Erased Text/Print: Nothing Else Matters / Hi-fi idiot / Rip Rig & Panic's Attitude.

RTomens, 2026

When a storm hits you batten down the hatches, don't you? Not that often get fierce stormy weather in London, being in the privileged South-East, in particular, England's capital city which, as you know, is such an emblem of success that the whole world wants to live here...and it looks as if they actually do!

So the wind whips the little tree in our front garden and the all-day rain continues; it's a good day to stay in and do useful things like tidy up my stuff. That's papers, magazines, printed matter, artwork, books etc. Also, music, specifically the CDs I've burnt albums onto. Today I started whizzing through them, playing parts, giving them a test drive to see if they passed after years of not listening. Some did, probably half didn't, so they're in the bin. Blame Spotify. Things sound better on the hi-fi, of course, but I do listen to streamed sounds more than vinyl or disc, especially over the last few months when the amplifier broke down. No bass or treble alteration possible. So I thought. No hi-fi made me feel a little sad and contemplating where to get a new amp. I called in Lady Practical (she's so much better at fixing things). She pushed a few buttons, which included the one marked Source Direct, which was 'on'. Guess what. It fixed the problem! ha-ha - I'm such an idiot, I know. 

Sorting through the discs I came across Rip Rig & Panic's Attitude (1983). Try it out. What an album! It hasn't aged a bit to these ears, probably because it sounded like nothing else at the time so, despite being of its time in my life, musically it's fresh. Ah, Rip Rig & Panic, how we loved you! Avant-Pop-Jazz whatever, words can't really convey the total sum of the multitudinous influences on display, weaved into the sound. Yes, dear reader, I did feel a hint of melancholy for my younger self who went out into the Soho night on a regular basis to sample some Jazz in a dive bar, or at The Wag. Even the night run by RR&P called The Hot Sty. An eclectic treat, of course. 

That's all for now. Be seeing you.