Square Peg In A Black Hole

I remember Richard would make these tapes

Solo recordings of really minimal droney keyboard work with primitive drum machines

And we would take a drive in his car

His wife never allowed him to play his music at home

And we would drive aimlessly for hours

Sometimes as far as Gourock

Where we would pull up at secret viewpoints and he would play me his latest tapes

Right

Listen to this he would say

It's the sound of the ocean

Or it's a tornado on the surface of Mars

And at the time, I wouldn't pay that much attention

It sounded to me like a guy who had taped down a few keys on a keyboard

And then walked away and done something else for forty-five minutes

But now my memory of it is more like weather systems on distant planets

Or storms come crackling out of the past