An ice cream cone is held aloft; a torch still carried for Hong Kong.
Skipping the street grid of the television’s guide, I chance upon New World Towers; a last year’s film about the band, Blur, and the making of The Magic Whip album. Perversely and reassuringly I like how I simply often miss things. It makes them more special when they’re found – instills in me a trust in the mind as a healthy radar (Koestler?). The film is a story of discovery and self-discovery in Hong Kong; of creative partnerships and lasting collaborations. And fate. As a bonus, there’s a characteristically low-key cameo by producer-genius, Stephen Street.
Other streets I recognise also. From these many thousand miles and thousand years I feel comforted by a familiarity in the Hong Kong steps, the steep alleyways. That rain.
Within 24 hours I have the album in my hands; loaded and playing over the barking of the last-of-the-holidays neighbourhood. It’s a beautiful, easy collection of songs with an understated-ness, maturity, I find inspires me more than music has in a long time.
I’m on a ghost ship drowning my heart in Hong Kong.