Temporal Leaps

Time falls away from us, even though we are it. That we cannot hold onto or reconcile the tragedy of ourselves, seems a a huge conundrum in a materialist reality. We can watch and some say watching is the most refined way of participation, though I am not amongst them. Somehow, we have placed ourselves at the mercy of time, when truly, we are it's only master. What does culture look like when time's scourge no longer tears at it's shoulders? 

Imagine starting a blog entry like that.  

Sometimes, stream of consciousness works remarkably well for sparking the ignition. In this case, it merely hastened the onrush of a depressive blanket, which settled over me neatly, like the cover on a piece of furniture, in an old house, in a film. That notion of life being like the silver screen, that we're merely watching the events unfold, I think is a powerful one. How often we say and do things just as we have seen them? Arguments with lovers, jokes told to friends, body language, the art we make, the dances we dance, the songs we sing? Even the depressions we endure, can at their nadir, feel directed and inauthentic. When we weep, we plea for another to acknowledge the reality of our suffering...and yet the worst part, is that we fear we're not really convincing, even to ourselves.

I discovered, that the only way to continue writing, was to give vent to the emotions which were dragging me down, to write authentically. Sure enough, I enjoyed success, and found that there was suddenly a rush of words and angry thoughts. Did they have to come out? This is a blog to keep The Peer Hat alive during a weird and abstract moment in history, one that in some ways, The Peer Hat is ideally positioned to illuminate and elaborate upon. Was this the place to reveal my thoughts on certain matters, just because I'm intrinsically a part of the what happens here? Only you can judge that. However, I will say this: there comes a moment of change, where the dust sheet is lifted and I see things with a peculiar clarity that fills me with the sense of a glorious mystery. It came suddenly and without warning and I think it will set the scene for future entries. To conjure what we do not have--- in terms more real, than we could ever have enjoyed them,were they ours to own---  yet to confound what we accept as real, to raise the stakes, to set the bar high into the realms of the impossible.

Back to the other night when uselessly I flail...alone, without inspiration... the hour is late...very late, sensible minds have quit the waking world for the solace of sleep, but typically, not I. Let us join the writer, spiralling...

The soundtrack...

25/04/2020...

In the last entry, I made a request, that readers tell me a little about what they felt they were good at. Practically speaking, I over-estimated the number of people that would feel moved to interact with this blog. I believe, for most folk that are aware of this journal, it's 'here and now' use is somewhat minimal...that is to say, it's a symbol. This might be expressed as: 'It's good that The Peer Hat is alive and is saying things to somebody, even if it's not to me'. I don't mind. My feeling, as Paul Blake prophesied impishly, is that my "reach exceeds my grasp". I guess that's why I found myself lingering long over this particular entry. I've been forced to navigate a series of emotional eddies and confluences, moving rapidly downstream to God know's where. In the end, I arrived at the conclusion, that the idea, is more powerful than the reality, it always is.

Only one person responded to my query, but I was bolstered all the same  (it was a lovely message, I hope if she's reading this now, she'll recognise that her response meant a great deal). It seems that people can't, or won't shake Facebook... even in their oft expressed disdain, it remains the arena of choice. It feels like a sad outcome, but not one anybody could be surprised at. Truly, it resembles nothing so much as a hard narcotic: we know it's damaging, but... geeze, I've got to let people know this next thing, or tell this joke, or angrily proclaim this thing I know or even just scream for help. Bound to it as I am , creating event pages for The Peer Hat, secure that they'll be seen by at least some of the people who need to, my actual input sans promoting the business of The Peer Hat, is essentially non existent. Yet still I peruse, mindlessly sometimes. I've heard the same story over and over. So have you.

And this perusal reflects nothing decent or good. Resentment boils over, as opinions are shared like hand grenades. I find myself increasingly marginalised, philosophically speaking. Sometimes I feel pushed to 'right some wrong' as I see it...but knowing my own feelings in the matter, knowing the stakes , I succeed only in ignoring. Ignoring not just acquaintances and adverts, but friends and loved ones, whose re-imagining in this state I can no longer tolerate. 

Ideally, we'd be pursuing the Terence McKenna dream, of a site for everybody, no centralised corporate pen. Like it's early promise, a huge maze of dreams. Instead, our tacit approval is measured in spurious likes...you'll maybe notice how 'loves' are gaining ground, people keen to express something which results in a genuine bonus to one's approval ratings when the twain next meet. I couldn't help but notice a frankly repellent new option, 'care', added to help us, apparently, feel some facsimile of togetherness. I can't even be bothered to write about how utterly dystopian this is, it's all so insanely grinding.

