Peyote Plains

I still try to get out and walk daily if possible. It's a habit I got in the first lockdown and have tried to keep going ever since. It gets more squeezed when work starts again and autumn kicks in, night falling earlier and chores piling up, but it always feels worth making the effort even it's just a fifteen minute amble round the block. We're lucky in that where we live in south Manchester the river Mersey is only a few minutes away, the banks easily walkable and several different length walks available.  I was out a couple of evenings ago, on my own with my headphones in. One of those crushing waves of grief that come periodically (daily/ every few days) broke over me, leaving me feeling pretty broken. They happen when I'm on my own, in the car or on my bike or walking. I've learnt to let go and accept them but they're not very pleasant sometimes, a feeling of quiet desperation. As I walked on the tunes I'd cued up on my phone turned from ambient to acidic and thumpy. The one below- Peyote Plains by Dirt Bogarde- came on. I grinned involuntarily and almost stopped walking and started dancing, a lone man on the banks of the Mersey throwing shapes and waving his arms in the air. It was only the presence of a dogwalker and a jogger that stopped me. The power of music to transport is second to none. 

After last month's release, the post punk menace and tension of Tenth Floor Down, Dirt's come back with Peyote Plains, a welcome return to the acid chug and an atmospheric slo- mo thumper dedicated to the ceremonies of the tribes of The Great Plains- wobbly bass, cries and chants, sirens and a repeating melody line that will embed itself for hours after hearing it. Buy it at Bandcamp.