Among Scotland’s independent music scene, Adam Stafford stands out as a kind of genius. He is from Falkirk and played in Y’all Is Fantasy Island. He makes films and music. That was easy but doesn’t tell the whole story.
Seeing him live, don’t be fooled by the haircut and the shirt and tie. Top button tight office worker. Despite the air of ordinary respectability you soon find out that you are watching a one man Kraftwerk. This is often challenging music. Electro punk for the gentle insane.
Adam was kind enough to perform at The Last Word Saloon for us on Record Store Day. Also, with a week’s notice he was asked to do a Record Store Day EP on cassette tape to be released by Gerry Loves Records. Millions Must Work Forever. It’s a tape that sounds like East German noise carnage but he can knock out a melodic tune or two too.
To prove this, have a listen to his album, Imaginary Walls Collapse -out now on Song by Toad records based around the corner. The album is getting some great reviews. You can stream it all by clicking here.
If you like to hear and to see something hypnotic and intense this is for you. Two singles have been released from it so far and BBC Radio 6 Music are giving it some airplay. Good old 6 music!
Other people have done more detailed and better reviews and frankly I don’t like reviews that much. However, as the title was inspired by Ginsberg’s poem Howl, I’ve listened to his new album repeatedly while typing with my beat head on and came up with an imaginary Adam Stafford biography poem below. I will also accept it if Adam kicks me in the nuts next time I see him.
Ahem…
Bright colour teeming teenage mind met neuk clear post Falkirk grey depravity. Wasted land come run-down wasteland. Graffiti grey metal shutter shops shut down and kicked in. Absent neu industrial grey heart-heart of darkness. Internal flight of ideas meets external fight or flight or challenge. Create yer way out or suffer soul-shrink.
Career advisor said better sign on son. Maybe a supermarket will open, keep an eye out. Stay away from Schuh. The filth will lock you up and suicide you in your room quicker than you can say please please please stop. Crazy shoe shine fetishists should be exterminated.
Head on, head out. Broken glass. Go west. Makes like a tree and getsthehellouttahere.
Restless awake. Mind invigilator asleep. Broken dream ceremony.
No me me mantra. Dream creator. Slate scribbles are polluted overwritten illegible, like a dud CD-R. Call a doctor. Calls for cognitive revolution.
Check in for fantasy island mindwash. Patented and trademarked. “Ctrl Alt Delete mind defibrillation”. “Get’s the childhood brainwash out, or your money back”. Them ventricles is filled with mucus buddy. Corroded synapses, “uhhuh”. Serviceman takes a deep breath, whistles. “Oooh-wee. I’ve got just the thing for you, we’ll have you shining like a new penny in no time.”
Check in. It’s Bath Time. Stripped off and wired up. Scubbing brush and a hard hand-size brick of soap. I want you to get into all the cracks. You’ll be squeaky clean, lemon scented in a jiffy.
Dirty bathwater. Dead skin cell scum and chemical foam gone flat. Human flotsam and jettisonsom. coming around again and repeating. Spiral plughole whirlpool. Drowning but sign says don’t drink the water. If I drink fast enough maybe I’ll be ok. Effluent top of the milk. Childhood milk carton memories. Inner absolution potion. Left in empty bath. Soapy oddness shampoo eyes. Tested on humanimals. Feeling clearer. Cleaner. Turn on word shower. Bathe again. Rinse.
Have a little sleep by a stream, have a little dream.
Backed by one hand clapping, a sound falls down from a tree in your head. You pick up sounds and throw them around. See what grows. Strange bushes, New-Mind overgrowth. Wild flower garden helps bees make honey. Sprouted New-Mind idea forest. Let’s chop those babies down and build a harbour. Make educated paths and travel light. Move faster alone and avoid ordinary.
I’ve been up so long, it looks like me down there. What the hell am I doing? Somnambulising? They’re all me. They seem to be getting on ok. Not saying much. Voice box beats sounds and repeats. Comfort in one company. Sounds emanate, resound and rebound clearer and captured, recorded from mind to vinyl. Add overdubs, collaborate later.
New Adam composing; “I’ll add overdubs later”
Mind power spray. Thought eliminator. Cerebral squeegee. Reboot. Control-Alt-Delete. New music emanation. Vocal emancipation and dream theatre epiphany. What are you here for? Why do you keep coming here? The palace seen in clear thought through Blakeian daybreak. Other world symphonies from the silver lining of the new mind’s eye. Hits the sweet spot like a beam of light.
In four walled living room bluebottle cracking it’s head against a window flys around the room and repeats until dried out. Delirious. Glass pane heat fried brittle armour exoskeleton. One fly will hammer into a window pane and pass straight through.
Performance anxiety gone entering performance showman ecstasy and unchained fierce animal savannah big cat freedom. Midway through performance dripping binary, dripping sweat and dry humping the air, we’re in Adam-Time.
The world’s veil moveth. Inner child wonder returns and Imaginary Walls Collapse.
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