We have to hold our minds and souls together. The internet is amazing and ought not to be tainted by the spaces and sites that flatter to ruin it. The importance in using it to communicate in different ways that don't follow a surge, a trend, cannot be over emphasised. The longer we rely on abstract structures to see us through to the next day, the quicker will be our fall if and when the time to fall comes. 

I spoke to a friend who believed that the pandemic, is an argument for more powerful centralised authority. I wonder how many feel the same as he does, that secretly hope for the gun and the cosh when it comes to protecting their safety, to ensuring they live a little longer, to stave off that old friend death for just one more night? How small we must seem to our ancestors, to whom we must hold a huge responsibility (every sacrifice they made, whatever their virtue or sin, resulted in us being here today). It's this route which promises to lead me home, lead me out of the blackness of sorrow and anger that threatens to overwhelm...the tide always breaks at the same place.

Once upon a time, there were kings and those kings would rule for only one year. At the end of that year, they would be put to death and another king chosen in their place by the queen/high priestess. The king had to die, for the good of the land (naturally, kings found a way of wriggling out of this one, substituting a child sacrifice in their stead. Makes you wonder...). I daydream about that old way of things, when sometimes I stand alone in the darkness, before the Black Stage. Our land is spoken of in symbols and allusions, our Manchester, a place of the imaginal (as I've talked about on more than once occasion). Our sacrifice, will be the art we lay upon the black stage, and offer up in a blaze of communion, to She that burns in the heart of every poet, that makes things grow, the gives birth to all things. Feed the muse and she will feed us in turn.

Through The Veil

In a moment, as I consider these things, as I sit here before this computer, typing these words, I realise that there are literally no limits, to where our imaginings can take us...perhaps even towards something like truth. Better still, we can create the truth that we want to see. My idea of things, the things that turn me on personally, may not be the things which make you come alive. But what we can share, is the fire that we pass on between ourselves.

Outside, the alleyway is alive, like an interlocking jig saw puzzle, each piece is an individual and discreet thing. A cobblestone. A doorway. The wooden board where Charlie and Akin have duelled , painting an image together worthy of the Divine Comedy (there are other works there... they too spring, out, realised, living). Here there is the darkened arch of AATMA and the super-imposition of KRAAK Gallery before it, existing simultaneously, overlaid with the the holograms of all the beautiful and complex souls that have passed through, leaving their mark, indelible. In the silence, I can see through the eyes of a mouse, liberated from the rule of the rats, suddenly starved of their normal sustenance, forced to march elsewhere to save themselves and their rat tribe. Above, the windows are like portraits in a gallery, exhibiting their contents, abashed. There is a liquidity to all of it, the bright colours upon the brick work and the laughter of children, long since passed, when Manchester was still tiny, when the river was the queen.

Underneath, tunnels, connecting with tunnels, old streets, built upon, subterranean lavatories, lanes, shops, churches, subways, abandoned shopping precincts, now still and majestic and vast. Float up upon the wings of a moth and you will emerge, sputtering into a cellar, The Black Stage, once a textile warehouse, full of men with dreams and worries and so much cheap women's clothing, more than you can imagine...now existing conterminously with a serious eyed band from Russia, howling a strange song whilst people lie on their backs in the dark, whispering, knowing. All of them translucent, illuminated in the ghost of a light (light too, has a memory). I can see my own image there and a mouse dash away; it sees me, and I can discern the solemn procession of bards and minstrels and artists and magicians and shaman and fools, lining up to tread the Black Stage. This is The Peer Hat, super-animate, living and breathing and it waits, majestic, sleeping, realised, completed and full of potential.

Is it madness, this vision? Is it a dream that grows from the closed bud of solitude? Or is it a memory of the future, that awaits us, eager to be born and remembering when it was just this, a thought, a notion, a flowering chrysanthemum of pure becoming. This IS the stuff of which dreams are made and it cannot be finished with,  no matter our sadness, our pain or our frustration. Though there are distractions and weights and the desire to scream and vent one's unhappiness, it is the very soul of all things, separated and together that throbs though every artist and musician that dares to set foot here. All the trampled posters and price tags burning quickly, good kindling. And you know, shitty rock n' roll is kindling for the arrival of now, the fire of She that is called a thousand names. Our Dionysian rites are in her glory and we are warmed by the fire of the past, burning, now our moot fire, around which we will dance and revel, and be born forever.

