Still feeling woozy and disorientated, my fingers as I type not quite feeling as if they’re mine. There’s a kind of numbness in my fingertips.

My copies of the new things have arrived. Instantly I think about a line from Sondheim’s Sunday In The Park With George, neatly summing up the joy of the painter’s process:

‘Look, I made a hat / Where there never was a hat.’

I feel this applies particularly when, like the George of the musical, the creator in question feels rather lacking at being a normal human being, away from the world of making or writing. It’s perfectly possible to be creative and NOT be a Colin Wilson-style outsider or dysfunctional or bohemian or battling with drug addiction or just strange. But if you are feeling lost in the world, and lost in your life – whether for a moment or a lifetime – seeing the finished results of your creative act really helps make sense of the relentless confusion of it all. Ah yes, you think. THAT’s what I’m good for.

Whether it’s something I’m good AT is neither here not there, not when it comes to deciding to make the things in the first place.

Last time I put out an album, I mentioned it on an email mailing list. Someone piped back unkindly along the lines of, ‘Woo! Well, look out, pop charts!’

Well, yes, it’s unlikely the album’s sales will give Nickelback any sleepless nights. But if a tree falls in a forest and no one blogs about it, it does still make a sound.

‘I’m rather happy with the way I fell just then,’ thinks the tree. ‘I fell in a way that was purely me. Other falling trees are available, and have better press agents, but none of them fall quite like me. Maybe no one heard me. Doesn’t matter. I still did it.’

Look, I made a book and a CD.  Where there never was a book and a CD.

Feeling a bit better now, partly via painkillers but mostly through the nice lady doctor at Whittington A&E who gave me a while-you-wait blood test and stopped me worrying myself to death. The waiting room only had three or four other patients, so I didn’t feel too guilty about seeking this emergency second opinion.

Thankfully I didn’t need the nasty lumbar puncture. But it turns out I do have a high lymphocyte percentage, meaning I’ve got a viral infection that will eventually burn itself out naturally. 

She sent me on my way with a pill for the nausea and an injection up my bottom for the pain. Or it may have been for fun.

I’m hot-headed in all the wrong ways. Feel riddled with a disorientating headache (making it hard to read from this screen), plus am additionally burdened with nausea, loss of appetite and a dizzy fever. The traffic was unusually deafening on my walk to Highgate Group Practice. Either everyone has turned up the volume on their cars, or I’m ill.

So I’ve just seen the GP. She suspects it’s an ear infection, and has put me on a course of antibiotics. I’ve no rash or neck stiffness, so she doesn’t think meningitis is the case, but the only true way to rule it out is for me to go to Whittington A&E (a short bus ride or 15 min walk away) and get a lumbar puncture. This means spinal fluid extracted and tested. It does seem rather drastic. But sitting here worried out of my mind – when I can think straight at all – I’m considering going along and asking for it, if only to put my mind at rest. In every sense.

Have this recurring headache – a painful pounding behind the eyes -  now coupled with nausea and feverishness. The headache’s been going on for a couple of weeks now, previously thought to be a touch of flu, but right now I feel particularly bad. I wonder if it’s just down to broken sleep patterns and not eating properly.

Of course, if I look up the symptoms on the Net, I get anything from flu to meningitis. I also wonder if I’ve finally inherited my dad’s migraines.

Was going to write a proper diary entry, but feel too awful to do so. To bed with Mr Neurofen, I guess, and see what the morning brings.

A few minutes ago, I could have sworn this bed was shaking. Just a little.

First thought was it might be one of those odd body reflexes: twitches, tics, or one of those times when you can feel your pulse acutely, by leaning too hard against the pillow, or staying too still in certain positions.

Second thought was: the neighbours really have gone too far this time.

Just checked the BBC news site, and it appears it really was an earthquake.  A very mild, slightly embarrassed kind of earthquake. A don’t-mind-me, terribly English earthquake. Muttering, ‘Scuse me…sorry… sorry! Just getting to my seat somewhere else in the world…’

I’ve just prepared a press release for the Fosca album. Thought I might as well post it here. I’ve had to think about all the things that might vaguely pique the curiosity of journalists.

