It starts with a single moment, or a gesture, or a suggestion. Nothing that you would notice ordinarily, but then it moves into the impossible. Five of us gathered together, sitting in the same red bubble of pride underneath the drama as it unfolded high up above us. The darkness of the room. The sound of the crisp paper being unfolded after decades of being tied together by Red Threads. The awkward shuffle of the feet of disparate family members all here after one thing, but without the will to say it.
The light comes on. Dull at first, but then the thickened air breaks to allow it entry. The dull hazy light spreading gently as the wick separates from the reaction. Now we see each others' faces clearly and what we see doesn't betray how we feel about them, nor their history with us. I move in my seat. I make a point of that movement being deliberate and slow. And poised. And that movement becomes a gesture, or a suggestion. And so the whole play starts over again and we realise how squalid this is all becoming.
A playlist for the album can be found here.
Titles conceived, composed, arranged and performed by Mike Dickson
(c) 2025, Black Cat Music Factory