Hop on

Starting into this album, I have two major handicaps. I am not a long-time admirer of KLF’s “Chill Out”, and I have never been on a road trip through rural England and/or Wales. But that’s okay, I think. “Still Out” is a fine form of travel as well, and a good reason to dig deeper – and make up for an additional handicap: not being able to go to one of the screenings of the film the album belongs to.

That’s why we have all parked our cars up in rural Yorkshire, somewhere close to break of dawn, entering a bus that will take all survivors along, those who made it through the night before, the ones that made it through the 90s, the ones who survived the first annoyances of a midlife crisis, and the ones who somehow got through beans for breakfast at five.

Stage 1: Swaledale

Long before Yorkshire was Yorkshire, it was Viking land. About a thousand years ago. And if you look at the hills and valleys of Swaledale you can imagine how they must have felt right at home. Full of pastures, moors and ridges, and everything seems to be made of stones. Walls, cottages, churches, villages, everything.

There’s a village called Keld, the name having been given by the Vikings, for a spring that made them settle there, once called Appletre Kelde, Apple Tree Springs, a combination of old English and Viking words, something that seems to be rather common, one of the ruins we’re passing having the odd name Crackpot Hall, and it’s not referring to someone that might have lost touch with reality, pot is Viking for a very deep hole, and the crack is very old English for a crow.

The shepherds up there have a peculiar way of counting sheep too. The words for numbers only go up to twenty. When they had more than twenty sheep, they picked up a stone to represent the first twenty, and then started at one again. 46 sheep are two stones and six sheep. And while we listen to nature, voices and rural tranquility and gentle synth pads, we hear Jake Thackray counting sheep. Twenty of them.

Stage 2: Jodrell Bank

Back in our seats. We’re heading south. Cars passing, honking, someone plays “Dark Side Of The Moon”, strange voices from old movies come to mind as we’re passing the moorland. Old chants, somehow aboriginal sounds, from the Dales to the forests, along rivers, lakes and reservoirs, we’re ignoring both Manchester and Liverpool, this is not your typical hop-on-hop-off city tour. Which doesn’t mean that it’s nature only. In the middle of Cheshire, we stop at Jodrell Bank, a giant telescope, ranking third on the list of largest radio telescopes in the world. It sits there, with two little brothers, right in the middle of the countryside, the sheep are having lunch while we treat ourselves to a cup of hot coffee. Too many sheep to count the Swaledale way.

More road. Trains passing, “Blue Moon” emerging from the static on the radio, the day passes, dozing off every now and then, is that the same station playing those Steve Miller interludes or did I just wake up and someone changed it? Not important, really. Time stretching, the sounds with it, the mind wandering, the road rolling on, nature calling.

Stage 3: Forest of Dean

None of us are particularly interested in Harry Potter stories, but of course we know that it’s where they filmed part of those movies. Forest of Dean. No one needs magicians here, really, nature doing a very fine job at enchanting everyone. The sun has long passed the horizon, a campfire is keeping us warm and encourages us to tell a few tales while someone is playing old melodies on a flute, and maybe one or two of those stories include demons, but not from Hollywood movies, more of a personal nature.

Stage 4: Laugharne

Wales. To most of the people I know this is a place that people know to exist, but I don’t know people who have been there. Something that needs to be corrected if you listen to what Dylan Thomas said about Laugharne – the next stop of the “Still Out” road trip. He called it timeless, beautiful and barmy, and “the strangest town in Wales”. He spent the last years of his life there, came for a day and simply stayed. And isn’t that Richard Burton reading Dylan Thomas? Yes, of course. “Under Milk Wood”.

Timeless, absolutely, and extremely relaxed, with the sea and a little bit of Jazz on the lazy winds along the estuary. Barmy? Maybe rather balmy, on a day like this.

Stage 5: Wistman’s Wood

Granite boulders covered with moss, stunted, twisted oak trees covered with epiphytes, the wide and empty moorland around it – I don’t have to have visited Wistman’s Wood to grasp its charm. Our bus has reached southern Devon and it feels like any minute a druid might appear among the trees. The peace and quiet is almost overwhelming, and only one piece of music may be allowed at such a place: “Peace Piece”. Bill Evans.

Stage 6: Welcombe Mouth

What is a perfect end to a trip like this? A beautiful, serene, secluded beach. This one is just perfect. You have to earn your admission on a small and challenging road and with a hike down to the beach, but then it’s not just a beach, there’s a waterfall too, big stepping stones across the water, and a sunset that silences just about everything.

Not everything. The seagulls. The waves. The wind. We’re there. All there. Still out. On the road. We may have reached the end of the road, the end of the land, but the path continues, who knows for how log. We’ll see.

Release for review:
KiF – STILL OUT – SOUND RECORDS – SNDREC005

Get the vinyl version on Juno: Click
If sold out, get it on Discogs: Click
Get the digital version on Bandcamp: Click