Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Ian Grimble and Richard Matthews of Communion Music at 2KHz, Crouch End, London
There are days when you can be jealous of the birds and the squirrels, as they travel and perch on the dangerous power lines above. They're safe. They're able to move and dangle from them without a care. Those thick ropes, carrying all that valuable, hot current, are nothing to be afraid of and they have a catbird's seat to all of the sad sacks and draggers. They can look down and forever at the shuffling saps, with their ears full and their eyes bleached by their tiny, screaming screens. It all takes on a look of warm sorrow. There's a weird ache to it that is moveable, shifting this way and that, ever swaying. It's just a scene, just a bustle that you only crave when it's not yours.
The mood that the UK-based group Adult Jazz creates is one of poignant observation, of sounds and side glances, of slippery whispers and baked wisdom, where we come away from it feeling as if we were the most significant and successful voyeurs that ever lived. We feel as if we were able to sit there, high above all of the smog and cusses and just covet the buffer that we had between the life below and one that has more wings, more blood.