Reading the press quotes again, ancient though they are, cheered me up today.

***

FOSCA

The Painted Side Of The Rocket

Fosca is the eccentric UK pop band fronted by Highgate-based dandy and wordsmith Dickon Edwards. Since forming in 1998, they’ve released four singles and three albums, toured several times across Europe, received radio play by John Peel, and found their lyrics quoted in a Swedish novel (Martina Lowden’s Allt).

After leaving the slightly acclaimed group Orlando, Mr Edwards started Fosca with a revolving line-up of London musicians, recruited partly down to their musical prowess, but mostly on what he thought of their dress sense at the time (Mr Edwards still has a strict ‘no trainers’ rule, believing running shoes are for running in, not for playing guitar in). However, some members have managed to stick around for the duration, notably Rachel Stevenson (keyboards / vocals).

From 2000 – 2002, Fosca were signed to Shinkansen Records, recording two albums with Saint Etienne producer Ian Catt. The results won fans all over the world, with NYC label Secret Crush Records taking their name from the Fosca single Secret Crush On Third Trombone. Two unofficial videos were made by separate groups of fans – both from Sweden – for Secret Crush and for the obscure b-side Confused And Proud. Given its curious popularity beyond its status, this latter song has now been reworked and re-recorded for the third album.

For the last five years, Mr Edwards has concentrated on non-Fosca activities, such as appearing on BBC1’s Imagine in his dubious capacity as a pioneer blogger; writing music and film reviews for Plan B Magazine, DJ-ing for dress-up club nights like The Beautiful & Damned (including four nights at the 2007 Latitude Festival); collaborating with the Monochrome Set’s Bid for his group Scarlet’s Well, writing a new Afterword for Jerome K Jerome’s The Idle Thoughts Of An Idle Fellow (Snowbooks) and contributing an article about a trip to Tangier with Shane MacGowan, for The Decadent Handbook (Dedalus Books), where he was described by the Daily Telegraph as possessing a certain ‘wonky charm’.

After much idling, bouts of ill health and general misfortune, the third Fosca album was finally completed in a Hackney basement in summer 2007, with Tom Edwards (guitar / programming) and Kate Dornan (keyboards, recorder, vocals). As Shinkansen had wound down, Sweden’s But Is It Art Records stepped in to release the album. And no, Fosca still have no idea why their most devoted fans tend to be Swedish.

DISCOGRAPHY:

Nervous London: CD EP, Something Velvet Records, 1999

The Agony Without The Ecstasy: CD EP, Shinkansen, 2000

On Earth To Make The Numbers Up: CD album, Shinkansen, 2000

Supine On The Astroturf: CD EP, Shinkansen 2001

Secret Crush On Third Trombone: CD EP, Shinkansen, 2002

Diary Of An Antibody: CD album, Shinkansen 2002

Confused & Live – Fosca In Concert: live CDR, But Is It Art 2007

The Painted Side Of The Rocket: CD album, But Is It Art 2008

***
SELECTED MEDIA KINDNESS FOR FOSCA

‘Diary Of An Antibody is Dickon Edwards’s second revenge attack on humanity. His couplets are relentlessly sharp…

– Simon Price, Independent On Sunday

‘Accomplished and muscular whimsy… An attractive noise… 80’s bombast saved and beyond by sharp lyrics and impeccable timing… Secret Crush On Third Trombone is one of those “must have” records.’

– from “Unpeeled”, the paper-only fanzine for the John Peel show.

‘Some of the time, Fosca remind me of the Pet Shop Boys, except you most certainly can’t dance to Dickon’s anguish, and occasionally they sound like the Divine Comedy, only with far more excellence. ‘

– Everett True, New York Press

‘Secret Crush On Third Trombone is the perfect pop song… A gleaming chorus and lyrics about schoolchild angst that glides along wonderfully. It’s sunny, fun, and brilliantly put together. ‘

– UK club Strange Fruit’s newsletter, “Fruitbowl”, issue 35.