Ma Ve DJ Set

Ma Ve, aka Miraim Avery is a fixture at The Peer Hat, her DJ skills, guaranteed to fill that tiny, sweaty dance floor to the point of overflowing. I mean, one of these days, we're going to figure out how to allow people enjoy the cellar based Black Stage simultaneously... a feat which seems beyond us at the moment (in house). In fact, send your suggestions to me at nick@thepeerhat.com and I'll genuinely give it some thought (something about human proximity). Anyway, I digress...Ma Ve is an intrinsic part of our setup and I can't express enough how much I miss the thought of her doing what she does best (she actually does lots of things well, like working for the NHS... you can tell her thank you when you see her again). When once more I see, and more importantly hear her spinning tunes, I'll know that we're on the other side of this, or at least we'll have a soundtrack for whatever it is. In the meantime, she's kindly put together a mix to get you though those suddenly lonely Thursday nights.

Delta Mono


The mysterious artist, Delta Mono has been making all kinds of fucked up music for a good few years ...and his output is not slowing down in any perceptible fashion. Utilising whatever tools at his command, to plunge us into bizarre dream worlds, his is another sound that finds even greater justification during our current situation. Nobody is promising this is going to be comforting, but then, Jupiter is in Capricorn. He's put together something of a trilogy, emerging spitting nails from the borderland of imprisonment...delve in at your leisure. We know only a very discerning type reads this blog and, well, here's the music for you. I've totally ballsed the order...it's Sands, The SHIFT and Lab Tested Results

Behind the crumbling brick you will find Charlie...

There's no stopping Charlie during all of this, his wire is connected to the heart of the beast.

Follow to where else? Facebook...

Latest episode of Flowing Backwards

Ian's journey back, way back, continues...

FOLLOW

A film by Chris Bean

Chris Bean, my friend, sometime musical collaborator, long time inspiration and utterly crazed bastard, has put together a lovely little short film entitled, Sleeping Lemons. It's a horror piece, with a focus on coughing, just to get you right in the mood. Take a look and keep your syrup handy!

Sleeping Lemons from Chris Bean on Vimeo.

Playground

Al Keogh, open mic legend, who runs the ImproLive nights at The Peer Hat, has produced a sweet lil' tune for your edification. Al is one of our finest regulars, in that he not only contributes to the atmosphere by keeping the bar propped with chat and custom, but also gets directly involved and makes things happen. Take a cue from his book. The video is simple but creepily ominous. Also features good ol' Bruce from Jeuce, etc...

  

The artist formerly known as Bobotronic 

Ben Robson has decided to drop the Bobotronic nickname for some reason and can be seen here displaying his virtuosity. Looking forward to seeing what Ben's new name for his his music is going to be, but whilst I'm waiting...

Bingo Harry

Prodigious talent, Benny Jones, he of Bingo Harry fame, has put together a rather lovely tune in real time for us to watch and listen to. This one is from Bingo Harry's album, Blessed Outright, do give it a spin.

HERE (Favebook, pah)

And to conclude

Hannah has been at it again with another episode of Psychopomp... this one has a fair few Peer Hat Performers Playing Privately for your Pleasure. Peep Presently!  

And, that, my merry friends, is that. Here's an Akin to view us out...perfection.

Greening The Labyrinth

This past 10 days or so, have been ruthlessly dominated, by the need to submit our emergency grant application to the Arts Council. It's been a difficult process, with a limiting approach (300 words per section, 1,800 characters...including spaces and line breaks), that has had the sad effect of almost completely draining my desire to sit and write. Indeed, I've been thrust back to my essay writing years, constantly editing and re-editing until I've been made to feel quite ill. Combined with the house arrest situation, it's been a maddening experience. The good news, is that it's finished and in the hands of the Arts Council. I've no idea if we'll get the grant or not, but it would certainly be very welcome and would obviously massively help to get back on track, with some very exciting plans we've had for The Peer Hat in 2020.

