Night was floating down the river: On a red raft of blood. Parting reeds, broken skin, memory-tape-loops clinging to the bank. Trees billowing in the harmonica blasts. One hundred and eighty seconds. And then the fun started. I think it was The White Heart. Or it could have been The Lion. Wilson was probably there, yet to be fully realised, my brother before he was married, Wid, the others. I’d flunked out of The Tech, told people there was a problem with the Management but the Truth is I was lost. Abandoned. Lashed to the Stump and already dog-tired of all the Pointless Shit.

Those days were one long night dripping Piano Wax and Soakin’ in the sickly sweet crust of almost-nothingness. Airless. Too much hair. But then there was John Perry III. The only thing that cut right through the Bullshit. Our paths had crossed in the past but it wasn’t until now that they met. Head-on. Okay so we were young and we didn’t have things as figured as we say we do now but the day was ours for the taking. We thought nothing of blasting on one-hit-bongo-c-f-g-casiotone-jams for hours at a time. We committed our every thought and reckless-dream and crushed-dream to whatever device was to hand. We were 21st Century Men. We did not lack instruments with which to render our pain and it was a revelation. It was from John Perry III that I learnt to beat strings and pipes, keys and circuits, snake skin and denim: Lips pursed perpetual about the promise of pentatonic perplexity.

It was not long before Home became too tame and we hitched North into the blinding rain. There we staked our claim upon the concrete Utopia, prowling the dark city streets blaring Horns and Honest Hell. People called us Leo Trout and then they called us The Wednesday Club and sometimes we even went by other names altogether but the whole time there was always John Perry III cutting through the Bullshit. His output was prodigious, intimidating, it was fucking Real.

It’s creeping past ten years since that we’ve been turning the world around. This collection of songs tells John Perry III’s story. It is one that I have been honoured to share in somewhat, but it is very definitely his. Now go immerse Yrselves.

Adam John Miller, Sept 2013