‘Wordy and sickly, neurotic pop music’

– Richard Smith, Gay Times (UK)

‘Secret Crush on Third Trombone’ .. the best single of the summer… Simply a marvellous throwaway three minutes of sheer unrepentant Pop, all magnificent chorus hooks and jibes at the shaky nature of growing up and old and away from your youth.’

– Tangents Webzine

‘Calculated to reignite those “New Smiths” tags … The crucial difference is the juxtaposition of bouncy killer keyboards and arch observational narrative… Fosca do disposable pop with a twist… that it isn’t disposable.’

– In Love With These Times webzine

‘Incessant and striped-candy sweet. Imagine Belle and Sebastian had grown up listening only to the insane, gaudy Euro-Pop they have on Eurotrash and you’ll have some idea. Fosca play outsider anthems for those in need of wit and sparkle.’

– Drowned In Sound website

‘This band are winning the crown of “coolest new-wave-ish band in London” award as we speak.’

– Dagger fanzine, Santa Rosa, California

‘On Earth To Make The Numbers Up… is singly the best record to come out of the UK in 2000.”

– Indiespinzone.com (Sweden)

I’m pleased to announce that the new Fosca album The Painted Side Of The Rocket is now available to order at the But Is It Art website:

http://butisitart.org/order/

100 copies are accompanied with a limited edition book of lyrics and other writings, The Portable Dickon Edwards.  The book is not available separately.

The album will also be available on iTunes some time in March.

We apologise for the delay in proper diary entries. This is due to Mr Edwards feeling a bit more poorly and low than usual, and having to fend off inner cries of ‘Oh Heavens, what’s the point of it all, I should have joined the Marines.’

Whilst we are waiting for Mr Edwards’s brain to start working again, our crew will be passing among you shortly to serve complimentary asterixes.

***

In the meantime, here’s some music.

I’ve been enjoying the TV programme Ashes To Ashes lately. A glamourous if haughty person who lives in a bizarre 80s world that could all be part of their damaged imagination…

but enough about me.

Here’s some 80s pop videos I’ve been using to crack the ice of my moping mindset. They’re always playing inside my head, but for those of you yet to get telepathy in your area (I hear it lost out in the format wars to Blu-Ray), click on the stills to drink from the addictive if calorie-free charms of Ms YouTube:

The Waitresses: I Know What Boys Like (1982)

If the formula to a good pop song is to make it sound like a child’s nursery rhyme – or a child’s playground jeer -  this is a pretty perfect exponent. Note the now utterly anachronistic use of smoking in an MTV video, and the sax player’s red tie with black shirt. Yes, Shampoo covered this song in the 90s. And yes, the Waitresses also did ‘Christmas Wrapping’.

Here’s the reverse of the red & black look, as modelled by a Style Council backing singer turned solo:

Tracie: The House That Jack Built (1983)

Doesn’t she look wonderful? Tracie Young walks onstage to the kind of raucous wolf whistles one might associate with a burlesque turn, yet she remains fully buttoned up in black suit with long sleeves & trousers, padded shoulders, shiny tie, and red pocket square hanky. It’s like a New Romantic Burka. One day, someone will start a religion where everyone dresses this way forever. It may have to be me.

Berntholer: The Choice (1981)

Rather more obscure, this is a charming example of what else was going on at the more alternative end of the early 80s pool. I was reviewing a compilation of Belgian ‘Cold Wave’ bands last year (released on LTM Records), and fell belatedly in love with this gaggle of art-pop types, channelling the Factory Records scene in their own odd and lovely way. A bit like the Liquid Sky soundtrack, and a bit early Altered Images too, what with all the child-like posing and smirking. Note the singer’s gloves: is it cold, or is it the 80s? I ask myself that question daily.

Aztec Camera: Oblivious (1983)

Roddy Frame + 80s hair and make-up = Alan Cumming now. And an Ivor Cutler introduction too. What’s going on with all the Tarot cards? Am I mad, in a coma, or reading Dickon Edwards’s diary? Note the jeans. Hey, Aztec Camera: good of you to ‘turn up’.

The new CD:

The new book:

Good for Zadie Smith. She once used her Waterstones ‘An Author Recommends’ spot to highlight the works of Joe Stacco and David B with the tag ‘Graphic novels take so much time and work to make. The least we can do is read them’. Can’t really argue with that.

