans do. Marshman was into
Zen. He’d send letters with just one word on a foolscap sheet: Cloud. Void.
Hand. Nothing. Ambient and Industrial were simply sounds on the tongue. Marshman
turned Can over to Side B: the needle transferred unmanageable Holger Czukay.
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