Temporarily bored of 2010. Will get back to the year in question soon. (PS - this is one of those interactive posts that work best if you play the first MP3 while reading the text).
Have you ever seen a cheesy music video or ad clip where a lithe person swimming underwater at night is lit by millions of tiny phosphorescent lights? I used to think such stuff was bullshit - like twinkly crapola deployed at suitably romantic moments in Smashing Pumpkins videos, in Dawson's Creek, or in any subsequent Smashing Pumpkins or Dawson's Creek derived thing.
This was what I thought until one May night where I ended up standing in my boxers at the end of a wooden pier. In a bay! On the Pacific-facing side of Vancouver Island! An unlikely situation that was made possible by the school I was attending at the time, an international college founded on the principle of "educating future leaders for a changing world" (except in my case, they only got the 'changing world' bit factually correct).
The promise of phosphorescence had brought a bunch of us (a robustly Captain Planet style mixture of gender and nationalities) down to the pier while others slept in forested darkness, or sat alone at phones calling parents in parts of the world where the sun was up.
I remember the dull sound of roped plastic canoes knocking against each other, the odd rubbery bellow of a weird nocturnal bird from across the bay, and the near perfect reflection of everything on the water - spruce trees, moon, stars hanging from the moon. Then boatsails. The moon reflected white on dark water and the boats' dim clack.
Shamsher jumped into the mirror first. And there it was. An underwater comet trail of green followed him deep down - and he went down strong like a cannonball. I couldn't believe my eyes. When he came back up, his body had relaxed and the phosphorescence clung to him like, well, like something out of a corny perfume ad. He swam further out and the glow spread around him in a bright disc, dimmer trails following the treads of his feet under the surface.
We all took our turns to jump in afterwards. I think I was next to last, or last, because I was afraid of the temperature of the water, as I knew the Pacific was still going to be ferociously cold around Canada in spite of the mild weather. By the time I loped awkwardly down the pier towards my jump, there were more than a few luminous green tails following my shit-eating mates through the water. Still, I wasn't all that brave. But I did it. I leaped off the pier; I pulled my arms under my knees and I went under, into the frigid black. I was heavy, and I went deep. I opened my eyes as I dropped and I saw the phosphorescence all around me, computer game brite. As my nose filled with salt - and my brain with a fresh dread - I could see my friends' legs moving slowly and confidently in the sea.
Could they not see the other stuff?
There were huge worms all around me. No, not worms - there were seawater millipede things. They were everywhere, but they were hard to see. They moved in thick rippling mobius-strips towards the light on the pier. They were tubular, dark, and covered in tiny ridges.
Something brushed every so slightly against a toe. I could see wibbly stars through the surface film. I heard a garbled "Darragh".
I was cold. I thought I was choking.
Later, we all sat about eating noodles and getting dry in the art room. I asked the others if they had seen the millipedes. Only one guy had (Forrest. He was from the place where the school was built) and he said he knew they were there most of the time. Also, he said they were harmless.
A night later he creeped into my room with a bucket, woke me up, and asked me to come down to the pier with him. Soon, the two of us were stood under a sodium light, staring into the bucket, watching two giant sea millipedes twist blackly around each other. Silent. Dreadful. Dull figure eights moving rhythmically in their plastic prison. I felt so afraid of them, I wanted to puke.
MP3: Nicolas Jaar-Space is Only Noise If You Can See
This tune simmers away at an enigmatic pace between 90 and 100 bpm. It is heavily influenced by Ricardo Villalobos's Dexter. It is pretentious but, like a lot of druggo dance, it couldn't be as genius as it is without being pretentious - "grab a calculator and fix yourself. Wind your clock, baby wind your clock".
I said on facebook that his album sounds like womb fluid, and Nicolas Jaar would kill James Blake in a fight. The track above will take some beating in 2k11. Blakey ain't gonna do it.