The Book Of Other People, which she’s edited, is a recent anthology of specially commissioned short stories from various bookish notables: Mr Eggars, Ms July, Ms Kennedy, Mr Toibin, Mr Litt, Mr Safran Foer. But she’s also included comic strip tales from Mr Ware and Mr Clowes, and a Posy Simmonds-illustrated piece by Mr Hornby.

I suspect many readers of White Teeth and more than a few literary critics who rate Ms Smith would never touch a comic book with a Booker-nominated bargepole. So I like to think her unabashed nod to comics helps to shake them up just that little bit. Perhaps it even confuses them. ‘A Whitbread Prize winner who likes comics? Does. Not. Compute.’

The only problem is, new anthologies of prose short stories also suffer from a similarly baffling across-the-board dismissal by the mainstream book buyers. It’s so strange how British readers in particular like their printed fiction to be in novel form only. Alan Bennett’s The Uncommon Reader is either a long short story or a novella, depending on your taste in word counts, but what’s more important according to the publishing market is that it’s been packaged like a short novel. Include it in a collection, and it just wouldn’t sell so well. UK readers have this ‘thing’ about fiction anthologies, just as they do graphic novels.

I once heard a radio interview with Stephen King, where the next guest was the Booker winner DBC Pierre. They turned out to be fans of each other’s work, and it was lovely to hear these two authors from different corners of the bookshop meet and exchange compliments Romeo & Juliet-like, while those on both sides gnashed their teeth.

I understand WHY there are genres, why graphic novels aren’t filed alongside the prose fiction, why Terry Pratchett is filed away from Martin Amis. What aggrieves me is the assumption that readers are meant to stick to one thing or the other. A varied diet is healthier – literary novels can get into unimaginative and predictable ruts too. When they talk about ‘the death of the novel’, they really mean the dearth of the reader’s scope. One should go for the best of all possible worlds, as Mr Voltaire said. And indeed, Penguin have put out an edition of Candide with comic strips by Chris Ware on the cover.

It’s not the publishers or writers, it’s the UK reading market that’s the problem. Funny how bookworms can sometimes be more narrow-minded than TV or movie addicts. There can be prejudice among those who claim to eschew prejudice.

The very British hypocritical connection between liberal snobbery and fake open-mindedness never fails to astonish me. The more people boast about how free from intolerance they are, the more you realise how much they’ve deliberately shut out from their lives.

The whole point of being a writer is opening up minds and showing people new worlds, rather than keeping them in their comfort zones. Enlightenment as entertainment, and vice versa.

And so to Mike Russell on Persepolis. Mr Russell is a film journalist who transforms his interviews into comic strips. Not content with being an interviewer per se, he also manages to render the strip’s artistic style to fit the subject.

Here he is talking to director Richard Linklater about A Scanner Darkly, using that film’s unique Rotoscoping look (tracing over live action with a pen) to depict the interview in comic form.

For an interview with Jerry Seinfeld for Bee Movie, he gives the strip the same form of anecdotal, meandering, observational comedy feel typical of Seinfeld’s own trademark routines. I particularly love the detail of the officious PR lady with a clipboard, gently nudging him away from the ‘talent’, as if the journalist were nothing more than an autograph hunter.

Best of all is his conversation with Marjane Satrapi, creator of Persepolis, the comic book about a life of growing up in Iran, which is now an animated movie. Getting Ms Satrapi’s own drawing style right for his interview is impressive enough (her black and white, faux-naif manner may seem simple, but it is disarmingly difficult to mimic accurately), but I’m most impressed by Mr Russell’s noting of her chain-smoking, and the boiling down of a long interview into a series of aphorisms and insights:

‘The real war is not between the West and the East. The real war is between intelligent and stupid people.’

‘Culture and instruction are really weapons of mass construction.’

‘I was brought up on the idea that American people were the most evil in the world.’

‘The second I have a friend in one country, that country cannot be my enemy’

And a credo after my own heart:

‘If we don’t consider people as individuals, we go to hell.’