Imagine.. after a few gentle coughs and a moment of foot tapping, I slowly spin around to meet your gaze, the soft leather of my revolving chair cowers under the pressure.. hello stranger. Foam padding erupts from dry and broken skin, the pop and crease of overstretched fabric breaks a silence in our otherwise stilted and uniquely unpleasant reaquaintence.
A draft from the right delivers the faint whiff of bum gas and begs you to dig your heels into the carpet.
"Ghosts you say?"
Nibbles and I recorded this version of the Japan classic a few months ago, its been gathering dust so I'm hoping you'll take it. For those who don't know, cult 80's synth tamperers Japan were so cult they couldn't afford a drummer, going some way towards explaining the complete absence of an identifiable rhythm in the original. This was was misread as genius, much as I hope my output will be one day.
Here's some other droppings that caught my eye
The old chair never let me down yet.