If the money doesn't come our way, then so be it. We at least had to try. Without it, we will find a way to persevere: my faith in this community runs extremely deep. From the very beginning, the idea of cultivating such a far out notion as community, was challenged repeatedly, not least when representatives of a popular cash cow band, informed us of all the ways in which we were fucking up and that I should withdraw my head from the clouds. Why, if we buckled down, we could resemble another local venue and make real money! Just a tweak here and there... It was a galling experience, a Sunday night early in our foray, and they were pretty much our only customers, slamming away craft beer and top shelf whiskey, a veritable financial godsend in the dark days of 2017. I guess we had the last laugh, but I've never thought of it in those terms. Every step, is another riddle, another opportunity to lose oneself in the Labyrinth.

But the prize is great, the Minotaur to be slain in this case, being the strangely bereft noughties, when Manchester troubled to erase it's cultural heritage, blurring into a vaguely up mobile wasteland (Salford of course, enjoyed a rich blossoming with Islington Mill and The King's Arms from whence it sprang). I know those years intimately; I've been making music a long time and had to come to terms with the tombstone epitaph, that stated, etched into psychic marble, that I was never going to amount to anything in the rock n roll world and nor were my erstwhile band-mates. And nor...were any of our peers, with whom we'd enjoyably feuded, silhouettes on the walls of venues now closed forever. I had my crisis, but I did not cease to create music. In fact,  I found a much better reason to do it than money, fame or even the  recognition that every artist craves. Strangely, The Peer Hat came out of all that, but that's a story that I'm sure many of you have heard on the pub floor. That's where it belongs.

To continue with my stretched metaphor, we must take that rock n roll bull by the horns and bring it to the ground.  Elevate us all to the status of artist... yes artist, take no shame in that. Tell the stories, feel the energy moving around us, make good for Her, just like Big Time Charlie Potatoes, who exists both as a tragic warning and a neon god, the blind rocker, a curiously modern archetype. Rock n' roll, that big lie, has seen it's day, we have enjoyed front seats watching it die. But strip away the outer layers to the flesh within and we find that, even if the trappings and accoutrements are not worth saving, the art exists and it's beauty is cosmic, it's light obscured by the adornments of material capitalism.  The blood stained truth, carved into the black mountain, says this: the rock n' roll we love, is a concept fully strapped in service to the Demiurge. Baal Amon. Moloch, the Eater of Children.

But the awareness is growing swiftly...and we're starting to see, through a truer lense, perhaps described as punk, perhaps better thought of as something older or newer, that there's a beautiful and hidden path through the forest.  A way of respecting the artist in terms beyond what might be defined by the phrase 'functional music industry'. Do you wonder what kind of world is waiting for you when you're finally allowed to leave the confines of your home? However you feel regarding the politics of lock-down, if you support it, can you continue to support the world as it was? A world where such draconian measures may be enforced over and over in an effort to stymie the spread of the virus? What do we get in return? The gift of material normality? The gift of a literally pointless job? The offerings of hand to mouth living, time swallowed by bullshit, hoping your next break is going to be the big one? We're conditioned to think of ourselves as lucky compared to some times, some places, some peoples. But what do we know of what we have lost, cowering, dreading the nullification of life? What worth a concrete street, an asphalt drive, the sight of a glass Tesco? What is the true psychic cost? What about the skills we no longer possess? And what is 'luck', if it means having the fortune to be born into a rapacious, late term empire, built on a foundation of skulls?

Coming back to the idea of skills, I feel our lack of connection to the soil and earth, reflects our reliance upon outside authority to make decisions for us, take care of our hours,our diet and our health... our very immune systems. We need to rectify that and peculiarly enough, we had to demonstrate to the Arts Council a commitment to tackling the environmental challenges of the coming years. In a very real way, a community like ours, can go some distance towards reducing it's reliance upon fossil fuels and in the process re-learn some important  and neglected skills. Greening our community can be accomplished in a myriad of fashions, though to begin with, we'd very much like to know what you are good at. We need to get a solid picture of people's skills, because those things need sharing right now. Obviously we're super interested in growing and planting vibes, but it needn't end there.

In a way, we can green rock n' roll, not as some naff New Age thing, but as a brand new energy, that belongs, resolutely to the community which gives it birth and acts as an ambassador to other communities when say, artists go on tour. The future is, as ever, uncertain, but we have something, like a plan. Get involved, comment below (or email me at nick@thepeerhat.com) and  tell me what you think you're good at in life. Or tell me how I'm way off base....it's good to hear your thoughts  either way. We'll talk about it next time if there's enough interest.

