He would be running the fine metal ink pen through his ink well, scribbling down the lost tales of man's future in a society blinded by spurious realities thrust upon them by media companies who literally do possess the wand to control human behaviour. Looking over at his CD player, how he still loves the physical format, he would be almost to the end of Idiot guides and plans by those welsh troubadours Gintis. Scratch, smudge, tap tap, scribble.
Stapledon was interested in the idea of lost youth in man, how the very thought of a man's maturity could in fact be helped and rise above those who do not have an enduring youthfulness in their life. The prolonged maintenance of youth in man can only be helped by those beams of light that shine out of the woofers of this album. He would have been influenced by the tales of Tom Ludd taking apart a fax machine as it is obsolete, the idea that a negative bank balance is an obstacle that as a young adult can weigh heavy upon the mind. For too many years now, man has been living with the paper thin shallow music that has been tweaked to sound good on your laptop mono speaker, or ipod zero bass stereo headphones, throw all that rubbish up to the sky and get this CD ordered.
It will infect like the first time you put your head out of the window of a moving car, reaching parts never before filled with rapidly moving particles. This album is the equivalent of a big antimatter particle, huge in mass, heading for the big cannon of pop to annihilate it to produce sunshine. Come lose yourself.