Hello it is me again (Rory). I am back connected to the internet with news of excitements that have befallen me over the last months!
A quick update for any concerned parties (uncle Craig) - the only damage from my long covid is liver and brain damage.
As this is my first update in many months, I should bring all you virtual pals up-to-date!
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In July last year I was humbled into admitting Covid-19 was indeed a genuine pandemic when I got the illness.
It is possible I infected many many people as I was prostituting myself at the time* (thanks to a bad bunch who befriended me). Witnessing first hand, hospitals filled with coronavirus sufferers like myself, was a mindblowing situation. It was this reality that helped me realign and recognise my mental troubles.
Once well enough to be on my feet, I began seeing several mental health professionals who have been very good for me (well, Dr. Carol is at least, I don't expect to be seeing Dr. Murdock again anytime soon**).
I now realise I am a submissive personality and inflicted with manias. Which specifically my doctor doesn't know yet. We are working through this.
I would like to thank the excellent health carers of Thurso and Scrabster for these last eighteen months and apologise again for making their jobs so much harder.
But what of the excitements I promised?
These come in the shape of a very unlikely reunion!
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Just before last Christmas I received a visitor. An old colleague; musician, poet, explorer - it was Mr. Steven Wicked (form. Glenn Glenson)!
For years I'd feared seeing my old friend Steven again. His face represented something I had grown to hate: my own failings. But the day he did turn up on my fathers doorstep (December 25th, 2020) was exactly the right time (whilst practically being quite an inconvenient time).
Hospitalised with "long" covid between July and October, I had turned over a new leaf mentally. My body dysmorphia had subsided to the point where I no longer cared about my pallid androgynous ugliness. My mind was cleared and thoughts had returned to the poetic.
Despite my (albeit unexpected) joy at seeing Steven in the flesh, he seemed much less receptive. It turned out we were contractually still bound to a reggae project together, entitled Spliff Riddims.
Our previous Spliff Riddims release (from 2012) had made a "major comeback" financially - accruing several digital sales (known in the industry as digisales) within a two week period. Business-savvy as ever, the brain behind the band now known simply as TIFG, Wicked (alongside, begrudingly, his lackey Robert Heart Jnr) was chomping at the bit to release more music to fill this re-emerging market.
In December 2019, I couldn't have imagined ever making music again but, a year later, the prospect thrilled me! The thick-slather of pride that came knowing these professional musicians wanted my contribution again certainly resurrected some mojo - spirits were higher than they had been in recent memory (since possibly - dare I admit it - the glory days of An Angel Called Lucifer?)
So on Christmas Day 2020 I found myself riding shotgun back down south, Mr (or should that be Maestro?) Steven Wicked at the wheel of a very impressive car!
[I here must apologise, again, to my long-suffering blood relatives for abandoning them on Jesus' Special Day. Since his days studying under Master McWren, Steven has refused to acknowledge December 25th as a public holiday; consequently it was the only day he was available to collect me]
Steven gratiously put me up in a (very fancy!) B&B just outside of Swinton for several days before we crossed the mythic border - where my homeland ends and that Great Mistress England begins.
After a fourth night alone [I must confess: around Day 3, scared I'd been forgotten, my panic attacks of old returned with increasing ferocity - needless to say I was being a dafty!!] my collaborator, inspiration and "bonne ammiee" (French = "best bud") reappeared for the final leg of the journey.
Returning to the Bowels Of The Basement studio did bring mixed emotions; so many bad bad times were had in those latter days of 2013. Predictably, bullish colleague Robert did his best to undermine my abilities - his vitriolic attacks weren't completely without merit however. I hadn't realised we'd be going straight into a recording situation, so picking up drumsticks for the first time in years was intimidating. Plus I'd forgotten how reggae was meant to sound.
Once the stylistic intentions were ironed out, we completed an albums-worth of songs within a couple of hours [lo and behold, the talent never went away!] and I was permitted my old bed (how I'd missed staring up at that dripping boiler!) in Steven's grandma's basement. She was as lovely as ever! [although didn't remember me, oddly?]
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Herein lies another announcement: Yes, we recorded an entire ALBUM that day!
As of today only a single has been released (for marketing technicalities beyond me) but I will keep you updated when I have details on the album release date.
A second Spliff Riddims album! Blessed times indeed 💚
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In a flurry of activity I added the instruments I remembered how to play and oversaw the mixing process. Unless my memory has degraded to an extent further than my doctors expect, all the recording technology appears to have changed since 2013? I spent several years attempting ― through magic, herbs and group-think ― to erase all memories of electricity; so it's possible this did work after all?!
Engineering Steven and Robert's demands was a challenge, especially with their heavy imbibing of illicit substances. Substances I myself have now abandoned. I was led to believe [in some brief small-talk Steven engaged in during our nine-hour journey] that the two were recently sober.
But akin to method actors diving into their role whole-heartedly, my musical brothers insisted authenticity could only be achieved through chemical alteration. I agreed. In hindsight I am thankful they kept me at arms-length for the whole process of recording. Illegal drugs and me can no longer mix and I presume they must have known that.
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The musical work had been finished within a few days of that initial session but it was agreed I should remain on-hand for a week or so in case needed. Unfortunately the English government enforced another pandemic-lockdown, resulting in three months isolation in the aforementioned basement. Food and drink were left outside daily (Steven's grandma?) and once every two weeks I was permitted a video-call with Dr. Carol.
It is testament to the excellent work of my psychologists that those days between January and March found me mentally capable enough to survive. No natural light, no human interaction and an incessant drip-drip-drip which become swiftly tiresome!
Each day began with the possibility [and hope] I may be required to record my friend Steven (or even foe, Robert!) Although that rarely came to pass, I occupied myself happily(!!) with drawing, solitaire and writing imaginary songs, each at tempo with the leaking boiler.
I was needed twice over the months to correct some pitch issues and insert some monologues - both quick jobs. My first interaction-proper came towards the end of March when Robert opened the door to my defacto-prison, presenting me with a coach ticket to Aberdeen.
Despite our disagreements as musicians and humans, it was nice to see Robert that day. He looked almost shocked to see me in one piece! Telling me he had "been aware" of my "problems" he was "glad I felt happier as a woman." It was a nice thing to say and I appreciated it both then and now.***
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| Steven, Rory (male) and Robert |
These pictures were taken on the day in 2013 a new contract was drawn up determining the future of The Ill-Fitting Garibaldis and other TIFG-Projects revenue splits. Robert's successful distraction technique (pictured) resulted in me failing to read the contract I then signed (pictured). In short, as Steven was seemingly aware of and uncomfortable with (pictured), the contract shafted me. On the plus it retained my equal involvement with Spliff Riddims!
So therein lies the first part of this lengthy update. An arrival coinciding not with the release of Spliff Riddims 'A Warning' single (as originally intended had I internet access) but, as eagle-eyed TIFG-Project fans will have noticed, upon the release of ANOTHER NEW RELEASE! More of that in my next blog...
I love you all and thank you for standing by me all these years.
I am back and better than ever!
I am Rory x
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* To any of my family reading this: yes, your suspicions were true and I truly regret you finding this out here but I do not have the fortitude to admit these things to you in person for reasons that should be obvious. Also I apologise for the "troubles" (those concerned know what I mean!)
** Sorry, once again, Dr. Murdock; I hope you are in better health now.
*** As you can only have been aware of my developments from this blog, I'll presume you are reading this and use this as a chance to say: thank you, Robert. I know I was a wreck when we parted ways in 2013. I strive to be better not just for me but for you as well. Peace and love, always.