Meanwhile, in your homes, things have been stirring, a wide variety of very interesting and peculiar activities. I must admit, that I'm incredibly curious to see what forms art takes as the lockdown continues. Beyond the lamentations of imprisonment, loneliness and fear (though those things have their place), I'm noting a vein of high strangeness emerging and enough artists willing and crazed enough to mine it.

Sarah Green As Rosa Luxemburg

As the spectacle of our imprisonment becomes the primary form of entertainment, treason is defined as a day spent too long in walking, cut off from the visual representation of the confined. Rebellion against the lock-down is seen by the masses as a violating act, the freedom of the wide open space now rendered as the artefact of the saboteur. However, this collective fetishisation of our incarceration, has no defence against the adoption of persona. Suddenly, the prison walls are not measured in bricks and mortar, but in our own personalities, rendered as mere spectators to our own dimisnishment, ripe for the assassin's bullet, if we're brave or crazed enough to pull the trigger.

Sarah Green knows no such fear as she adopts the role of socialist icon, Rosa Luxemburg, dredged from the canal and resurrected before us, considering the question of revolution, it's failure and it's ultimate victory. This is an amazing feat of mediumship from Ms Green; I think you'll find Luxemburg's final written words, nourishing food for thought in these exceptional times. Turning inwards, are we, the masses, ready for that much vaunted 'revolution in the head'? Kudos Sarah, let's go forwards from here, redefining what we are and what we can become.

Another Example Of Charlie's Paradise...

Can be found here, via the which ways of the web. I do not speak about Charlie lightly, and yet I would be remiss to leave him unmentioned. The riddle of rock n' roll, it's ugly face and the ghosts of Manchester, past present and future, are contained within him. Respect him. Note his sacrifice. Learn the lesson.

Flowing Backwards

My good friend, Ian 'Moet' Moss, is probably well known to many of you for his relentless presence over the years from the Free Trade Hall, to his recent book launch at The Peer Hat for his page turner, '100 Unhip Albums: That We Should Learn To Love'. He's also one of the forces behind German Shepherd Records, a local label with an admirable devotion to the un-commercial and the strange. Now Ian has a podcast, which you can catch up with at your leisure...check it out, the man is fascinating...this represents a trek through his life and times. Never dull and more importantly, an example of that psychic geography that we're all slowly coming to terms with.

Linketh HERE

     

Peace Pipers Single Alert

Ravishingly psychedelic folk wizards, The Peace Pipers, have released a new single! We've hosted them on more than one occasion upon The Black Stage, and they strike a determinedly original note, amidst a sea of mediocrity. Travel down the garden path with them below:

LINK HERE and rightly.

Music To Stay At Home To

Many a Peer Hat musical regular appears upon this charity compilation album. Full shebang regarding it, can be found on their Bandcamp, but naturally, you're going to have to click on the link first. Where is it? Below of course...

FOLLOW YE LINK HERE, VERILY

Drum Roll...THE JUNGFRAUS NEW ALBUM

Finally, the accursed Jungfraus have released a third album, entitled Where The Eye Cannot Follow. As many of you must know, lead singer Mike, is both my brother, business partner and fierce rival. I'm currently stung by the brilliance of this latest recording, since it's been a while since I last released anything to the public. This spurs me on, however, as it's such a scintillating offering and deserves all of your love and attention. The Jungfraus story requires a blog entry, well, half a blog entry...so I'll save the full tale of that psychic war for a few entries hence. Needless to say, their story is intrinsically woven into the fabric of The Peer Hat's history...and now represents a great time to get into them and their curious, original and brilliant back catalogue.

'TIS HERE THOU SHOULD FOLLOW

How was I to end this? I fell asleep and my big conclusion now eludes me. Maybe it'a for the best and limits me to saying only this: keep heart. 

Akin predicts the future.

Through The Wall

Another week rears it's head, as if we were drawing from a deck comprised of the Nine Of Swords and nothing but. I found myself curiously depressed without really knowing why...that is until I realised the extreme volume of next door's television was seeping through the walls with it's permanent command of 'STAY INDOORS' broken only by the news that Sir Keir Starmer had won the Labour party leadership contest and could the dream of socialism please fuck off and CLEAN IT'S HANDS on the way towards STAYING IN. Forever.

