Madeleines
With my tea, freshly infused in mug, sitting on the desk in front of me and a freshly baked madeleine in hand I start. I start to remember. Maybe dunking the madeleine into the tea will bring back memories of three decades ago. The smell of the teacake partially dissolving in the warm liquid will trigger reminiscences of a time long past. The taste of the hybrid liquid on my tongue will release memories long discarded in the deep recesses of history. Except it doesn’t. Memory is far more mercurial and rarely responds so obediently to a forced command.
Maybe if I imagine myself in that situation, walking through that door below Same Sky for the first time. But that isn’t me. The me now views the world in a completely different way. Yeah, you want to make a radio station that reflects the Festival in its entirety – Good luck with that! So, that me isn’t the me now. Maybe another snack. Pop down to Aldi, the sign has changed, says Sainsburys. Now we’re getting there. Hang on, the whole of the London Road looks sort of different – Midland Bank would make a good coffee shop.
Back through those creaking doors (both metaphorical and literal) and into a world of chipboard. Tandberg, chinagraph, single sided razor blade and editing tape – a three minute feature followed by a mixtape. The door to the studio is on the left hand side, a corridor to a windowless room. Carpet on the wall, burger wrappers on the floor. Flat, square guest microphones from Tandy, yes, now it is coming back. But the smell, what does 30 people working through the night preparing packages for the first day of broadcast trigger in my brain. B&H, Marlboro or rollies, was it coffee or tea? It certainly wasn’t flat whites and double espressos, but where was the kettle?
Step on to a daisy age of killer music. Get a life and dub be good to me. The only one I know is the only rhyme that bites. Get a life on the groovy train – We’re all together now! But the other sounds, what is the sound of a Sony VHS machine tripping the electricity again? What noise does the fear that our licence might be taken away make? Can you say “shit” at 8am? You’re in tune with ninety seven point seven. A festival of radio drifting through the ether to be picked up as it passes you by.