What: It’s that slowed-down techno everybody is talking about. Not just suited for a fantastic, interior, trip on the dancefloor, also a great pairing with a book. I imagine someone blessed with synesthesia seeing the slow beat (under 100 bpm) stomping as the interpunction on an old fashioned typewriter. Low-toned melodies grovel around giving it all a warm and dark feeling while slowly turning – in your head – into words. And these words, these magical words, then, finally, turn into sentences.
I remember Christopher Hitchens talking, in an interview, about writing fiction and that what is needed to do so. He said that his fiction writing literary friends (Ian McEwan, Martin Amis, Salman Rushdie, etc.) all had music in them. Not in the sense that they are musically, or even play an instrument, but in the sense that they underwent language, prose, as if it where music. I am not sure this theory is correct but, when I read a good book, I sometimes have the feeling I can trace back its sentences into the inner music that encompasses the literary psyche. And many a time the psyche sounds a lot like the music of Andy Stott.
With: The short stories of Raymond Carver : His stories are stunning in the retract way in which they tell about the everyday happenings of the common man – Mutato nomine et de te fabula narrator.
Some seem just too ordinary, as if you are missing something. But than, as the story is over, fin, and you are already getting along with whatever it is you are doing, the mind seems to close the story, independent of your consciousness. So when you’re later on thinking back of what you thought about Carvers work you will feel more satisfactory than the result of the sum of what you would rationally encounter. It is a literary experience that enters on the conscious level, yet only will truly extract on a subconscious level.