I don't want this to be too polarisingly political, if only because it goes against the gist of my point (when I arrive at it). But I will say that I felt a curious sense of relief in being freed from the slim hope that the Establishment could engender the means of it's own downfall. We had, on several occasions, supported the Labour Party in terms of organisational events and fundraisers. Two elections were spent at The Peer Hat: the first was a minor victory, providing the fuel for the dream, that this time, we might just do it. I have strangely fond memories of that night, standing in the dark of the basement, chanting barbarous names and managing successfully to stave off the dread of defeat. Although Corbyn was defeated, the margin between the two parties was drastically narrowed. Sadly, the second election night, hangs heavy in my memory. I don't ever want to witness so many people I love and care about rendered so deflated and broken. Arguments broke out. People sat in corners, unable to drink their beer, searching for answers in the reflection of their craft pints, now perilously luxurious.

The days following, meant having to face the stark reality of the establishment's permanence and all powerful ability to police itself. But it took only a little while to remember, that my cynicism had been hard earned and that maybe, just maybe, I'd wasted valuable years in the hope that good sense would prevail and that people would vote for someone who, at the very least, was less likely to start World War III. And then I remembered the pulsating blue sky and visions that tore across the heavens and that more wisdom could be found in the the black soil, than could ever be heard from the mouths of the demagogues we gifted our precious hope unto (I just used the word 'unto' and I only blinked once). No true picture of reality could ever emerge without a consideration of the ephemeral, the spirit or dare I say it...the soul. I think this applies as much to the ardent Eco Activist Marxist, as it does to the Survival Of The Fittest, Capitalist property investor. Why else are we here, gathered to watch musicians and artists, if not to be dragged willingly into other places, other times, other realities than the one we endure? For the dopamine hit? That's another post.

So thus emancipated from dreadful hope, we are able to move forwards. Hope and politics are permanent bed fellows. It's drummed into us that indeed,  'hope' is this wonderful thing which causes men to survive odds that otherwise they would not....likewise, it's rammed into us repeatedly to use our vote, or lose our vote. Both rely upon outside agency, both requite the surrendering of one's personal responsibility to outside forces, to parent figures that will make the bad people and the bad things go away. A wiser man than me put it best: politics is getting other people to do things you don't want to.

And when we hope, we surrender agency. We throw up our hands and beg to be saved, beg for whatever nightmare is plaguing us, to end..admitting we have no solution, no strength, no fire. But.... we are better than that. We are at the very least, the universe itself, living, breathing...carrying heartbeats that have not stopped beating since the first of us drew breath.

...and maybe more than that. But in this way, the dead can very truly be said to be with us still, linked across the epochs in a literal chain of heartbeats. 

We find ourselves now facing the end of an Empire, thrashing, becoming ever more tyrannical as it's grip loosens. Many have lost self respect and dignity, choosing to grasp any straw of materialism as the dream evaporates around them. Some have been lowered into a state of psychopathic ignorance, pulling us down with them, mocking the dream of something better as deluded, confident that the master's reality, is the only reality. 

And yet here I am, ranting about something or other, telling you again, that yes, magic is real and Manchester is brimming with it. When I speak of the dead of this city, I speak in hushed and reverent tones. I speak of the thousands of workers torn from their lives on the farms, meat for the belly of Moloch and the first Industrial Revolution. I speak of the children twisting through the chimneys, crawling under Jennies, sobbing in workhouses. I speak of families smashed into nothingness by bombs dropped from the black night. I speak of our named dead, the one's we have raised as champions and saints. You know them as well as I do. All of them, as we approach the other side of this in-between-time, demand better. Demand remediation. 

We can give it to them, but we must do the work. There's no getting away from the work.

In order to best survive and prosper, I mentioned in an earlier blog post, that we must redefine the boundaries of the word 'family'. For many of us, that begins with drawing closer to the one's we love and care about, the blood relatives and very close friends (and I mean that in very literal terms, as in really consider your living arrangements). But as a community, The Peer Hat can and should do more. As this chaos began, we made a couple of pledges as to how the venue would adapt to the Corona situation, namely, to act as a swapping point (gumtree-esque), a food bank and a postal service. The situation moved swifter than our ideas and before we knew it, we were confined to our homes and anxiously awaiting (hoping for) an end to our troubles. But these things should not be forgotten. Indeed, they make more sense being implemented after the crisis, than they would have done had we managed to somehow get them off the ground before the shit hit the fan.

Please, what divilry hath thou in mind?

