Two hours, broken into quarters, by two friends, across two distant North London suburbs.
Thirty minute messages featuring postcards from Hiroshi Yoshimura, balearica from Ennio Morricone, incantations from Joanna Brouk and interpretations from Robert Wyatt, and much more.
Whispering and weirdness. Repetition and rhythm.
An hour of roughly fifteen minute sections, broken apart by a ringing chime and about an hour and a half’s trudging journey (on a cool, clear day) around the north circular.
Songs about fathers and being a father. About Japanese musicians (inevitably) and psychedelic percussion. Mythological identities and unlikely spies.
So it goes. 