Glad you asked. The thinking behind the food bank ought to be obvious. It makes complete sense, that in a time of great economic upheaval, we ought as a community, to consider the needs of those within it, caught in extreme and dire circumstance. I've seen The Golden Lion in Todmorden accomplish a huge amount for their community...frankly I see no reason whatsoever, that we can't follow in their shining example. As for the idea of the swapping point, it  re-introduces a level of barter and trade into our lives that we've not had an organic grasp upon for quite some time. By utilising a notice board, indicating needs and surplus (eg. shit you want to get rid of), we should be able to provide a service that everybody can benefit from. Indeed, we can go some way towards, keeping it in the family.

The postal service, is another breed of beast. It's about taking something mundane and matter of fact and then seeing how it transforms when put into our hands. It's about forming bonds and connections with people in our community and getting to know the routes and ways of our geography, so that people and their homes, become nodes on a network of ley lines (if you will). It's magic and weirdness...the things I've been talking about and will talk about more. Because in the end, this is not analysis, this is living, breathing praxis. We're in the midst of this, not on the outside, cooly commentating. That's why my words occasionally have the ring of madness...we're screaming this at you from the night beyond your door.

Mostly it's about forming lines of connectivity and showing us, the people of Manchester and the denizens of The Peer Hat, that we're incredibly close, that we're not just acquaintances...that we're not just artists or promoters or bartenders...that we're not even 'just' friends. That we are, by necessity, family. How does that sound like, for the beginning of something beautiful?

I feel like I've said as much as I can here...let's move on to what's happening right now, eg. things you've sent me.

• First up, we have An Easter Evening: Kiran Leonard/Cult Party/Tekla/Maelin Brown. One of our favourite bar proppers, no less than the mercurial Brandon, as seen fit to promote an indoor evening of faintly splendid atmospheres and vibrations. He's good at this sort of thing, puts on regular nights at FUEL and occasionally with us. He loves music and is about as well known to us as regulars get. We're so pleased that he's putting in the effort to make something good happen...I'm quite sure that there are others behind this venture, but knowing that Brandon is involved, gives me a good hook to hang this bit on. As for the musicians, I'll leave it to Brandon's event page to do the heavy lifting (yes, we still have to use those). 

Kiran Leonard. Yep, that's Andrew Cheetham of Curious Ear fame on the right.

• How about a wee update on the mysterious figure known as Charlie Potatoes, from none other than our man Akin?

It's better this way.

• The first Monday of the month at The Peer Hat, is devoted to Papa Legba, which means it's our semi secret Peer Hat Open Mic Night! Apart from the shadowed presence of one Charlie Potatoes, usually waiting until the event is concluded before deigning to furnish us with a long set, other stars have been thrown up, who as yet, are unknown to the wider public. One such individual is Leonora Hackles , a grievously talented singer song writer whose work I have personally enjoyed on many an occasion. I feel that here sound captures perfectly the vibration of our moment...we look forward to, once again, joining her on those strange and mystic nights. She's just released a couple of tunes on Bandcamp, so have a listen...LINK HERE

Art by Helen Emily Davy

• Sometimes I see a man standing, back to me, fiercely playing his guitar, heedless. Both a warning and a symbol of defiance. I think about him a lot during these strange nights.

More soon. I think we'll take a listen to a Peer Hat production, namely the long awaited third album by The Jungfraus, I'm sure Mike will kill me otherwise (it's still exceedingly fine). Until then, hit the follow button and keep sending me stuff at nick@thepeerhat.com  We've a long way to go, but we're up to it.

Sometimes I Deal With Numbers

From the bottom looking up, can be an intimidating experience. Right now there's a tremendous amount being asked of us, a tremendous amount that we're being forced to swallow in the name of 'defeating' this virus (can a virus be defeated? Or is it the same as terror?). We're a music venue and of course, everything is extremely tight. Thanks to the fact that there's a strong community around The Peer Hat, we've been able to withstand the initial crushing wave of this disaster more or less intact. But our employees, our friends and family, are now forced to get by on a fraction of what they did before...meanwhile, we hungrily scan for every possible source of funding (just like everybody else), anything that will help shore us up in the increasingly bleak looking (from a business perspective) months ahead.

At the same time, our social spheres have been smashed asunder and we suddenly find ourselves relying upon the vagaries of the internet  for our fix of people, of community. I'm sure we've all experienced those strange moments of loneliness, when, for whatever reason, the circles we rely upon for sustenance, evaporate for whatever personal reasons they evaporate.

Despair creeps in as you turn to the latest news source for the latest catastrophe, you're looking for anything that might serve as a key to the lock of this weird prison you've found yourself trapped within. You are not only being asked to sacrifice your livelihood and your friends, but also your mental health. Many of us teeter daily on the precipice of mental annihilation, just facing the day is a momentous struggle. And now this. Is somebody having a laugh?

And what of intimacy? Think how long it will take to trust a stranger to be close to you. To give in to lust and desire on a Friday night because, 'what the hell, that's what we do'? How long will those scars take to fade?

Meanwhile, an establishment that might best be described as both stupid and malevolent, is poised to take advantage of those very sacrifices you've been pushed into making, to exploit and exacerbate the weight that's been put upon your shoulders... due to their incompetence and their lies. It almost doesn't matter which of those two sins takes precedence, only that this wound will be used  against you, your concern and worry, used against you. Pause and listen to that host of yammering, pleading celebrity heads,  crowding, eyes seething with madness and absence.

So what are we going to do?

This blog exists to find that answer. To bind us in the night with the idea that there is something more than the mechanical world of material consequences. That there's something like an animus drawing us to places like The Peer Hat and inspiring the fire of inspiration within our hearts. Suddenly, with the right eyes, the world comes alive in vivid, blazing colours. It is this 'animus' then glides between the streets of Manchester...why did it choose here? I tried to figure that out in the first post...perhaps something to do with the liminal...something to do with being forced to live within the shadow of the slave fortresses, now abandoned, a period of vast reflections.

This moment is such a time and if you listen with every sense, you will feel her breath, hear her whisper. If you've ever wanted to create something or contribute to The Peer Hat community in any shape or fashion, the gate has been flung open. It doesn't matter who you are, what you look like, how old you are, how talented you are, how fucking popular you are. This is for you. And out of this, we will see how intimately we are all united, and decide upon paths that will ensure that we all come out of this better than before (remember before? It sucked). If there's going to be change, we must make certain that we decide the form which that change takes. Necessarily it happens from the bottom looking up.

We must quite literally redefine the meaning and the boundaries of the word family.

So let's dive in to a couple of things which people have been whipping up...

• Laney turned me onto this thing, 'Help Musicians'. Blurb below, plus link. It can't hurt to explore any and all avenues of aid during this time...as I said, make those links.

"Help Musicians is an independent UK charity for professional musicians of all genres, from starting out through to retirement.
We help at times of crisis, but also at times of opportunity, giving people the extra support they need at a crucial stage that could make or break their career."

It says the patron is the Queen...not sure that Elizabeth gives too much of a fuck about the minstrels on the ground, so cause for raised eyebrows immediately. Either way, let's not get ahead of ourselves and keep open minds...it might be of use to you. Exploit, exploit, exploit!

• Eden Young, regular and all round source of sass, went ahead and realised The Peer Hat upon the Astral Plane...that is to say, she put us together on The Sims. Personally, I quit playing video games (more or less) about 4 or 5 years ago  (honest)...but The Sims was always a guilty buzz for me; just creating people I knew and setting them loose in a sadistic, voyeuristic play pen. Either way, without getting too teary eyed, I found this really uplifting and I think you will too. So thank you Eden. This has actually given me an idea to create my own mental version of The Peer Hat for night time visitation (you know how to build things inside astral space right? Of course you do). It's funny how familiarity can quickly breed contempt, a truism if ever there was one. But equally valid is the old saying, 'absence makes the heart grow fonder'. All of a sudden, I can't wait to sail within The Peer Hat again. Anyway, take a look...

• The mighty Hannah O'Gorman has emerged as a fantastic supporter of the underground music scene. Her boundless enthusiasm, has turned me onto several acts I would have otherwise looked over. She's a wonderful soul and I'll be featuring lots of the stuff that she pushes at me...and probably a wee interview with her at some point, just so you can all fall in love with her vibe. Specifically, I'm going to point you at Psychopomp, which is Hannah's Mixcloud, highlighting her pick of the undergrounds best darkwave, electro, DIY and garage sounds (of this particular moment). Psychopomp seems like a strangely prescient name...we are very much in the underworld right now, or as Mephistopholes put it "This is hell, nor are we out of it". We need lantern bearers to get us through the mist and Hannah's swinging one for you just below...

Click here...

I can write no more for the time being, but as predicted, there's no shortage of people for me to write about. We will prevail.